Charing Cross Hospital

Agar St.

London W1

July 1957

Dear Miss Swinney,

I am writing to inform you that the results of our preliminary blood tests of Mother A and Daughter have established that they share the blood type A1 rhesus phenotype c̅dec̅de and the results of further, more detailed studies show a complete identity of blood groups—see the table enclosed.

We are therefore eager to proceed to the next stage of our investigation, and would be grateful if Mother A and Daughter could present themselves once more at the Charing Cross Hospital Annex at Agar Street on July 21 at 9:30 a.m. for further tests.

Yours sincerely,

Sidney Lloyd-Jones

Dear Jean,

I have made great progress with your dress and wonder if you would be able to come for a fitting this weekend whenever is convenient for you (and your mother). Perhaps you could ring Howard at the shop to confirm a time.

With good wishes,

Gretchen

12

“What on earth is that?” Jean’s mother stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the fragments of a sugar bowl, which she had just dropped on the tiled hearth.

Her mouth was slack with astonishment. As if she had seen a unicorn, Jean thought.

“It’s a rabbit,” she replied. “Surely you can see that?”

The animal sat on the linoleum between them, nibbling at a pile of outer cabbage leaves. Apart from a black smudge on its nose, now twitching, and one black ear, it was completely white and still small enough to fit in cupped hands.

“Yes, of course. But what is it doing here?”

“I bought it from a pet shop today, but I couldn’t manage the cage so the shopkeeper said he’d drop it round on his way home this evening. I hope he remembers,” Jean said.

At this disturbance the rabbit hopped in ungainly slow motion toward a thumb of carrot that had rolled just out of reach and Jean’s mother flinched back against the doorframe.

“It won’t eat you, Mother,” Jean laughed. “They’re herbivores.”

“But why on earth did you buy it? We’ve never had pets before.”

“It’s a present for Margaret. She told me she wanted a rabbit or a kitten. I think she’s lonely.”

Jean’s mother seemed to take no comfort from the fact that the rabbit’s occupancy of the kitchen was to be short-lived. If anything, this admission appeared to rattle her even more.

“You can’t give someone a live rabbit as a gift,” she spluttered.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t give her a dead one,” said Jean. “That would be too macabre.”

“Have you checked that her parents want her to have a rabbit? They may have strong objections.”

“No,” said Jean, experiencing a momentary loss of confidence in her brilliant scheme. “It’s meant to be a surprise.”

“It’ll certainly be that,” came the tart reply. “Whatever possessed you?”

“I thought it was a nice idea. It’s not a python. It just sits in a hutch eating leftover cabbage leaves until Margaret wants to cuddle it. I can’t see any objection.”