An idiot rabbit sat upright dead ahead, staring, mesmerized by his headlights. He felt it bump under his front wheel. Then a more violent bump as they jolted through a rut.He’d holed up in the Brighton station car park until dusk, wanting his approach to his factory to be in the dark, to give the minimum chance of being spotted. He’d spent a highly enjoyable few hours just sitting in the van, reading out loud to Red, in the back, all the texts she had sent him in the months of their courtship. There were some gems, some absolute gems! Too bad he couldn’t hear her reaction, because he didn’t dare remove the gag in case she tried screaming.Now they were on their way! He hummed to himself in tune to the music. Opera! He’d never got the damned stuff when he was young. It was only when he’d worked on the runway inspection team at Gatwick Airport that one of his colleagues had explained it to him. Or, rather, unexplained it.Opera, he had said, is raw emotion. Forget trying to intellectualize it, just let the emotion carry you along.Yep.
