Dont bother unpacking your suitcase youre leaving.
Whats happened? commanded Alice, as she marched into the living room. Peter was sprawled out on the sofa and didnt even bother to get up when she arrived.
Whats happened, my dear, is that youre leaving me, poppet! So dont unpack your suitcase: were getting divorced and youre moving out tonight! replied her husband.
Alice thought shed misheard. Poppet?
Have you ever seen me? How am I “bunny”? Im nearly two metres tall! Peter once responded to Sarahs suggestion that he play bunny in their Christmas party sketch.
So youll be an overgrown bunny trampling about and bounding away into the sunset! Sarah, ever the wit, had offered.
And what size is your bunny costume then? Peter had inquired, grinning.
Oh, blast! Honestly! The bunny suit is tiny. How did I not remember that? Sarah had sighed in exasperation.
After a brief pause she said, Right, new plan! Youll play Father Christmas, and Victor can be the bunny hes half your size.
Will his outfit fit me? The robe, or whatever it is Father Christmas wears? Peter wondered.
Absolutely. Its a bit baggy on Victor we always have to turn it up! came the reply.
And what about my lines? Havent the foggiest what to say!
Lines? My dear, its all improvisation! Youre a gold medallist, arent you? Ill help you along. Sarah reassured.
Sarah, Peters oldest friend from their secondary school days, now worked at a festive entertainment agency. Theyd lost their bunny to pneumonia at the most disastrous time. The party group the one that made the rounds to childrens homes at Christmas now had a void.
What sort of nonsense is this? the sceptics would chime in. A bunny? Since when? Whats wrong with the old way just Father Christmas and his Snow Maiden? Stick to tradition!
But the new proprietor was all for breaking the mould, brimming with bravado and the bright ideas of the day. And, as they say, whoever pays the piper calls the tune.
Perhaps who knows he was righting his childhood traumas; maybe hed always wanted to be a bunny, and now, as boss, no one could stop him. Thus, the bunny complete with white fur, floppy-eared hat, and a comical backpack with a great big fabric carrot poking out was born.
Lets shake things up! the new boss beamed. Inject a little freshness into the tired old routine!
In contrast to this bundle of energy, good old Mr. Cucumber from “Carnival Night” would seem a harmless and fluffy old bear.
And so, inject they did
Now there were three in the party: Victor as Father Christmas, Sarah as the Snow Maiden, and their comedic English bunny. When the bunny fell ill, there was no one suitable to fill in, least of all on the 30th or 31st of December.
I dont care, said their boss, but there must be a bunny!
All as in that nursery rhyme: oh, Im ever so sad today poor bunnys in bed. Not even crunchy lettuce will help and so on.
Peter was feeling blue. His own festive outlook had taken a nosedive. His wife Alice had suddenly set off to see her mother in Manchester things were rougher for her than usual and he was left entirely alone for New Year.
Alices mother had been poorly, one trouble after another for months now. This was Alices third dash up north in the past two months.
I cant possibly leave Mum alone just now. You do understand, sweetheart? Alice said earnestly, folding her dresses into the case.
Why dont I come with you? Its New Year, you shouldnt be alone, offered Peter.
Heavens, no! Theres no need for that. No point spoiling your holiday too, just because mine is ruined!
What about for better or worse? Peter exclaimed. Remember our vows?
Youll call me and keep me going. Thatll be enough. Go on, get out and enjoy yourself.
He might have clung to the idea of crashing someone elses do, but everyone already had plans. The whole mood was soupy and the air in the flat felt thick and stale.
Then Sarah rang always his lifesaver. If Sarah Sutherland couldnt find a way out of a pickle, nobody could. She and Peter had never stopped being friends since school, though Alice always snipped that men and women couldnt be friends.
Aliced even forbidden him from inviting Sarah to the wedding! Even though Sarah was married and would have brought her husband. Peter, to keep the peace, gave in clever Sarah wouldnt mind, hed reasoned.
And she hadnt. Their friendship continued, discreetly: Peter phoning Sarah mostly from work, never the landline at home.
So, now, lonely on New Years Eve and offered a paying gig by Sarah, Peter accepted. Not for the money he earned enough as an analyst for Alice to rest as long as she fancied but just for something to do.
The Father Christmas outfit fit perfectly, right down to the wellies. Someone stuck a beard and moustache onto him off he went, the English Father Christmas, to cheer the nations children.
He managed admirably! Little ones recited poems around the tree, the bunny hopped and waggled his carrot, everyone danced ring-a-roses it was, in dream-logic, all terribly jolly.
Just one visit left now: 10 pm sharp, 31st December! After that, freedom. Everyone home to ring in the new year.
Kind-hearted Sarah, hearing Peter would otherwise be alone, invited him to hers shed celebrate at home with her husband and her mum, whod taught both Peter and Sarah in school. Sarah, at 25, had no children yet either.
They drove off in high spirits for the final stop. Victor indulged in a cheeky tipple, a rare treat for Mr. Sober-Father-Christmas.
At quarter to ten (Greenwich Mean Time), Peter rang his wife:
How are you, love?
Oh, holding up, darling! came the bright reply.
Happy New Year, Alice! Could I wish your mum too?
Shes just dozed off I dont want to wake her! Alice said. Im watching telly with my headphones on, thinking of you.
I love you, said Peter. Ill call at midnight.
Love you too! Take care, bunny! replied Alice.
When the last clients front door swung open, Peter stood rooted: there, at the threshold, stood his wife Alice, who, two days ago, supposedly set off for Manchester hed personally called her a cab to the station! Hed just spoken to her minutes ago
When hed offered to drive her himself, Alice flatly refused: No, Ill get there fine. Have a rest!
There she was, in her party dress and her favourite shoes.
How did she pack those? I watched her pack! Shes a regular Houdini in a frock, thought Peter.
Maybe it wasnt Alice. Did she have a secret twin? But no, it was her: there was that familiar mole above the left eyebrow.
Or was this just dream-stuff a waking hallucination? What with the air all electric, New Year looming, and chaos hanging heavy Hadnt Mystic Meg predicted disaster for everyone?
But everyone else could see her too, not just Peter.
Bunny! cried the apparition towards the depths of the hallway.
Bunny? But Peter was “bunny”! Alice had just called him “bunny” on the phone!
He was paralysed. This couldnt be happening to him; he was out of his own life, a mere audience to this strange pantomime.
Im coming, poppet! came the reply, and out waddled Bunny: a podgy, balding man
Wheres the child? Little Eddie? asked the Snow Maiden Sarah.
Im Eddie! laughed the chap, patting his bulging belly. Thought Id give myself a treat!
Peter looked on in horror: was this what Alice had lied so elaborately about? The penny dropped with a cold thud
His first instinct was to make a scene right then and there but embarrassment for Sarah held him back.
So Peter, lowering his voice to avoid Alices recognition, commanded, Lets hear your poem, Eddie!
Eddie mumbled away. Alice didnt seem to recognise her own husband she and her new companion were already well into their cups. It was New Year, after all
How had Alice, always the perfectionist, ended up with this slob?
Alice clung drunkenly to her new “bunny” and gurgled laughter.
Understanding dawned on Peter: so thats where all those presents came from, supposedly sent by Alices penny-pinching mum.
Time for a good old English conga! Eddie yelled, bored of his recitation. And round they pranced.
Poppet put on our song! slurred the bunny. So poppet did, and the dance began.
There they were: Eddie, Alice, and bunny Victor (now tipsy enough for two), cutting a rug while Peter, underslept and sober, recorded it all on his phone. Alices alibi evaporated faster than the Christmas snow.
Presently the host tired of it all and all but booted them out:
Thats enough Im turning in! Youve done your bit, happy now? See them out, poppet!
Poppet obliged
Very odd, Sarah observed on the drive back, Whats she see in that slug? Hes not her husband, thats for sure.
Im her husband! Peter nearly shouted, but checked himself.
He didnt go on to Sarahs for the party couldnt face it, not after that. Nor could he bear to tell her the whole sordid tale.
So he lied: said he felt ill, must be coming down with something. Stumbled home to an empty house. At midnight he didnt call Alice, nor later let her have her fun with bunny.
Peter saw in the New Year alone. Well, it gave him time to think.
He loved Alice. But after this, that love had ebbed. And he had no intention of forgiving her deceit. Divorce it would be: the flat was in his name, after all.
But Alice, finding her husband hadnt rung in two days after years of calls morning and night, began to worry. How odd!
Sensing trouble, she returned from “Manchester” on the 2nd of January, not the 4th as planned.
No one met her at the station. She had to get a taxi. Even though shed texted her husband with all the details.
Whats happened? Alice barked, realising Peter hadnt even left the sofa for her return.
Whats happened is that youre leaving me, poppet. So dont bother unpacking were divorcing, and tonight youre moving out, Peter replied.
Poppet? Alice thought shed misheard. How did he know? Only Eddie had ever called her that.
And where, pray, am I going? Alice cross-examined, going on the offensive.
I dont know: to your bunny, or back to your mum in Manchester. By the way, is she well again? Peter asked, voice calm.
Youve got it all wrong, Alice began softly. He knew! But how? Where had she slipped? Mum had strict orders: dont answer the phone until the 4th. Eddie couldnt have told him
Perhaps he saw them? But when?
All right then, lets hear your story, Peter prompted, more curious now than angry. Perhaps that bald fellows a doctor, and you went to consult on your dear mums health?
Or maybe, he continued, warming to his barbed fantasy, hes an alchemist, promising a miraculous cure. Paracelsus, for goodness sake!
Or perhaps just a care-worker, hired at my expense, popping round to tend to my mother-in-law changing her sheets, sitting at her bedside at night and the like? And you came to make arrangements!
Or heaven forbid, no offence perhaps he works in the funeral trade, and you, being so caring, wanted to get things sorted in advance?
Dont be shy, Alice. You werent shy when you danced the night away with Bunny, were you? Both bunnies, I mean yours and ours? Well, poppet?
And Peter showed her the video.
Alice was dumbstruck. She had nothing to say. Yes, she was having an affair. Why? For the thrill, really.
It was boring sitting at home alone all the time! Besides, Eddie had plenty of money and gave her lovely presents.
Work to pass the time? Three cheers for that she was no wallflower looking for a nine-to-five.
But what an absolutely rotten stroke of luck.
And the terrible thing was, she did care for Peter, in her own odd way. Maybe she was just dependant on him? So shed hidden it all, not wanting to bite the hand that fed her.
That made it worse.
If shed left Peter for her balding Bunny altogether, perhaps it would hurt less. Or if shed confessed to a single indiscretion maybe, just maybe, Peter wouldve forgiven her. He was generous or had been.
But this betrayal, and a labyrinth of lies about her mother, so carefully woven! A planned deception, callous and cold.
Alice wept, pleaded, promised, and appealed to his conscience. But Peter was immovable: enough was enough. Father Christmas takes no prisoners Peter was right to be so.
In the end, they divorced. Peter was convinced hed done the right thing, and only regretted one thing: that he hadnt created a proper scandal that New Years night, for the drama of it!
But then again, who needs all those bows and courtesy curtsies? Sometimes, a clean cut is better.
Wouldnt you agree?
