the two musclemen, holding out her paw for a fist bump with each.
‘More than forty thousand of you have already taken Blue Bunny Girl to your hearts and, in so doing, helped waved the flag for a charity very close to our hearts, Tested, which is standing at the coalface in the battle against testicular cancer. So we’re picking up the baton again today and we’re going to keep picking it up every day for twelve days. Today, we asked you to vote –
and donate
– on whether Blue Bunny Girl should do the Ice Bucket Challenge, something I know many of you will be familiar with. Well, ladies and gentlemen, you have spoken. And we have heard you. The public has made its wish clear by a majority of’ – Mike glanced down at his iPad and quickly did the maths, the murmurings of his mental arithmetic carrying over the crowd – ‘six thousand and twenty-four votes, and with donations of nearly £15,000, smashing our target of £5,000, Blue Bunny Girl
shall
do the Ice Bucket Challenge.’
The bemused but steadily swelling crowd cheered – it was a fractured smattering of noise; Nettie flapped her ear out of the way and looked down at her audience, the overwhelming majority of whom, she was quite sure, had not heard of Blue Bunny Girl till this moment. But they were clapping. And filming. And clearly about to google her when they got home.
‘But we’re gonna do this the White Tiger way,’ Mike said, ever aware of pleasing the client. ‘Bunny, if you would take your seat.’
With the help of the musclemen – for she couldn’t see where to perch herself when her bottom was easily four times the width of the chair – she sat down, her paws on her lap. Across the square, by the Christmas tree, she saw a homeless man pick up her steaming coffee with extra macchiato and wander off with it. Her eyes roamed the square again, darting and quick.
‘Hurry now, guys,’ Mike said in a low voice, away from the megaphone, as the musclemen rolled their arms and expanded their dramatic chests with swinging arm movements. They immediately fell into deep squats at Mike’s order. ‘Caro, are you getting this?’
‘Yes, Mike,’ Caro sighed, her voice flat.
Behind her, Nettie heard a low grunt and the sudden slosh and clatter of ice cubes cracking against each other as the antique bath was lifted. In front of her, almost every person in the crowd had their phone out, ready to capture it on film. A few Japanese students squealed. She tensed, bracing herself for the cold.
‘Head off, Nets! Head off!’ Nettie looked down to see Jules at the back of the crowd, frantically motioning for her to take off the bunny head.
‘No!’ She shook her head, mortified at the prospect of people seeing her. This was embarrassing enough.
‘Yes!
You
need to get wet!’
Nettie sighed crossly but did as she was told. Jules winked up at her, giving a thumbs-up sign with her free hand, but that was all Nettie saw, for in the next moment Trafalgar Square was washed away as gallons of freezing-cold water were upended over her, most of it rushing straight into the suit through the gaping neckline that was left when the head of the costume was removed.
Nettie gasped – and gasped again. She couldn’t scream: she couldn’t catch her breath to scream. The cold was so shocking, so disorienting, and she didn’t even realize she was now on her feet. She could barely see, her hair plastered over her face by the force of the water, and she was only vaguely aware of the crowd’s delight as she gasped and jumped on the spot, trying to displace the water that now moated her – with nowhere to escape to – and then the collective intake of breath as she staggered too close to the edge. One of the men pulled her back in time.
Her voice returned. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’ she breathed, unable to stop repeating herself as the mutual shock of fright and cold kicked in. Just to add to this fresh hell, she had almost fallen off the fourth plinth?
‘More than forty thousand of you have already taken Blue Bunny Girl to your hearts and, in so doing, helped waved the flag for a charity very close to our hearts, Tested, which is standing at the coalface in the battle against testicular cancer. So we’re picking up the baton again today and we’re going to keep picking it up every day for twelve days. Today, we asked you to vote –
and donate
– on whether Blue Bunny Girl should do the Ice Bucket Challenge, something I know many of you will be familiar with. Well, ladies and gentlemen, you have spoken. And we have heard you. The public has made its wish clear by a majority of’ – Mike glanced down at his iPad and quickly did the maths, the murmurings of his mental arithmetic carrying over the crowd – ‘six thousand and twenty-four votes, and with donations of nearly £15,000, smashing our target of £5,000, Blue Bunny Girl
shall
do the Ice Bucket Challenge.’
The bemused but steadily swelling crowd cheered – it was a fractured smattering of noise; Nettie flapped her ear out of the way and looked down at her audience, the overwhelming majority of whom, she was quite sure, had not heard of Blue Bunny Girl till this moment. But they were clapping. And filming. And clearly about to google her when they got home.
‘But we’re gonna do this the White Tiger way,’ Mike said, ever aware of pleasing the client. ‘Bunny, if you would take your seat.’
With the help of the musclemen – for she couldn’t see where to perch herself when her bottom was easily four times the width of the chair – she sat down, her paws on her lap. Across the square, by the Christmas tree, she saw a homeless man pick up her steaming coffee with extra macchiato and wander off with it. Her eyes roamed the square again, darting and quick.
‘Hurry now, guys,’ Mike said in a low voice, away from the megaphone, as the musclemen rolled their arms and expanded their dramatic chests with swinging arm movements. They immediately fell into deep squats at Mike’s order. ‘Caro, are you getting this?’
‘Yes, Mike,’ Caro sighed, her voice flat.
Behind her, Nettie heard a low grunt and the sudden slosh and clatter of ice cubes cracking against each other as the antique bath was lifted. In front of her, almost every person in the crowd had their phone out, ready to capture it on film. A few Japanese students squealed. She tensed, bracing herself for the cold.
‘Head off, Nets! Head off!’ Nettie looked down to see Jules at the back of the crowd, frantically motioning for her to take off the bunny head.
‘No!’ She shook her head, mortified at the prospect of people seeing her. This was embarrassing enough.
‘Yes!
You
need to get wet!’
Nettie sighed crossly but did as she was told. Jules winked up at her, giving a thumbs-up sign with her free hand, but that was all Nettie saw, for in the next moment Trafalgar Square was washed away as gallons of freezing-cold water were upended over her, most of it rushing straight into the suit through the gaping neckline that was left when the head of the costume was removed.
Nettie gasped – and gasped again. She couldn’t scream: she couldn’t catch her breath to scream. The cold was so shocking, so disorienting, and she didn’t even realize she was now on her feet. She could barely see, her hair plastered over her face by the force of the water, and she was only vaguely aware of the crowd’s delight as she gasped and jumped on the spot, trying to displace the water that now moated her – with nowhere to escape to – and then the collective intake of breath as she staggered too close to the edge. One of the men pulled her back in time.
Her voice returned. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’ she breathed, unable to stop repeating herself as the mutual shock of fright and cold kicked in. Just to add to this fresh hell, she had almost fallen off the fourth plinth?
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