March 15th, 1938

Dearest A.J.,

I can't write, anymore, I'm afraid. Can't seem to get my hand to keep hold of the pencil, and words don't come as easily as they once did, not when I try to get them out of my head and into the world. But, you know, I reckon I can think of what I'd write to you and you'll get it just the same. Like praying, I suppose, althouh I've never had all that much time for God. I didn't need Him. I had you.

I'm dying, you doctor says I don't have long. He didn't tell me that, but I overheard him when he though I was asleep. At one time in my life being told such a thing would have terrified me. At another time I would have welcomed it with open arms and a glass of brandy. I'm not sure how I feel about it now. A mixture of both, I think. Perhaps there is something to be said about the way you did it. Less time to worry. Less time for your emotions to get all in a muddle. Less time to think. You always said I was a nervous batter, and yet you got sent to play first. Hardly seems fair.

Sophie is with me now, I think. I find it hard to... focus on things, outside of my own mind. When she found out that I was unwell, she insisted that I move in with her and her daughter. You remember Sophie, don't you? She certainly remembers you. Her eldest grandson is named Arthur. Wonderful little lad. Full of mischief and as bright as anything, he is so very like you in that regard. But he has no taste for cricket whatsoever. Let us hope that is not the only way in which his life diverges from that of his namesake. ...Sophie asked me to tell you she said "hello". I think I say your name, sometimes, out loud.

I am sorry that I haven't written to you much, these past few years. I remember when I used to write to you every week. Although I shouldn't apologise; I only did as you asked me. It took me a while to get out of the habit, but I got there in the end, I think. Only because I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to dwell and mope. I never was very good at going against what you wanted. You were always too persuasive by half.

I could use some of that persuasion now, Raffles. Some of that courage you always managed to find in me when I couldn't. Please, some way, any way- I'm dying. I'm dying, and I never was very good at doing things without you. Always needed your guiding direction on the job, your guiding voice in the chaos, your guiding hand in the dark.

Well, it is getting dark now, Raffles. And I still can't seem to catch your hand.

I've spent my life living in the belief that I was carrying you with me. In my memories. In our stories in my books. In the ripples of you that continued to spread through me. I made myself live because that's what you wanted me to do. And then, after a while, I lived because I wanted to, too. For myself. You persuaded me to live, Raffles, and you were right to. But now I am scared to die, and it is your fault.

It's not sporting. I have been patient. I have waited. I have lived . I'm holding out my hand, Raffles. Be a sportsman. Please.

-I say, that's hardly playing fair, Bunny.

Raffles?

-Accusing me of being unsportsmanlike. I have followed the rules perfectly . And you go and accuse me of not being sporting! That's a fine how d'you do, isn't it?

Raffles! Is it you? Really you?

-Who else would it be?

I- I don't know. A dream. Or, well, Saint Peter, traditionally. I think. I never did pay much attention in Sunday School.

-Hah! Would you prefer a Saint?

Did I ever?

-Oh, I've missed you, Bunny.

I've missed you too.

-How are you?

Dying.

-Ah, yes. But apart from that?

Oh. Well, apart from that… Not bad.

-Not bad! I should say! You've done wonderfully, my clever little rabbit. All of that living. All of those books. All that success. And making me even more famous than I already was, of course.

Infamous, more like.

-Fame, infamy, life, death, it's all just a... a matter of perspective, when you think about it.

I suppose so. I- ...I can't think very clearly...

-No, I don't expect you can. It'll pass. Be patient just a little while longer, Bunny.

...Raffles?

-Yes?

Why do you look so young? Your hair, your face, you-

-I'm how you chose to remember me. Do you recall the night I got caught by Maguire, or rather, he got caught by me?

I… I think so. I couldn't before but- But yes. Yes, of course I remember. How could I forget?

-Yes, well. You came to the Albany, after I robbed your flat.

Oh yes, you did do that!

- I did. And so you stormed over, and you banged on my door and-

And you answered it, as cool as could be! I remember! And you were as fresh and immaculate and delicious and delightful as Spring herself. I wished I could have a painting of you in that moment. You never looked so- so- so quintessentially Raffles-like as you did in that moment. I wanted to keep hold of it forever.

-And so you did.

And… And that was in March too, wasn't it?

-Yes.

And it's March now.

-The Ides themselves, if you can believe it. You really are a theatrical little cuss, aren't you? Always did have a flair for dramatic narrative. That's why your books did so well. You don't have any Sullivans on you, do you?

What? Oh. Yes, I think so. I keep them in my pocket. Can't smoke them any more, myself, but you know. For sentimentality's sake. Here you go.

-Oh, good show, that rabbit! Ahh! I haven't had one of these in, oh-.

Thirty-eight years, one month, and ten days.

-Is it really?

It felt like a thousand. And somehow too only like a few days. I must look so strange to you. So old.

-You look just as I remember you best. Freckles and sunburnt nose and all, from when you wouldn't wear your straw hat on your bike, remember? When we'd go scouting for houses to burgle in Richmond? Those were the halcyon days, eh, Bunny? ... My God, but I've missed that face.

I'm young again?

-Ah. Not technically. But that doesn't really matter, anymore.

Am I dead?

-No. Not quite.

Oh. Right. ...Raffles?

-What?

What happens… After? Where- Where do you go ?

-I don't now.

What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know? You are dead! You have been dead for-

-Thirty-eight years, one month, and ten days.

Exactly!

-So?

So!? So, how can you not know what happens next?

-I... Well. I just... put that bit off.

Can you do that?

-If you are determined enough.

But… Why? Why would you do that?

-Bunny, you ass, why do you think?

I don't know! That's why I'm asking you! And don't sigh at me Raffles, I am having a very stressful day!

-I was waiting, Bunny, because you were waiting.

What? Waiting for what?

-You were waiting to catch me. I was… waiting to be caught.

Oh .

-I was hardly going to go off on this adventure without you, was I? Or leave you to- No. Not sportsmanlike at all. Not a thing for a gentleman to do. No. Not me. Not ever. We go hand in hand over the top, or not at all, my fighting rabbit.

Raffles?

-Yes?

If I reach out my hand now, will I-

-...Yes.

And... And this is real?

-As real as anything, Bunny.

Raffles, please take my hand.

Are you sure you're ready?

I've been ready for thirty-eight years.

-That's not true.

You're right. It's not.

-But you're ready now? You're certain?

More certain than I have ever been about anything. I think.

-Well, then. Once more, unto the breach, Bunny mine! Shall we?

What do you think it will... be like?

-No idea. That's the fun of it!

I think... I think I would like to go back to the river. Remember the river? By the cottage at Ham Common? That's what I want. I want the river by the cottage at Ham Common.

-Then the river you shall have, my dear rabbit.

...I forgive you, by the way.

-For what?

For getting shot.

-Ah.

A.J.?

-What now?

And I love you. Just so you know.

-...Rabbit, there will be plenty of time for that later. Don't go saying your Last Words on me.

Will there be? Time?

-...I hope so.

Me too.

-Bunny?

Yes?

-I love you, too. I've loved you from the moment you threatened to shoot yourself in my rooms at the Albany. You were the most fascinating creature to ever fall at my doorstep, and have remained so ever since. Though quite why you've stuck with me all these years I've never quite figured out. But I am both glad and honoured that you have. ...Just so you know.

A.J. Raffles, you had better hold out your damn hand right now before I jump up from my deathbed and throw myself on you. And that would ruin the art of the piece completely, and I know you'd hate that.

-Oh, well, for the sake of the art of the piece... Harry "Bunny" Manders, may I have the most exquisite honour of giving you my hand?

Finally! ...Er, I mean… Y ou May.

'Sophie. It's time,' the doctor said, quietly, as he gently checked Harry Manders' pulse and watched the slowing of his laboured breath.

'Harry, I- I don't know whether you can hear me. I'm going to miss you. You've been such a good friend to me, more than that, you're family, and I don't-' Holding back a hitching sob, the grand old lady composed herself. This was not a time to be selfish. Harry had waited long enough. 'My dear Harry, just know that I love you. And... And say hello to A.J. for me. ...Goodbye, Harry.'

Bunny Manders reached out his hand, and A.J. Raffles reached out his, and in the cool crisp air of a beautiful March morning, they caught hold of one another once more.

Hello, Bunny.

...Hello, Raffles.

Harry "Bunny" Manders
1867 - 1938
and

Arthur J. Raffles
1863 - 1900

VICTORY, OR WORMWOOD SCRUBS!