Bunny

I managed to avoid Raffles for three days, after that final argument. I didn't want to; that's why I had to. Or—at first I wanted to. At first I was furious with him; with his recklessness, his stubbornness, his coldness. I half-convinced myself he didn't truly love me at all, that he'd only ever been using me—but then, I thought, what could he possibly have been using me for? To be used, a person really needs to be useful; as far as I could see I was nothing to Raffles but a burden and a liability. And so I found myself reluctantly dragged back to the far more difficult conclusion that Raffles must care for me—in his own way. God, it would have been so much easier if he didn't.

Still, I tried to stay angry. It was easy to stay away when I was angry; when all I remembered was his unsympathetic eye, his merciless snarls, his icy, closed-off moods, his secrets. It was far more difficult to stay away from his laughter, his wit, his humour; the softness of his smiles, the brightness of his eyes, the gentleness of his touch. Three days I had stayed away; three days to give us room to clear our heads, to come around, to breathe, to think. Three days, and I already missed him. Three days and my only certainty after sleepless nights and endless thinking was that, despite everything, I loved him. It would have been so much easier if I didn't.

And, over the course of those three days, I found myself edging ever nearer to the seemingly inevitable conclusion that I would have to walk away for good. Raffles wouldn't run away with me. He would never leave in order to save himself; I don't think he even saw that he needed saving. He always said I saw danger lurking around every corner; he failed to see it when it stared him in the face! What choice did I have? My presence put him in danger. If Raffles wouldn't leave with me, I would have to leave him. It was too dangerous. I was too dangerous. I was too much of a liability, too much of a weak point. Raffles could sink or swim by himself in fair sport and fair play, that was the game we were in; but I wouldn't be the anchor to drown him. I wouldn't be the noose he willingly placed around his own neck.

How could I possibly stay?

I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I rose to pour myself another stiff tumbler of whiskey; the clock on my mantel struck half-past midday as I met my own gaze in the glass. My cigarette was turning to ash as it burned between my fingers, and the circles around my eyes were as dark as my face was pale. Raffles was right, I thought: I looked tired. I was tired, exhausted in perpetuity, carrying a constant weariness of the soul that no amount of sleep could shake. I had so many burdens to bear, so many skeletons dogging my every step, dragging me down, ever clawing at my throat…

I grimaced and turned away, a shudder running through me at the thought that Raffles might be the anchor drowning me, too. I couldn't bear the thought of it. It was one thing to leave him for his sake—it was quite another to leave for my own. I didn't want to even entertain the thought. Raffles was the only person in my life who had taken me as I was, wanted me without condition, accepted me, understood me. And, I thought, I was quite possibly the only person to equally accept and understand him—or, at least, as much as any man could understand A. J. Raffles. I couldn't turn my back on him simply because I was too weak to shoulder the responsibilities I had willingly taken on! I couldn't turn away from him when he cared for me, trusted me, perhaps even needed me! What of loyalty and integrity? What of never turning your back on a friend? What of love?

How could I possibly leave?

But then, and perhaps inevitably, my mind began to turn traitor, whispering insidious thoughts which, though I know in my heart I did not, could not, believe, I still couldn't seem to shake. You don't really love him, they said. You can't love himand he can't love you. This isn't love. This is inversion; perversion; a disturbance of the mind. This is unnatural. This is a sin. I didn't truly believe it—I never did, and I still don't, even now, even after everything. But when all the world is telling you that you are wrong, and you haven't slept properly in weeks, and you are watching as though underwater as your world collapses around you, powerless to stop it—I doubt that better men than I could have remained confident in their convictions. For me, it was all too easy to believe that I was being punished for who and what I was.

And I couldn't help but reflect on how much of my own villainy was down to my love for Raffles. Had I not gone to him in the first place, as my last resort, because I had loved him so ardently as a boy? Had I not stayed out of love for him, first and foremost? Had I not loved him, I could have avoided all of this. I had so steadfastly believed that no matter what else I did, no matter what sins I might commit, loving him could never be one; but what did I know about sin? Who on earth was I, of all people, to be trusted to form opinions on morality? I was a thief. And even before I was a thief, I was hardly a moral man! A gambler, a debtor, a fool, and as intemperate a young blood as ever walked the earth. How could I trust my own sense of what was right, when it was so clearly broken? My moral compass was as reliable as a weathervane before a windmill.

...But I did love him. The treacherous voice in my head ran into a solid wall when it ran up against that. I loved him; I loved him truly, completely, selflessly; I loved him as naturally as I breathed air. How could I ever do anything but? He was A. J. Raffles. What life was there without him?

...And yet, what life was there with him?

Such was the state of my irresolution. I felt I was stumbling along an edge over which I could all too easily drop; and I half felt I wanted to. I was doing myself no good, I knew it, but I was as capable of stopping it as holding back a storm. The walls were closing in on me. I had to get out. And, so, moving as though controlled by some disinterested spirit, I ran a comb through my hair, pulled on a coat, and did as Raffles had so often advised. I went for a walk.

It was a beautiful day. The late April sunshine was cold but bright, and the world which had been long oppressed by so harsh a winter seemed to be springing back into life with a vengeance. In the park, birds sang in trees and hedgerows, flowers budded and blossomed in grass almost too vibrant a green, and the endless blue sky was improved rather than marred by perfect white clouds drifting across its face. A young man nodded to me, a lady smiled, a child ran past laughing, chasing her little dog. It was the kind of day that grabs you by the lapels and insists you sit up and take notice; I did not fail to. As I strolled with my hands in my pockets and my gaze wandering, I felt the warmth of the sun on my back, the gentle breeze pleasantly nipping my cheeks, and, for just a fleeting moment I felt, if not perfectly happy, if not truly content, if not entirely at peace, then at least some watered down imitation of those things. But that was enough. That was enough to remind me that I could feel those things when I stepped out of the shade and into the sun. There was still beauty in the world. There was a world worth living in.

'Hello, Bunny!' I broke out of my reverie as a shadow fell over my path, and I turned to look up into the face of A. J. Raffles. He smiled down at me, as bright and cheerisome as ever he was, his inky curls stark against the crisp, bright sky, the sun over him, a halo. 'You need to pay more attention to your surroundings,' he said, his smile breaking into a laugh at my surprise. 'It is far too easy to catch you off guard, my boy.'

'I pay a great deal of attention to my surroundings,' I protested. 'Just because I'm not constantly holding half an ear out for your silent feet behind me doesn't mean I don't pay attention. I was only paying attention to something other than you; is that such a sin?'

'I'm just joking,' he replied with a condescending shake of his dark head, threading his hand into the crook of my elbow as he spoke, walking alongside me. I let him. 'Are you headed anywhere in particular?'

'No. Just walking.'

'Then I'll join you. I was just on my way to find you, as matter of fact, Bunny. Lucky I decided to come through the park and take advantage of some sunshine first, or I'd no doubt have missed you.'

'Lucky,' I nodded, wondering how much luck had actually been involved.

'How are you feeling today? That head of yours all right?'

'The bruise is fading,' said I, touching a protective hand to the brim of my cap.

'And you?' he asked, the concern in his grey eyes so earnest that I couldn't help but melt beneath his gaze.

'...Not fading,' I inevitably smiled back.

'I am glad to hear it,' Raffles said, and my heart tripped in my chest at the warmth of his smile. 'And I'm glad to see you out getting some sun whilst it lasts. You've been looking far too pale of late, Bunny, my boy. What you need is fresh air—and this is just the right sort of day for it!'

'It is a nice day, isn't it?'

'A nice day? It is a beautiful day, Bunny! I've half a mind to get out my watercolours again, you know. Everything's so deucedly full of colour in the spring; doesn't it just make you yearn to capture and keep a glimpse of it forever? And after such a beast of a winter, every drop of colour is a sight for sore eyes. Every blade of grass seems like a work of art on a day like this, don't you think? Every tree supersedes the chisel of Michelangelo, every flower, the brush of Burne-Jones… it is exactly the sort of day that makes a man glad he's alive!'

'It is lovely,' I replied, 'even for London.'

Raffles glanced at me from the corner of his eye. 'I think I'll choose to ignore that decidedly un-patriotic comment, Bunny. London may have it's faults, as do we all, but as a place to live, and work, and experience life in all of its glorious variety, I'd challenge any man to find better! Just look out at that scene, Bunny,' he said, gesturing to the open green where a group of boys were playing an informal cricket match; paths where ladies with colourful parasols strolled; where the Serpentine in the far distance sparkled in the sunlight. 'Look at that and dare to name a fault worth finding! London, Bunny, London is the most magnificent place in the world!'

I smiled at his panegyrics, but didn't attempt to reply to them. 'Do you think you will get your paints out?' I asked.

'I might,' he shrugged. 'Why? Is there anything particular you would like me to paint for you?'

'No. I only wondered. You should paint more often, A. J; you're so good at it. You could easily make a career of it, if you set your mind to it—of that I'm certain. And you always seem so at ease when you paint. I'm sure it does you good. It does me good to see it.'

'At ease is up for debate; though I am certainly at easel,' he answered, eyes twinkling, a schoolboy smirk tugging at the corners of that unscrupulous mouth. How could I help but laugh along with him?

'You're too quick for your own good, A. J.' I chuckled, shaking my head. 'That was terrible.'

'Perhaps,' he grinned. 'Though it seems to have served its purpose—Oh, incoming! Look out, Bunny!'

Those latter words came as an unexpected cry, as Raffles stepped in front of me and caught an errant cricket ball which came far too close for preference to my head. Following in its wake came a sheepish and somewhat surprised-looking boy, offering apologies and excuses along the lines that, 'Williams never 'its a six, 'e 'ardly ever 'its anything, 'e's the worst batter we got, so we was all off our guards, sirs, otherwise I should 'ave caught the rotten thing, don't mean no 'arm by it, sirs, sorry, sirs. Please don't tell Miss!'

A. J. glanced at me as the boy made his excuses, a smile catching in the fine lines around his eyes, flashing amusement, as I raised my eyebrows in silent reply. The intimacy of that effortless, wordless communication between us wrapped around me like a blanket after a night locked out in the cold. Things could be so easy with A. J., sometimes, so comfortable, so warm. Three days ago may as well have been three thousand, in that moment.

As the child finished his sheepish justifications, Raffles assumed an air of theatrical, schoolmasterly officiousness. 'Never fall off your guard when fielding, boy,' he said sternly to the little cricketer, tossing the ball in one hand as he spoke, wagging the finger of the other. 'A good fielder is an alert fielder; don't forget it!'

'No sir. Sorry, sir—' the boy stopped short as he finally looked up from his shoes and clocked to whom he was talking. 'Gorblimey!' the young ruffian cried with some glee, diffidence fled. 'You're A. J. Raffles, in't ya!'

Raffles' cheeks twitched in the way they always did when he was trying not to grin. He tossed the cricket ball back to the little lad. 'So they say. And who are you, young man?'

'Me? I'm nobody, sir. But my name's Jerome!' Little Jerome hopped on his feet, clasping the red ball with both hands in front of his chest. 'I can't believe you're A. J. Raffles! A. J. Raffles just caught Williams' ball!'

'I'd be more surprised if A. J. Raffles failed to catch a schoolboy's ball…' said I, and Raffles' eye met mine once more with a sparkle, his suppressed grin threatening to crack.

'You saved our side by catchin' that, Mr. Raffles!' the boy cried. 'They'd've taken the lead if that'd bounced!'

'Surely not! My catching it won't rob poor Williams of his well deserved six, will it?' Raffles replied, brow creasing into a frown. 'I don't know what rules you lot are playing by, but the M.C.C. doesn't allow non-players to field in a match, my lad!'

'Come play with us, then,' the cheeky imp grinned. 'Then you'll be a player, too, an' 'elp us claw back, er, victory from the jaws of defeat, as they say!'

'And show you the proper rules of play whilst I'm at it… whatever do they teach 'em these days, Bunny?'

Another boy had by then run up to join us, no doubt to either rescue or berate his pal, depending on what situation he met with on arrival. But upon seeing with whom his friend was talking, the boy stopped in his tracks. 'That's A. J. Raffles,' he said, blankly.

''Right! 'E's gonna come play with us, in't ya, Mr. Raffles?' the first boy said with an impudent grin, causing the second to squeak and hop about a bit.

'Really? Are you, Mr. Raffles, sir?'

'Well now, I didn't quite say that—' Raffles began, immediately hesitating beneath the entreating, imploring, adoring looks from his young fans. He glanced at me with an exasperated sigh and shrugged defeat. 'Oh, all right. I suppose I might, for ten minutes—and no more! And only if my friend, here, can play too.'

The boys nodded their heads enthusiastically; I shook mine with as much vigour. 'Not me! You go ahead, A. J.; I'll help keep score from the sidelines, and hold your coat.'

'Are you sure I can't convince you, Bunny?'

'Very sure.'

With that, Raffles shot me a charming smile, a twinkle in his eye as he clapped me on the shoulder, shrugged off his jacket and thrust it into my arms, and sprinted off to the makeshift crease, every bit as much the schoolboy as his temporary teammates. He played with the boys, to their unbridled joy, for about half an hour—and it was half an hour of ridiculously enthusiastic play from Raffles. He seemed more concerned with putting on an entertaining show than giving a lesson in good cricket. It did my heart some much needed good to watch. In so many ways still retaining his own boyish enthusiasm, Raffles had as easy a knack with children as he did with everyone else. Raffles at play was a joy to behold.

Eventually he let one of the littler ones get him out, and left the field to a chorus of pleas to stay, and cheers and jeers filled with the high spirits of boys who would no doubt be telling this as an anecdote to their own children, one day. When my Raffles returned to me, he did so with flushed cheeks, dishevelled hair, and with the most innocent and wholesome glitter sparkling in those bright, blue-grey eyes.

That was how I loved Raffles best. Full of life, full of cheer—he was sunshine incarnate, in moments like those. How could a man who lived so much in shadow be himself so full of light? How could someone be so wonderful in so many ways, and yet in others be so villainously bad? I knew that Raffles was a good man at heart, no matter what he claimed. Had life not dealt him the hand it had done, had he not that one peculiar kink in his nature, he might have been the best and brightest of saints. I had never known a man like him—I doubted one had ever existed. No one else could come close.

'It was good of you to play with them,' I said, as Raffles slipped his arm once more through mine and resumed our walk. 'They'll be talking of that for weeks.'

'Consider it my one selfless deed for the year!'

'Selfless deed? You looked as though you were having as much fun as the boys!'

'Well, fun it may have been, but this suit was certainly not made for playing cricket in,' he replied, running his finger beneath his collar. 'And I've a grass-stain on my knee from that idiotic dive! ...Still, I can't deny it does the soul some good, Bunny, to see the youngsters getting into the sport. Their technique is always awful, but their enthusiasm for it simply can't be beat.'

'Who was the young lady you were talking with?'

'Hm? Who? Oh—that was just one of their schoolmistresses. They're all from a little school over near Bayswater, apparently. They're taking a half-holiday, today, and were in jolly high spirits because of it. We had a few jolly half-holidays ourselves, back at the old school, do you remember?'

'She was very pretty. I'm surprised she didn't convince you to stay longer.'

'She did try,' Raffles laughed. 'They're having a picnic down by the lake, along with some other teachers, and the young lady extended me an invitation to join them.'

'Why didn't you take it?'

'Why would I?'

I shrugged, and Raffles chatted on, wagging happily away about everything and nothing, anything that came into that curly head of his. I listened to him with a smile, letting myself laugh at his jokes, buoyed up by his vigour, infectious and charming and insuppressible as it was. Raffles sparkled like the Serpentine that afternoon. I could scarcely own that less than two hours earlier I had been so mired in despair and conflict that I could barely think straight; that I had been on the verge of contemplating actions which just then seemed to me unthinkable.

Still, part of me couldn't help but wonder whether cheering me up and distracting me from our troubles had been Raffles' particular goal in finding me that day in the first place. Winning me around, avoiding further argument, smoothing over the rough with his masterful glamour, rather than repairing the cracks... A. J. Raffles, when he set his mind to it, was spellbinding; completely irresistible in the truest, purest sense. Not even the blackest of my moods could fully hold out against a concentrated Raffleite onslaught, and certainly not for any prolonged period of time. Certainly not on a day as beautiful and bright as he was. He knew that as well as I did.

After a while we found ourselves wandering, aimless, down a densely tree-lined footpath, the shadows and sunlight which speckled the earth beneath our feet dancing for our eyes alone.

'Ah, Bunny, hold up a minute,' Raffles interrupted himself after a while of wondering aloud who should succeed Tennyson as the poet laureate. He laid a hand on my shoulder and brought our stroll to a stop, speaking now in a lowered voice. 'I quite forgot to mention: a portion of our recent endeavours has been made liquid, if you'll excuse the coy speech. I've got your half here—that's what I was coming over to see you about, as you hadn't stopped by the Albany. It's only seventy-five for now, I'm afraid; I'm waiting on the rest of it. Still, nothing to shake a stick at! How's that to gild an already glorious day, eh, Bunny mine?'

Far from it! The bright spring skies darkened around me, the wholesome atmosphere of that perfect afternoon suddenly sullied by the mere mention of our crimes. I found myself hauled from the meadows of paradise back down to earth—or lower—with an unhappy crash, and I groaned aloud at the thud. 'Oh, don't, Raffles. Don't.'

'Don't what? Give you the money? Gone off the stuff, have you?' he said, not without the hint of a sneer. 'Look, old chap, don't fret; it's in an envelope, it's perfectly safe; not a thing to be suspicious about, even were there anyone around to raise suspicion. But if you prefer it, let us amble on back to your flat and stash it away so that you feel more at ease. Then I'll take you out for a late lunch; what do you say to that? I've heard very good things about a quiet little place over in Chelsea that's just opened this month.'

'What do I say?' I hissed, dragging him under the closer cover of the already quiet and secluded tree-lined path, seeking out the security of the shadows which fell upon the grassy verge. 'Raffles, how can you speak about—that—here? On such a day as this? Why did you have to bring it up? Why do you always have to bring it up?'

'Do you not want the money?' he said, lighting a cigarette, speaking with a languid cynicism that made my hackles rise. 'I can keep it myself if you prefer.'

'I don't want it!' I cried in hushed tones, foolishly meaning it. 'I don't want anything to do with it!'

'You might not, but I'm sure your creditors do, my boy. You run up debts faster than I score runs,' Raffles replied sharply. What he read in my face in response to his harsh (though not untrue) words, I don't know, but he immediately softened. 'Oh, look, I'm sorry. You know I don't mean to scold you, my dear chap—I'm hardly one to talk, on that front. But what good does it do you, Bunny, to always flirt with these lapses into virtue, when you and I both know you'll never commit? What's done is done, and it is nothing but idiocy to take the risks and then refuse the rewards—rewards which you jolly well earned, by the way. Come now, Bunny, do take it without a fuss. You must need it. You always do.'

Raffles pulled the envelope of notes from his pocket and pressed it into my hand and—though I vacillated briefly— though my conscience was pricking—I took it from him. He was right: I did need it. I always did.

And right then, right in that very moment, caught between sunlight and shadows, I saw all of my moral quandaries and deliberations for what they were: nothing but the vilest of hypocrisies. I could lament our criminality and the danger it put us in until I all but wished myself dead—but I wouldn't let it stop me from burning through money like a spark in a tinder box. I'd never let it prevent me from time and again getting myself into debt, and running back to A. J. to get me out of it—knowing full well just how he would go about doing so. In pretending to care about his safety and my honour, in pretending at morality and finer feeling, I was the worse villain all along.

I had thought I was a risk to Raffles only for my uselessness and my love, but I saw then, as I took from him the cash I so direly needed to pay off my many and mounting debts, that my sins were far greater than that. Far greater, even, than merely my role in the burglaries themselves—for wasn't the ninth circle of Hell reserved not for thieves, but for traitors? And what was I, if not a traitor, to both Raffles and myself? Proclaiming one cause with my words, and another with my actions; swearing loyalty to him with an oath, whilst burying a knife in his back with another!

My love was sinful—I saw that, then, with perfect clarity. But my sin lay not where society and the law claimed it did, and not even in the danger in which it placed us both. My love was sinful because it was selfish—because I was selfish. I could sit and worry about our immortal souls, the morality of our relationship, our partnership, until I took my last breath, but what value was there in that when all the while I was actively and wilfully placing Raffles' mortal self in danger? When I encouraged him to place himself in danger, whilst I stood by and criticised him for it—all for money!

And it would be my fault when we finally got run in, one way or another. When he got run in, one way or another. It would be my fault when that perfect, idyllic, heartening portrait of A. J. Raffles playing cricket in the park was torn from its frame and dashed to the ground; when the admiration in the eyes of those boys was extinguished by scandal; when the good name Raffles had made for himself was cast into the dirt. And when the little name of mine I still so desperately clung to was lost for good, I would deserve it for all of my selfishness, my profligacy, and my villainy. For thirty pieces of silver, I was sealing Raffles' fate with a kiss.

In the brilliance of that beautiful April afternoon in the park, amidst healthful cheer, and on the arm of the Raffles I loved best, my mind was finally made up. If I had ever cared for him, I had to prove it. If my love was worth anything, I had to live it. If I had any scrap of honour or virtue left in me, I had to wield it.

I had to be better.

I had to leave.

'There's a good chap,' Raffles smiled, as I tucked the envelope he'd given me into my inner coat pocket. 'I knew you'd see sense; you always do. Now, I don't know about you, but all of this fresh air and walking has given me quite the appetite. Let's get lunch.'

'No,' I said, mustering up a weak smile along with my courage, 'I can't. I'm sorry. I forgot—I have something I'm supposed to do.'

'Anything I can help with?'

'No,' I said. 'But—thank you, A. J.'

'For what? Surely not for the cash, bless you; you earned that!'

'No, not for that.' I swallowed and forced myself to meet his eye; forced myself to look at him; to smile at him; to take in every bit of him, knowing this chance might well be my last. 'For—I don't know what for. For being my friend. I'm—sorry.'

'What a strange mood the rabbit is in today,' Raffles said with a bright smile and a dark eye, his interrogating gaze raking me over; God knows what it found. 'Whatever do you have to be sorry for?'

'Nothing—everything. For—' I shrugged. 'I'm just sorry.'

'...Are you feeling quite well, Bunny?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Perfectly fine. It's only that I—I really do have to go,' I said, forcing a smile onto my lips, coming to my senses, my heart catching up with the decision of my head and threatening a war. I had to get away before it won. 'I'm sorry to turn you down for lunch, that's all I meant. I'm afraid I've been a poor companion, of late. I'm sorry for that, too.'

'Not a bit of it,' Raffles replied, softly, his hand touching my elbow. 'We'll do it another day. We've all the time in the world, after all! And I am hoping to collect the rest of the money within the next few days; we can go out then; indulge in some minor celebration. I'll bring it round to you, when I get it, if you prefer. It was a bit rotten of me to spring it on you out here, after all.'

'No! No, don't do that,' said I, sharply. 'That is, I'll—I'll come to you. Or telephone, or write a note, or something,' I added as breezily as I could beneath his increasingly concerned expression. 'I've a lot to do, that's all. Deadlines to write for, you know how it is. ...Oh, don't look at me like that, Raffles. It's only that I don't know when I'll be in, and I'd hate for you to waste a trip.'

'I'd hardly call a ten minute walk a "wasted trip", Bunny—but whatever suits you,' he shrugged. 'Only—please don't be too hard on yourself, Bunny. You hear me? You're running yourself half ragged. It's not healthy.'

'Don't worry about me. I really am fine, just—tired,' I promised; I smiled; I lied. 'I'll be all right, A. J. But I'd really best be off, old boy.'

We shook hands in farewell, then, both of us lingering, each of us reluctant to let the other go. I wonder, now, whether in that moment, he knew. Raffles always could read me like a book; I wondered what sort we were. A romance marked for tragedy; an adventure doomed to fail; a moralising tale where the heroes turned to villains, and the villains lost the lot. Lost their futures; lost themselves; lost their last chance at redemption. A book where we burned.

Not by my pen. I'd spill no more ink for that story, nor for its inevitable climax. I intended to re-write our ending.

And I began by walking away.