An Easter Story

Robin Wrigley

pink gin and tonic

The Tuesday after Easter Marjorie and Audrey passed pleasantries in the street.

    

    ‘Are your next door’s back from their holiday Audrey?’

     ‘Yes, I’m glad you asked me that.’

   

    ‘Why’s that?’

    

    ‘Well, the afternoon they left, Muffin starts barking his head off. When I went out to see what the noise was about he’s only got the Dawkins bleedin’ rabbit in his mouth!’

    

     ‘What on earth did you do?’

    

     ‘I yelled at him and managed to get the poor thing off of him. Course he was dead and covered with dirt where he’d been dragged round the garden. I cleaned it up as best I could; it was such a dear little thing. Luckily they’d given me a set of house keys so I was able to take him back through to their garden and put him back in his hutch.’

     

       ‘Did they say anything when they came back?’

      

      ‘Well that’s the strangest thing. The next morning she cooed over the back fence. I went out fearing the worst and she is standing there, white as a sheet, like she’s seen a ghost.

      

     She says to me, something really weird has happened.

     

      She says – two days before we went away, Rupert our rabbit died and we buried him in the back garden. 

    

      Oh I am so sorry I says. But then she says, it’s worse than that.

     

     What could be worse I says, trying me best not to colour up, I mean I was near to having a pink fit.

    

     'When we got home Rupert was back in his hutch.’