The One Who Is Two (Book 1 of White Rabbit)

The One Who Is Two

  Book 1 of White Rabbit

  By

  Stuart Oldfield

  Copyright 2012 Stuart Oldfield

  The four books of the White Rabbit series

  1. The One Who Is Two

  2. Friends and Enemies

  3. Red Tape

  4. The Woman Who Looks Both Ways

  Chapter 1

  Cadwallader stood with his back to the window, leaning against the sink units, conscious of the curve of the moulded laminate against his buttocks. He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them quickly. Glancing expectantly at his wife, he tried, unsuccessfully, to think of something to say.

  'It's time you left,' she said, 'It's ten past already.'

  A heaviness pulled at his guts as his spirits sank even lower.

  'I thought maybe a quick cuppa before I go. As it's my birthday.' He wanted to sound casual, but his voice came out pleading, like a sad child.

  'Please, Simon, you know what we agreed. He'll be here soon.'

  'Oh, I see. He's coming here today, is he? On my – on a Sunday.' As he spoke, whining and hurt, he could see her face harden, her eyes glittering with sudden anger.

  'Where and when I see Geoffrey is none of your business,' she said, her voice quiet and tight, 'And it wasn't me that started all this, was it?'

  Cowed by the force of her anger, he looked down at his shoes with his mouth set in a sullen frown, like a schoolboy resenting his punishment.

  'Was it?' she hissed.

  Again he didn't reply, aware that his silence was confirming his guilt. Her reproach bore down on him, crushing him like a weight. After a long silence he looked up, feeling silly and shamed.

  'Right then,' he said, 'I'll just say goodbye to the kids.' He could see his daughter through the door to the living room, sitting on a cushion three feet from the television, staring zombie-like at a gyrating pop singer. 'Laura, darling,' he called, 'Daddy's going now.'

  'Bye,' the girl said, not turning from the flickering screen.

  'No goodbye kiss?'

  He waited, but she showed no sign of having heard him – and another small stab of pain jabbed into his chest. He crossed the room and bent to press his lips to her long yellow hair. She seemed to ignore him, but then lifted her face briefly to plant a perfunctory kiss on his proffered cheek before turning quickly back to the television.

  'Bye-bye, sweetie,' he murmured to the back of her head, 'See you next week.'

  'You won't find Alex,' said his wife, as he came back into the kitchen, 'He'll be over the road. Ian's got a new computer game.'

  Sensing her growing anxiety for him to be gone, he picked up his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and, keeping his eyes fixed on the white melamine of the table, pulled it on.

  Sundays were always bad, but this one, his birthday, had been worse than most. Naturally, he hadn't expected anything from his wife, but he had been shocked by the children's indifference. A cheap card from Alex, probably bought that morning by Stephanie from the newsagents at the bottom of the road, and a scrawled picture from Laura, five minutes of half-hearted effort, bad even by her standards. And then a few hours wandering around Lego-Land, acutely aware that his sole contribution to their pleasure was as the provider of funds. He remembered the same day in previous years – the attention, the affection, the presents bought with carefully saved pocket money, the meticulously drawn birthday cards – and the contrast was brutally stark.

  'Right then,' he said, fighting to keep the misery out of his voice, 'I'll be off. I'll see you next Sunday, usual time.'

  As he spoke, Stephanie seemed to remember something. She turned to the living room door, calling above the pop singer's warbling. 'Laura, you haven't given Daddy his present.'

  'It's on the sideboard,' said the girl, without enthusiasm.

  'She's made you a present,' explained Stephanie, 'I'll just fetch it.'

  Cadwallader waited by the back door, slightly cheered that his daughter's indifference was less complete than he had thought. Something at the corner of his vision caught his attention: a flash of white in the doorway to the living room. It was a large white rabbit, looking up at him with blank, pink eyes, its ears erect, its fur glossy and unnaturally brilliant as if it had just been washed and tumble-dried.

  'Here you are.' His wife came in from the hall and handed him a small package crudely wrapped in what looked like recycled Christmas paper. Inside was a small medicine bottle, brown glass with a black plastic screw-top. Holding it up to the window, he could see it was filled with a turbid liquid.

  'What is it?' he asked, genuinely puzzled.

  'Perfume. Actually after-shave, as it's for you.'

  He unscrewed the top and sniffed at the bottle. It had an aromatic smell, strangely familiar.

  'Squashed geranium leaves,' explained Stephanie, 'It's a new fad at school. She made about two pints of the stuff last week – I had to put the poor plant in my bedroom, before she reduced it to a bare twig.'

  Cadwallader smiled and, up-turning the bottle onto his forefinger, dabbed the liquid behind each ear in a mock-female gesture. Stephanie watched him, unsmiling, her expression anxious and irritated. She glanced up at the clock.

  'Please go now, I don't want a scene.'

  He felt his tiny bubble of pleasure burst.

  'Thank you for the present, darling, it's lovely,' he called, slipping the bottle into his jacket pocket.

  'OK.' The girl replied without turning round.

  As he opened the back door, Cadwallader remembered the rabbit.

  'Oh, I nearly forgot to ask. Her new rabbit, what's its name?'

  'Loofah.'

  'Loofah? You mean, like a bath sponge?'

  'Exactly. Like a bath sponge.'

  'I don't get it.'

  'She had a bath sponge in the shape of a rabbit. A pink one. You bought it for her, two Christmases ago.' More reproach, implicit in her tone, for not remembering the pink sponge. 'She called that "Loofah" too, if you remember – and now she's got a live version.'

  'It's a silly name,' he said, defensively, 'Why couldn't she call it something normal – like Flopsy or Thumper?'

  'It's Laura's rabbit and she can call it what she wants. Anyway, I happen to think that Loofah is a very imaginative name.'

  'Well, whatever. But I don't think you should have it running round the house. It's not hygienic.'

  'What are you talking about? The rabbit's in the garden. It never comes into the house.'

  'Stephanie, it was right there, in the living room. I saw it myself.'

  'Then what's that?' she said, looking out of the back window.

  He moved back into the room and followed her gaze. The rabbit, dazzling in the grey light of the autumn afternoon, was sitting in the middle of the lawn, looking straight at him with solid inscrutability.

  'Laura,' his wife called through to the living room, 'It's time to put Loofah back in his hutch. He's been out long enough.'

  'I'm telling you the rabbit was in the house, sitting right there – I saw it when you went to get the present.'

  'Then he must have a key for the patio doors,' she said, humourlessly, 'Now, Simon, will you please go. If you won't stick to our agreement, I'll have to get the solicitors involved – and neither of us want that, do we?'