The Curse of the School Rabbit Read online

  Mum said, “Angie, you should be in bed,” and went to pick her up, and then she said, “For goodness’ sake, you’re frozen! Whatever have you been doing?” and Angie said, “Snowflake was all alone in the garden, so I went out to see it, and we had a game of chase and we ran round and round, and in the end I caught it, and now we’re having a party because Snowflake likes parties …”

  But then she started to cough a lot, and Mum said, “We’d better get you warmed up. I just hope this hasn’t sent your temperature shooting up again.”

  I thought I’d better get the dolls’ clothes off Snowflake and put it back in its hutch. It didn’t seem to mind either way; it just wanted to go on eating the special rabbit treats. I don’t think Snowflake was as keen on parties as Angie said.

  When Dad came home, I told him about Snowflake and the dolls’ clothes, and he laughed a bit, but then he said, “Angie getting sick is all we need.” He’d been to see his agent, who is a sort of friend to actors who tries to get them work, but the agent had only suggested something that Dad thought was silly, and at supper with Uncle Mike they talked a lot about the Profession being a dead end and perhaps one should get a proper job, which they do every so often, and it was very boring, so I went to bed.

  I half woke up once in the night. I thought I heard Mum and Dad move about and Angie crying, but I went back to sleep. But in the morning when I got up Mum and Dad were only half dressed and Mum was checking her mobile so that she could ring the doctor. Only she thought he might not be in yet, and Dad was saying, “Well, try him, anyway,” and Angie was crying again.

  I said, “What’s the matter with Angie?” and Dad said that her temperature was sky high and they needed the doctor to give her something for it, and Mum said, “Just get yourself some cereal or something, will you, Tommy,” and went back to prodding her phone. So I made myself some egg and bacon, which we normally only have on Sundays, and while the toast was cooking I went to see Angie.

  She seemed to be asleep again, but her breathing was funny and her face was red and looked all wrong, and I worried a bit in case the doctor wouldn’t know how to fix it. But then I thought, They have all these new pills now that can fix anything. And then I went to feed Snowflake, and I said, “It’s all your fault, you stupid rabbit.” And then I went off to school.

  With all the fuss about Angie I’d forgotten that this was a special day at school because we were supposed to write a story that morning. It was for a competition. A big bookshop wanted children to write a story, and the best stories were going to win a prize, which was a lot of free books for their school, so our teachers were very keen for us to win. The story had to be about an animal.

  I had vaguely tried to think of a story about an animal, but then I’d forgotten all about it, so I was a bit stuck. But then I thought about Snowflake and how everything had gone wrong in our house since we’d had that rabbit dumped on us, and I also remembered an old film with Gordon Strong, where he was given a ruby ring that brought people bad luck. It was called The Curse of the Ruby and I thought I’d write a story called:

  “THE CURSE OF THE RABBIT”.

  So I wrote quite a long story about a man who was given a rabbit that was cursed, but the man didn’t know this, and the rabbit got bigger and bigger until it was as big as a horse, and the man lost all his money, so he could no longer afford new clothes or a car or even bus fares, so he had to ride to work on the rabbit, and the rabbit kept getting mixed up with the traffic, and the man kept getting parking tickets.

  So he gave the rabbit to the zoo, which the rabbit preferred to getting mixed up with the traffic, and the zookeeper knew how to undo the curse, and they all lived happily ever after, and I just had time to underline THE CURSE OF THE RABBIT when the bell went and they came to collect our papers. My teacher read it and said it was very imaginative.

  When I got home from school, Mum said that the doctor had given Angie some stuff and she seemed a bit better, but then in the night she got sick again and next morning the doctor came back to see her, even though it was Saturday.

  I didn’t hear what he said because Mum told me that it was time I cleaned out Snowflake’s hutch, so I did, and I told Snowflake again that it was all its fault. But Snowflake just went round and round in the clean straw to make a nest for itself. So I shouted at it, “You are a curse!” and when I went back inside, the doctor was just leaving.

  He said, “Look after your sister,” as though I could, and Dad was scribbling down what the doctor said was an emergency number just in case.

  Mum said, “I’ll just take another look at Angie,” and I went with her. Angie’s face was no longer so red, but it was sort of shrunken and her breathing was still all wrong, and when Mum said, “Hullo, Angie,” she didn’t seem to hear and didn’t even open her eyes, and Mum held my hand very tight and said, “We’ll get her through this, won’t we?” and I said, “Yes,” even though I had no idea how.

  We usually all go out and do something nice at weekends, but I could see that with Angie sick we’d have to stay in and look after her, which was a bit sad. But just as I was trying to think what to do with myself, Uncle Mike appeared and said, “So, young Thomas, how would you like to come out with me for a film and a pizza?” I suppose Mum must have rung him.

  So I had a margherita with extra mushrooms, which is my favourite, and then we saw a film about a bear that has all sorts of adventures, and I thought it would be a bit babyish, but actually it was really good, and Uncle Mike thought so too.

  When we got home, Angie was asleep, and Mum and Dad were having an argument about Shakespeare. Mum was saying, “But you love Shakespeare,” and Dad said, “Yes, of course I love Shakespeare, but they wouldn’t want me and, anyway, stage work just doesn’t pay, and I’m not going to leave you on your own with Angie so ill.”

  Mum said, “I wouldn’t be on my own – Tommy will be here,” and then she said, “You’d always regret it if you didn’t give it a try,” and it turned out that the agent had told Dad to go to an audition at a big theatre where they only do Shakespeare, and in the end Dad said, “All right, I’ll go if you’re sure you’ll be OK.”

  So next morning Dad went off to the theatre, and he didn’t mind so much because Angie hadn’t woken in the night – which seemed like a good sign – in fact she was still asleep – and Mum took one of her study books to sit in Angie’s room for when she woke up. I went out in the garden to feed Snowflake. It was cold, but a lovely day and as I opened the hutch, Snowflake sneaked past my hand and leapt down into the grass.

  I suppose it wanted to hop about in the sunshine, so I said, “All right, you silly rabbit, if that’s what you want. I’ll feed you later.”

  Then I went back into the kitchen and dumped the breakfast things in the dishwasher, and I was just going to ask Mum if there was anything else she wanted me for when the phone rang and it was Uncle Mike to ask after Angie. I heard Mum say, “She’s still asleep.” Then she said, “Why don’t you come over for lunch? Then you can hear all about Shakespeare,” and she asked me to go and sit with Angie while she sorted out some food.

  So I went into Angie’s room and sat down on Mum’s chair by the bed. Angie was almost completely covered by the bedclothes, but what I could see of her face was less red and she was making less noise breathing. So I said, “Hi, Angie,” but she didn’t answer, only I somehow thought that she had heard me, so I thought I’d try saying something more interesting. I made my voice go quite deep and I said, “Rrrrrabbit, rabbit, rabbit!” and she still didn’t say anything, but this time I knew she’d heard me because something in her face was different. So I went on saying rabbit in different voices until she opened her eyes just for a moment and said in a little tiny voice, “Rabbit?”

  I said, “Good morning, rabbit. You’ve had a big sleep,” and Angie opened her eyes completely and said, “Have I?” and I said, “It’s nearly eleven o’clock,” and Angie said, “I was dreaming … Have I missed breakfast?” and I said, “I
don’t think anyone will mind,” and just then Mum came in and so Angie said, “Can I have a boiled egg with brown toast and butter?” and Mum’s face went all pink and wide with a huge smile and she said, “Of course you can.”

  So then the day became quite different because Angie was better, and Mum let her get up just for the pudding at lunch with Uncle Mike, and it all got like a party. Dad was talking about the audition and saying how wonderful it had been to hear Shakespeare spoken by such brilliant actors, and, even though the result had just been the usual, “We’ll be in touch,” it had been worth it for the experience.

  Uncle Mike was talking about the film we had seen together and how both children and grown-ups could enjoy it, and why couldn’t they make a film like that instead of that silly stuff with Gordon Strong, until Mum said, “Goodness, it’s almost tea time.” And just then the telephone rang and it was Miss Bennet to say that her mother was all better and she’d come and collect Snowflake in the morning. And then I remembered that Snowflake had been loose in the garden without food all day long, so I left them all talking and went quickly to feed it and put it back in its hutch.

  It was quite foggy in the garden and at first, when I couldn’t see Snowflake, I wasn’t worried. I thought the silly rabbit must be hiding. But then I realised that it really wasn’t there, and I thought, What on earth …? And then I remembered Dad’s patch on the fence, and I peered at it through the fog, and instead of the patch there was a hole big enough for a whole herd of rabbits to get through into the garden next door.

  I still wasn’t too worried because the hole was big enough for me to squeeze through, and I thought I’d just retrieve Snowflake and bring it back.

  But Snowflake wasn’t in that garden either, and then I saw that there was a little alleyway that led round the side of the house to the street.

  So the stupid rabbit had got out. It could be anywhere. Anywhere at all. And it was all my fault for forgetting to feed it.

  I thought, This really is the Curse of the Rabbit. I could just imagine Miss Bennet’s face when she came next morning and there was no Snowflake. And Mum and Dad would be cross. As for Angie … I thought, I must find that rabbit.

  All the houses in our street have little front gardens, and I thought that Snowflake would have gone into one of those. So I started walking along one side of the road in the fog and peered into each garden, to see if Snowflake was there, but there was no sign of it. Then I walked back up the other side. It took ages, and there was still no rabbit. So that only left the green. I thought, Surely Snowflake would never go back there after all that fright with the dogs.

  But I couldn’t think of anywhere else to look, and it was the only choice, other than going home and telling everybody what had happened. So I thought I might as well try it.

  By this time the fog had got even thicker, and as I crept about staring down into the almost invisible grass on the green, I wondered whether I would be able to see Snowflake even if it was there. I was looking for anything white, and once, for a moment, I thought I’d found it, but it was only a plastic bag.

  And then, suddenly, I heard a dog barking and a voice shouting at it, and I thought, Oh, no! Not again! There was a wobbly light from a torch and a wrinkled face with wild white hair appeared out of the fog, and of course it was the old lady dog walker with just one small dog this time. I suppose she was taking it home.

  The torchlight wavered all over the ground, and I saw that we were standing more or less in the place where we had met before, where Snowflake thought there was a rabbit hole. I tried to tell the old lady about Snowflake escaping, just in case she might have seen it, but the little dog kept barking and she kept shouting at it, and she just said, “Rabbits, eh?” and the little dog barked one more big bark – it had a really loud bark for such a small dog – and they went off into the fog.

  And then, suddenly, something leapt at me out of the darkness and clung to me with all its horrible scratchy claws, and it was Snowflake! And I was so pleased – so terribly, terribly pleased – that all I could think of saying was, “Oh, Snowflake …! Snowflake …!” And then I said, “Really, Snowflake, I told you that there are no rabbits on the green.”

  And I clutched Snowflake tight against my chest and wondered if it would pee on me again, but I thought I wouldn’t mind even that too much, and we set off home.

  As we got back to our street, I wondered if I need tell anyone about Snowflake’s escape. After all, I was the official rabbit keeper, and it was really my fault. Well, Dad’s fault as well, because if he’d made a proper patch on the fence Snowflake couldn’t have got out, only he might not see it that way. I wondered if Mum and Dad had missed me. I thought that with luck they might all just have gone on talking and I could feed Snowflake and then walk in as though nothing had happened.

  So I was walking as fast as I could with my arms glued round Snowflake, and trying to watch where I put my feet because it was really getting hard to see, when someone came towards me out of the fog ahead, and it was Uncle Mike. I started to say, “Hello, Uncle Mike,” but he just stared at me.

  Then he said, “Boy with rabbit,” and he stared at me some more through a shape he made with his fingers, which I know is what he does when he is thinking how to shoot a bit of film. Then he said, “Boy with rabbit in fog. Don’t move, Tommy,” and he got out the little camera he always carries and took a whole lot of pictures. Then he put his arm round my shoulder and said, “I’ll walk home with you,” even though he’d clearly only just come from there.

  When we got home, Dad opened the door, and I started to say, “Dad, Snowflake got out …” but Uncle Mike said, “Just put it back in its hutch, Tommy. Your father and I have to talk.” Then he said, “Alfred,” which is my father’s name, “Alfred, I’ve got an idea.”

  So I put Snowflake back in its hutch and gave it an extra lot of food, and it hadn’t peed on me, which was a relief. When I got back to the living room, Mum and Dad and Uncle Mike were all talking and interrupting each other, and then Dad said, “This calls for a drink,” and they talked a lot more, and then Angie appeared in her nightie and Mum said, “You should be in bed,” but then she wrapped Angie in a big rug and let her stay.

  It turned out that Uncle Mike wanted to make a different film instead of the one with Gordon Strong, and this film would be for children, but also for grown-ups, like the one about the bear he and I had seen together. Uncle Mike thought he could persuade the producer to do this, especially as he already had an idea of what the film should be about, and he knew the producer had the money. “A boy and a rabbit,” said Uncle Mike. “Boy gets rabbit. Boy loses rabbit. Boy finds rabbit. That’s basically what it always boils down to, and I know just the person to write it.”

  Then he said, “Tommy, how would you like to be a film star? Would you like to act the boy with the rabbit?” and I didn’t know what to say. I like it when Dad is acting and I like watching people act in films and on the telly, but I’ve never thought about doing it myself. So I said, “I don’t know,” and then there was a sort of hoarse squeal from inside Angie’s rug and she shouted, “I will! I will! I’ll act the boy with the rabbit!” and everybody laughed, and Dad gave Angie a hug and said, “You’d act the BOY with a rabbit?” and Angie said quite loudly, “Yes. And why does it have to be a boy, anyway?” and Dad and Uncle Mike looked at each other and Uncle Mike said, “She’s got a point.”

  Then I helped Mum put Angie back to bed and I told Mum a bit about Snowflake escaping, and she said, “Oh, well, DIY was never your father’s best thing,” and I said, “I was a bit late feeding Snowflake,” which was sort of true, and she said, “Better give the hutch a bit of a clean before Miss Bennet comes tomorrow.” So I did that, and next day when I got home from school, both Snowflake and the hutch were gone. It was quite odd. I almost missed them.

  But when I went into the house it was even odder. There in the living room were Dad and Uncle Mike, both looking rather smart, talking to a strange man, a
nd there on the table was one of Mum’s special teas all laid out, and Uncle Mike said, “Tommy, come and say hello to the great Charlie Collins.”

  But Mr Collins was not at all like Mr Strong. He was tall and quite large and jolly, and he said, “Ah, so this is the rabbit keeper. I’m sorry I’ve missed meeting that rabbit. I wanted to shake it by the paw. Any rabbit that pees on Gordon Strong’s trousers is my friend,” which I thought was very funny.

  Then Angie and I had our own special tea in the kitchen because, Mum said, Charlie Collins was the producer and he and Dad and Uncle Mike needed to talk. They were still talking when we’d finished tea, so we watched the little telly in the kitchen until bedtime, and I heard the front door go just as I was dropping off to sleep, so the producer must have stayed to supper as well.

  Next morning, Dad was very cheerful, and I said, “Are they going to make the film about the rabbit?” and Dad said, “Well, you never know with films, but it looks as though they possibly might,” and Mum said, “Anyway, how would you like to see your father playing Shakespeare in the theatre?” and it turned out that when the theatre people had said, “We’ll be in touch,” they had actually meant it and they had rung up to offer Dad a job. I hadn’t realised that ever happened. Anyway, Dad kept talking about the wonderful actors he would be working with and he and Mum were smiling, and neither of them said anything about stage work being badly paid, so I suppose it didn’t matter. Only I thought I’d better keep saving my money, just in case.

  But then Uncle Mike and the producer kept coming round to our house for tea, and sometimes the lady who was writing the script came too, and Angie and I got to see a lot of television in the kitchen. Dad said it was because they all enjoyed Mum’s special tea so much, and they really had to make the film, just so that they could keep coming. But, anyway, now it’s really going to happen, and Dad and Angie are both going to be in it. Angie is going to do her rabbit dance, because the producer said it would bring the house down, which I think means that people will like it.