I don't plan to. I ask what he wants for his birthday and he says a pet. I was thinking a hamster or a goldfish – I'm not really much of an animal lover – but Blake pulls me over to the rabbit pen, eyes shining with excitement.
“That's him! Look Mummy, his name's Jumpy. He wants to live with us.”
And how can I say no to that face, those eyes already so full of love?
So this tiny scrap with those ridiculous floppy ears comes home. Blake cries when I drag the hutch into the garden.
“Mummy, no, he'll be lonely and sad and scared out here!”
I put the hutch in the living room.
Two weeks later I'm ordering gourmet hay on the Internet. We learn to identify wild plants and collect tasty leaves for Jumpy on our walk home from school. We do feeding and cleaning together every day. Jumpy now has two blankets, five litter trays, his own shelf in the fridge for (organic) vegetables, almost as many toys as Blake, and the run of the house. But his favourite place is under Blake's bed.
Jumpy lives up to his name, careering around the house performing incredible leaps, kicking up his heels in joyous abandon. We watch for hours, Blake's delighted giggles replacing the now-forgotten blare of the television.
We drive home early from a holiday after approximately six hours in Cornwall because Blake can't stand the idea of the rabbit missing him.
A day out with his father ends in an argument after a joke about cooking Jumpy in a pie. The man I once loved tells me he's sick of hearing about that stupid rabbit all the time, and there's a bitter edge to his voice. Bitterness, from a man who chose to leave us for
her.
That night Blake wakes shaking and sweating from a nightmare, rabbit snuggled next to him. I rock my terrified son, and he sobs over and over, “Don't let him hurt Jumpy.”
I take a toy rabbit with Blake to the hospital. He cuddles it dutifully, but it's no substitute. The photograph of them together - big blue eyes and big brown eyes grinning for the camera - is better, and he clings to it like he can't let go. I cling to him. I don't want to let go either.
But I go home and feed Jumpy and watch TV with the sound off in the dark and wait for my son to be healed so he can come home. We both wait.
Later I find a letter under his pillow. The word “Mummy” screws my heart up like it's a ruined piece of paper.
Mummy
when i am gon Jumpy will be sad plees take care of him and love him dont forgot his hey and warter
he likes if you strok his eers
i love u both
Blake xxx
I sit on my son's bed with his best friend beside me. And I stroke his ears.