Rabbits Books

A different take on on the story. One of my first ever competition entires

Rabbit’s Books

 

The rain had fallen heavily all day turning the bustling roads of London in to distorted mirror images reflected by the vast puddles rippling on their surfaces. A black cab went past, hissing as its wheels sliced through the surface water and continued along with its journey. The horns of vehicles away in the distance did not diminish with the weather, but if they were emanating from Trafalgar Square as Alice thought, nothing short of the end of the world would stop the traffic and road rage along the jammed lanes of the infamous tourist attraction.

     Alice wandered quickly along Carroll Lane, trying to outrun the summer rain that England had become so accustomed to. Having spent all day working her socks off without a break and putting in one hell of a shift as it was a cash-in-hand agreement, she wanted  nothing more than to return home, run a bath and curl up with a good book. A book! That was it! Alice sighed with distain as she remembered her plan before leaving her flat this morning. The new Martina Cole had been released, and as a fan of the crime writer she had planned to pop out during her lunch break and pick up a copy. Not having a lunch break meant not having the book she wanted.

     “Damn,” she muttered to herself as she wandered along the quiet road. Her blond hair had turned brown and matted against her blue coat as the rain continued to fall. ‘You’ll never outrun an English summer,’ she thought to herself as she scurried across the paving slabs of  urban London. Her heels clicked once or twice as she gained speed through the dreary afternoon. Alice began almost speed walking as the frustration of the weather and the lack of the book she desired played on her mind. She wanted that book so badly she decided to brave the rainfall and go get it. But where would she go? Waterstone’s and Foyle’s would require her to jump on the tube and head out towards Leicester Square and up to Charring Cross Road, and as much as she wanted the book, she certainly wasn’t going to tackle the tube at rush hour just to find a book shop that stocked it.

     She muttered some more as frustration set in and noticed the rainfall become heavier. “Great,” she groaned, her mood as vibrant as the London skyline.

     As Alice wandered the street further she noticed something odd. With the exception of the taxi that passed a short while ago there was no other traffic. There was none heading toward her, and as she glanced over her shoulder and adjusted her Gucci handbag noticed none coming from the opposite direction. This was indeed strange. A street in central London with no traffic or pedestrians?

     As Alice turned back she noticed a funny shaped chalkboard placed in the doorway of a shop she was rapidly approaching. From the top of the board the head, ears and paws of a rabbit emerged, resting gently atop of the sign. The rabbit was wearing a pair of reading spectacles that rested halfway between its eyes and nose, and reminded Alice briefly of her Grandmother who used to wear her glasses in a similar fashion. As she approached and wiped the rain from her eyes she saw clearly what the sign read:

 

RABBIT’S BOOKS

New Releases! First Editions!

We have ALMOST everything!

COME IN AND LOOK AROUND!

 

Alice came to a standstill in front of the bay windows of the old shop. They were grubby and dark, much like a shop born of the Dickensian era of London. The brown frames they stood between appeared worn and weathered, prompting Alice to wonder why she’d never noticed this bookshop before. The sign on the board said new releases. She guessed it was worth a try. At least she could get out of the rain for a while whilst she browsed inside if nothing else.

 

     A small bell rang as she opened the door and rushed inside from the harsh, British summer. She stood in the entrance and wiped the rain from her eyes yet again. Over to her left lived a small counter, but her eyes had been drawn to something a little more fantastic. Piles and piles of books from floor to ceiling, various colours, and widths, some even with cobwebs across their spines filled the entire shop. Small towers of both paper and hardback publications had been left in the middle of some aisles, looking like they had simply been left there as nowhere else could house them. The shop provided no light bulbs or lamps, but in their place candles flickered from their mounts and holders in the walls, bathing the shop in an amber glow made even brighter from the poor light outside.

     The pungent smell of tobacco filled Alice’s nose. From behind the counter a slight man appeared, smoking a huge, Sherlock Holmes-style pipe. He was much older than she, say late fifties at a quick guess, and wore a thin pair of simple glasses that harboured some harsh, judging eyes. “And who are you?” he asked abrasively, standing there with his nose in the air, almost looking down upon the customer who had entered.

     “Excuse me?” Alice snapped abruptly, the anger at being spoken to in such a way clearly within her tone.

     “Ah,” the man sighed, shaking and lowering his head in annoyance. “I asked who you were,” he replied, removing the pipe from his mouth and pointing it toward her.

     Alice stood there momentarily shocked. If she had entered McDonalds or The Body Shop she would have expected to be greeted by somebody this miserable, but not in a small, independent shop that probably needed her to purchase something to survive.

     “How rude!” she stated, looking at the amber flicker of the candles dance across the vendor’s face. “Isn’t it more likely for the customer to ask who the merchant may be?”

     “Very well,” the man sighed, obviously put out by her presence. “I am Mr Hooker, and you are?”

     “Interested in buying a book, Mr, err, Hooker?”

     “Well, it never dawned upon me for one moment that you came in to a book store to find a book.”

     “Excuse me?” Alice snarled.

     “Excuse me!” Mr Hooker snapped. “I know exactly what book it is that has brought you to our shop, the new Martina Cole, eh? Correct me if I’m wrong?”

     “Well,” Alice began, still upset of course, but confused as to how this rude, obnoxious little man knew what she was looking for.

     “No, no. Don’t tell me,” he began, placing the pipe back in his mouth and wondering away from the counter, “I can tell you all a mile off. Commercialism, that’s what it is. They tell you to buy a book and you buy it. Why don’t you just head to WH Smiths or Waterstones? I’m sure you’ll find it there!” Hooker disappeared behind a huge bookcase. Alice heard him ruffling through what sounded like pages of paper and heard the occasional thud as a book hit the floor. “How about the Tales of Averon? A fantastic series of books that keeps true to the art of storytelling? No. And you know why? Because you weren’t told to buy it!”

     Alice stood in amazement as she listened to the ramblings of Mr Hooker from beyond the shelf. Books banged, pages rustled, and after a moment or so he emerged with nothing. “I have it, but that little rat of a tea boy was reading it earlier back in the cafeteria.”

     “Really?” Alice began, raising an eyebrow toward the book seller. “You have a cafeteria here, in this shop?”

     Hooker removed the pipe once again and sighed. “Yes I do!” he snapped, and pointed across the shop to a small wooden door. “Seems I had to, to keep up with the commercial retailers. Buy a book, buy a drink, it appears to be the norm these days. And if I have to survive then that is what I must do. He’s through there. Get it back and I’ll sell the book to you at half the price.”

     “Half price?” Alice asked, unsure if he was being sarcastic.

     Hooker let out another sigh. “Perhaps I should write it down for you?”

     “No,” Alice replied bluntly. In a matter of minutes she had grown to despise this wretched man, and liked the idea of swindling him out of money. It wasn’t the first time she’d cheated finances from someone, that was for sure. “I’ll get it and bring it back, for half price.”

     “Well hurry along, Alice, I’m closing soon.”

     Alice began making her way across the flimsy floorboards and between the narrow gaps of the aged shelves but stopped. How did he know her name? She turned to confront Hooker but he’d vanished. She scoured the shop completely but could find him nowhere. ‘Probably ducked behind the shelves again,’ she thought to herself. She turned back and entered the door.

 

The small room housed three tables with two chairs that all looking dilapidated and old, and another counter with a kettle beyond it. Behind the counter another door lead to what Alice thought must be a store room or something. A brown teddy rested next to the kettle. As Alice approached she saw it was a tatty brown rabbit, with two odd, mis-sized buttons for eyes.

     “Can I help you, miss?”

     Alice jumped. She turned to see a small man, probably no bigger than Mr Hooker himself but a lot younger. He had an oversized, bulbous nose and was wearing a top hat in no better condition than the teddy on the side.

     “Um, yes, I think?” she flustered, noticing his dress sense and wondering what type of shop she had entered.

     The man smiled revealing dull, yellow teeth. “You can call me Haghter. I’ll get you a lovely cup of tea, then.” He made his way around the counter and turned the kettle on.

     “Err, no, thank you, I’m just here for a book.”

     Haghter stared at her. “No tea? But why not? There’s always time for tea?” he asked worriedly.

     “The man out front, um, Mr Hooker? Well, he sent me in to collect a book from you? The new Martina Cole?” Alice raised her eyebrows to question the man in the hat. The kettle now began rumbling.

     “Ah, right,” he began, reaching below the counter. After a moment of ceramic clatter he presented three white cups. He then found a teapot, probably from the same shelf, and placed it beside them. Alice looked awkwardly at them. Why three?

     “Tell you what. I’ll make us all a nice cuppa and I’ll go out back where I left it and get it for you. How does that sound?”

     Strangely, Alice began to feel uncomfortable. Whether it was the sight of three cups for just the two of them or the shop in general, she was unsure.

     A dormouse landed on the counter. Alice screamed and jumped back. It scurried rapidly across the surface and weaved between the obstacles. “Don’t worry miss, it won’t harm you, it’s just a mouse. Why don’t we see if he wants to have a cuppa with the three of us?”

     “Three?” Alice asked, now keeping a safe distance from the counter.

     “Yes, you, me, and hare.”

     “Hare?”

     “Oh yes, I haven’t introduced you.” Haghter left the dormouse upon the counter allowing it to run back and forth as it pleased. The first thing it did was open its tiny bowel and leave a pile of three droppings clumped together. Haghter fumbled next to the kettle that was about to boil and presented the tattered teddy. “This is him. Hare, meet this nice lady. Sorry, didn’t catch your name?”

     “Alice,” came a deep voice from behind the anxious customer. Alice span round to see Mr Hooker stood with another gentleman.

     “How did you know my name?” she asked nervously.

     “I know everything about you,” he began, harbouring a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “I’ve been following you for some time now, miss. The name’s Cheshire. Lewis Cheshire, from her majesties customs and excise,” he replied, producing an ID from a wallet the way they do in the the cop shows on television. “We’ve been monitoring you for some time now. Seems you forgot to mention to the good people at the tax office that you’ve been working, and for a long time too. That’s a hefty bill you’ve run.”

     “What?” Alice asked, caught immediately off guard by the appearance of the custom’s officer.

     “Shall we maybe continue this conversation elsewhere?” Cheshire asked, still grinning wildly.

 

Alice left the bookshop and entered a car waiting outside. Mr Hooker and Haghter watched on from the bay window. The rain continued to fall heavily across the London borough. Cheshire looked back at the two men watching from the shelter of their shop. He smiled once more, nodded at them and entered the car. Slowly it pulled away and headed down Carroll Lane.

     “How strange,” Mr Hooker said as he watched them vanish in to the gloom. “Having a tax cheat arrested within our shop.”

     “I thought maybe you it was you who would be arrested for smoking in a public place,” Haghter responded.

     Hooker shook his head gently. “No, not when there are criminals out there like her. I mean, what did she expect? That she would continue to get away with it? You can’t get one over on the government. One thing’s for sure; they know the detail of every one of their peasant’s that owes them money.”

     Haghter laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe she thought she’d be escaping to a different world when she came in here. I mean, did you honestly expect her to be arrested for tax evasion when she came in?”

Author's Note

Just a little bit of fun.

Reviews

[John Alexander McFadyen]

As always you ideas are a mix of the familiar with a few new ingredients. bit like English curry! Definitely fun and well woven with good characterisation and dialogue. A few bits of editing needed, for example:

Small towers of both paper and hardback publications had been left in the middle of some aisles, looking like they had simply been left there as nowhere else could house them.-sloppy to use been left in the same sentence when not for effect.

The shop provided no light bulbs or lamps- the shop had no light bulbs or lamps. Provide means it would either offer them for sale or give them in some way.

I’ll get it and bring it back, for half price.”- she was not going to bring it back for half price, she was gaining to bring it back on condition that Mr Hooker had agreed to sell it to her for half price.

That’s a hefty bill you’ve run.” Not a good sentence but if you are going to use it I suggest you say 'run up'

Alice left the bookshop and entered a car waiting outside-a lazy sentence that fails to describe what was actually happening.

[Alan]

Yes absolutely, i agree John. i didn't really want to edit this as it was written a few years ago when i first became published, and to me serves as a reminder of how far i have come along as a writer. I will of course remember your advice for future projects!

[Nicky Sarti]

Your writing went tiny!!! (Dang these new bloody glasses!!)
Shall have to shave a longer squint at this later ~ but no sleepies (again) makes it hard to focus!
(Bet it's brilliant though)

[Allan W]

A nice piece - I like the way it is a play on lewis carroll's work. It felt a bit rushed and anti-climatic at the end though. I think most of it is really good and well written. It would definitely be worth editing as per John's comments and adding an alternative ending perhaps?