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Chapter Ten : The Search

1

They are spread out in a line from behind Black Hare Close to Walkers Road, just in front of the old Catholic church. Children in wellington boots and anoraks, teachers and volunteer parents are dotted along the line to give instruction. There are some important rules to remember. Anxious to find something, anything that will mean he doesn’t have to help cause a power cut and break into Sergeant Mayfield’s house, Ralph listens to them earnestly.

Walk slowly, one step at a time, eyes down.

Put your hand up in the air and stop walking if you find anything at all, even if it doesn’t seem significant.

Stay in line, don’t press ahead or lag behind.

Don’t touch anything you find, wait for an adult.

Mr Bishop blows a whistle and they are off – participants in the slowest race in the world.

There is a solemn atmosphere. A hushed silence. It reminds Ralph of church, where you are expected to be silent and the pressure becomes too much so that eventually just breathing seems too noisy.

His own breathing already sounds louder than everyone else’s. Ralph is a few kids down from Jaime and can’t see Willow or Jesse. He feels a connection to them though – oh yes, like an invisible thread reaching between them as they plod forward in a straggly line with everyone else.

No one talks or mucks about; perhaps each child is imagining how it feels to be so lost. How it feels to be potentially scattered across such a long and sorrowful line. The mood has shifted in town, Ralph has noticed. Just this morning his mother spoke about Paddy in the past tense. ‘He was such a nice boy.’

And he overhears two of the parents in the line.

‘His poor dad must be devastated.’

‘You never get over losing a child.’

‘He’s so alone now.’

Do people think that Paddy is dead? Shocked, Ralph cannot bear the thought of it. He glares at the earth as he makes his steps, examining each grid of earth as ferociously as he can. And as he walks, he imagines Willow, Jaime and Jesse doing the same thing. Walking painfully slowly with heads bowed so low their necks ache, staring at each patch of grass and mud, looking for any trace, looking for Paddy.

Arms go up three times in the first twenty minutes.

It’s agony – everyone frozen with breath held.

A dog poo bag with footprint on it. Its catalogued but quickly determined to be a much larger shoe size than Paddy’s. Still, it’s something.

A curl of foil from a packet of Refreshers. Ralph fidgets, wondering if Paddy liked Refreshers. It is photographed and bagged up.

A cigarette butt. Bagged up.

They move on. Ralph’s side have now met the church. It’s empty – abandoned for years, Vicar Roberts now the only holy man in Black Hare Valley, but several adults have a key for the heavy locked door and they enter it, even though they make it clear that it has already been officially searched.

Ralph thinks it would have made a good hideout for a boy like Paddy – maybe even a good place to hide that mysterious book. But the adults emerge again, shaking their heads and Ralph has to trust that they are right, that there are no clues inside.

They walk under a vast grey sky until children start to complain that they are tired. A meeting is held between a few parents and Mr Bishop, then he blows his whistle again and everyone turns around and heads back.

Ralph feels agitated. Was it far enough? Was it long enough? What if a vital clue is just beyond the next field or over the next hill? Will there be another search? Will they keep doing this until they find something? No one speaks as they walk slowly back into town.

2

Willow resists the urge to catch up with Paddy’s father. She can see him ahead of her, walking along Black Hare Road with his head bent low. She would like to skip ahead, and take his hand into hers. She would like to pass something, some warmth or some hope onto him because despite the solemn, fruitless search, Willow knows that Paddy is still alive. She feels it in her bones.

Instead, she gives Mr Finnis a few moments of privacy and watches him shuffle sadly into the bookshop. As Willow approaches the doors she sees Mr Finnis still stood there, the sign switched to ‘closed’ as he stares out at the street.

He doesn’t seem to see her so she raps gently on the door. He blinks, looks vaguely surprised and then lets her in.

‘Willow, hi. I saw you at the search. Thank you.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be another one,’ she says quickly as the door clicks shut behind her. ‘In the other direction maybe?’

‘Maybe,’ he nods, turning away. ‘But they can’t find anything, Willow. Not a trace. Not a fingerprint or a hair, or anything.’ He wanders over to the till and sits down behind it with his hands in his lap. ‘I think they’ve given up.’

‘No, they can’t!’ Willow comes over to him, placing her hands on the counter. ‘They need more people, more police, or something. They’ll bring more in, won’t they?’

‘They did send a forensic team,’ Mr Finnis fills her in. ‘They came from out of town. They did a thorough search, Willow, a full sweep of the house and the shop but they didn’t find anything either. There are fingerprints all over the place, of course, his and mine, but nothing to suggest he left that night. It’s like he went to bed, closed his eyes and then just vanished into thin air.’

Mr Finnis sniffs and blinks.

‘Mr Finnis, can I ask you something?’

Mr Finnis sighs and nods. His eyes are wet and bloodshot and seem unable to focus on anything.

‘Paddy told me about a book and I just wondered if you knew where it was.’

‘What book?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ she squirms. ‘Just a big old book he was excited about? One he kept secret, maybe? You know, to protect it because it was so old and valuable, maybe. He mentioned it to me but I never thought anything of it. It’s not in the treehouse, because I checked.’

‘Well, feel free to search upstairs,’ Mr Finnis shrugs. ‘But unless I know what book…’

Willow nods and glances towards the stairs. She supposes she will have to do a fake search because they already know how the book vanished from the treehouse.

‘Oh, hang on, might you mean the book we found in here?’ Mr Finnis says suddenly, pressing two fingers to his temple as if he has a headache. ‘I don’t know what it was called though. I didn’t pay much attention, to be honest. But Paddy found a big old book one day when we were closing up. I don’t think it had a title…’

‘Sounds like the one!’ Willow enthuses. ‘Did you look at it at all?’

‘No, just a glance. I was tired that day. Had a migraine brewing. I remember Paddy talking about it, getting a bit excited, you know how he is… But no, I didn’t look at it.’

‘Anything you could say about it?’ she presses, trying hard to contain her impatience, She stands as stiff as a board staring right at Mr Finnis.

‘Well.’ He scratches vigorously at the back of his head. He scrunches his face up in thought. ‘It was big, very big, I remember that. Big chunky old looking thing. Tattered. It had a thick leather cover. Other than that…’ He trails off, still scratching.

‘Was it one you ordered in? One you wanted to sell?’

‘No, no definitely not. It wouldn’t have fit on the shelves. Someone must have donated it. I can’t think who. I’d have remembered handling it.’

Willow finds herself backing off. Her mind whirling with possibilities. Mr Finnis slumps on his stool, his hands dangling over his knees.

‘If I find it, I’ll let you know.’

‘Thanks Mr Finnis, I was just curious. I better go now.’

He just nods and lifts one hand in a small wave that seems to zap the rest of his energy. Willow leaves in a hurry.

3

Jesse gets to the ruins early. Billy and Wyatt were not at home and he’s hoping they’re not here either. He’s desperately thinking of ways to make them leave as he follows Walkers Road until the dusty fork leads him away and into the dark hills.

It’s vast up here, open. The sky feels low, touching you, coating you in mist. The ruins are in the centre of the hills, looking down on the town. Halfway between the old catholic church and the Rowan Farm. A property as vast as its direct opposite Mayor Sumner’s Hill Fort Farm. The two colossal estates mark the entrance to Black Hare Valley, standing like beacons on either side.

When Jesse reaches the ruins, he scrambles over to the first low wall and past broken hunks of ancient brick. He stops at the furthest wall, the one with a small rectangular window still intact. Through the crack, you can see the first trees on the border of Rowan Farm. The first break in an endlessly grassy landscape.

It looks darker over there – with something more knowing and patient than Black Wood on the other side. Jesse stares for a while, his eyes scanning the line of trees as they follow the curve of a steep hill towards the Holloway. He recalls a school trip there when he was eight or nine – holding hands with his classmates as they entered the darkness of the ancient track, their teacher pausing to point out the scratchings and faces on the clay walls. He knows there are no school trips there these days because Bob Rowan won’t let anyone on his land for any reason.

Jesse remembers an outcry at the time; the local newspaper lamenting the loss of access to an important town landmark and a local historian being interviewed, expressing his dismay that the Holloway should become neglected, and eventually lost altogether. Jesse knows it is still accessible because he and his brothers have trespassed and poached there many times. He watches the land, narrows his eyes at the distant trees and thinks about the deeply trodden track they are hiding. He’s never followed it all the way; it’s never been allowed, but the rumour is it keeps going out of the valley.

He looks away finally, then reaches up, crawling his fingers along a mossy ledge of stone until they meet with a small tin box. He grins in triumph and pulls his brother’s weed down from its hiding place.

He shuffles down, back to the wall and tugs off the lid. A small soft bud of green stares back at him. Papers and loose tobacco pushed in at the sides. Jesse breathes out, anticipating the high and sets to work rolling himself a smoke. He feels like he deserves it more than ever before.

He has it lit when the group arrive, Willow first, grim-faced and restless, frowning at his choice of relaxation but saying nothing, only, ‘The book just turned up in the shop. Someone put it there.’

Already drifting peacefully out of the moment, Jesse absorbs this as a dreamy possibility. Someone left it there. It troubles him that Paddy is gone, that he was quite possibly targeted. He can’t help agreeing with Mayfield on that one; it should have been him. He exhales sweet smoke and waits as Jaime and Ralph come trudging across the dark to join them.

Jaime is as flush-faced as ever, snapping away with her camera. ‘This place is amazing! How old is it?’

‘Think it dates back to the 12^th century,’ shrugs Ralph. ‘The hill forts are even older though.’

‘1200 BC my dad says,’ nods Willow.

‘Wow.’ Jaime is in awe as she turns in a circle to survey her new world. Jesse watches her, wondering if she will ever come to loathe and fear it as much as him, or whether she will always see it as an enticing mystery to be untangled. ‘So, there are hill forts on both sides of the valley?’

‘Yes.’ Ralph points to the other side. ‘Basically all the hills you can see are hill forts. They used to guard the town below. They could see enemies coming from miles away up here.’

Jaime snaps more pictures. ‘Wow. This place has so much history…’

‘Oh and there’s a Holloway down there,’ Ralph enthuses, dragging her by the elbow to point out the land beyond. ‘You can’t see it and we’re not allowed there anymore because it’s on Rowan’s land.’

She snaps a picture and lowers the camera. ‘Oh wow, my step-dad was telling me about the Holloway. It’s a path, right?’

‘An ancient path,’ Willow snaps with a roll of her eyes. ‘Just a path connecting towns to market places and other towns, that kind of thing.’

‘It’s like a path,’ Ralph explains, ‘but its deeper and lower because so many feet and wagons have pressed it down so when you’re walking it, you’re looking up like this,’ Ralph raises his eyes and his hands upwards, ‘and you can see tree roots and there are walls next to you.’

‘I need to see it!’ claims Jaime. ‘And what about Paddy? Would they have searched there?’

‘Who knows?’ Jesse shrugs.

Ralph is still staring at the landscape. He’s grinning at it almost proudly and every now and then he shoots a coy look at Jaime that makes Jesse suspect he would like to impress her.

‘Have you heard about the legend of the black hare?’ he’s asking her now.

She pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘Sort of. Mark mentioned the town was named after an actual hare. That people thought black ones were good luck.’

‘They don’t exist,’ Willow grumbles, her hands on her hips.

‘Probably not,’ agrees Ralph, ‘but the legend goes that a group of people were led here by a black hare, that it led them from famine and disease and war and brought them here. They passed the story down through the generations, and even wrote about it at one point, because that’s how the town got its name, because they thought the hare would be good luck.’

‘Load of shit peddled by the mayor and her ancestors,’ Jesse says scathingly, his gaze shooting to Willow who looks about ready to burst.

‘We need to talk about the book.’ She beckons to Ralph and Jaime and they huddle closer against the wall, where Jesse crouches with his smoke.

Ralph looks down at him, wrinkling his nose. ‘Is that…?’

Jesse just smiles and rests his head back on the old ruined walls.

‘Ignore him,’ snaps Willow. ‘Unless he’s got anything important to add, he seems to have checked out.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ says Jesse. ‘I’m right here, Willow. Tell us about the book.’

Hands in pockets, Willow grimaces as she stretches out her neck and stares up at the darkening sky.

‘I checked with Paddy’s dad,’ she tells them. ‘He knew what book we meant but didn’t get a good look at it so we still have no idea what it was or what was in it. But he remembered Paddy finding it in the shop and asking to borrow it. He remembers it was big and old with a brown cover.’

‘Any idea where it came from?’ wonders Jaime, pulling her notepad and pen out of her coat pocket. ‘He must keep track of his orders or any donations?’

Willow shakes her head. ‘Mr Finnis said he definitely didn’t order it and he’d remember if it had been handed in. So, someone left it there. Just put it on a shelf and walked out, I guess.’

Jaime’s eyes are as wide as saucers. ‘The mystery deepens!’

Willow slips down beside Jesse, her head in her hands as if it hurts her. ‘This is driving me crazy!’

Ralph and Jaime glance at each other in concern. Jaime kneels down beside Willow and tentatively puts an arm around her but Willow quickly shakes it off. She throws her hands up at the sky.

‘How can a kid just disappear? Vanish!’ She lowers her arms and folds them over her knees, shaking her head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. No clues, they said. No trace. Nothing.’

‘No evidence,’ murmurs Jaime, looking away.

‘And what I can’t stop thinking,’ Willow adds with a hitch in her voice, ‘is that it must be bad for Paddy not to tell me, for Paddy not to get in touch with me. If he’s not letting me know he’s all right, then…’ She trails off, blinking furiously.

Jesse finishes his smoke and grinds the butt out on a rock. He runs his hands back through his hair. He knows what he should say now, what he should bring up and he knows if he doesn’t, then one of them will. And soon. But he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to put the plan in motion, set the wheels turning so that they can’t be stopped. There is a clawing fear gripping his flesh and he is frozen in terror at the thought of breaking into Sergeant Mayfield’s house. A big part of him just wants to walk away from the whole thing while he still can. These kids are not his friends, never were, never will be. Why is he helping them? Why does he care?

Ralph shifts his weight nervously. ‘Do you think it could have anything to do with the footprint I found?’ He shakes his head solemnly. ‘I tell you guys, they were not from a domestic animal. They were giant!’

‘There’d be evidence,’ Jaime tells him gently. ‘An animal attack would have left a lot of evidence. They haven’t found anything. Willow is right. He just vanished and we need to think about how that could happen.’

Jesse suddenly really wants to go home. The dark mould-stained flat that reeks of alcohol and sweat feels like the safest refuge in the world right now. He can’t stand the cold a moment longer and pushes himself up, rubbing at his arms.

‘We need to find the book,’ he mumbles, as they all look at him. ‘That’s the next thing. We need to get it back. So, we break into Mayfield’s house like we said.’

‘Okay,’ Willow says softly, her eyes on him. ‘A power cut. A distraction. In and out.’

His mouth feels dry as he nods back at her. ‘Just tell me when.’

Willow gets up then and links her arm through his. He’s so surprised by the gesture, he actually gasps.

‘We should get you home,’ she says and starts to walk. ‘You don’t look too well all of a sudden. Maybe you shouldn’t have smoked that.’

‘I don’t feel too well,’ he admits, staring at her.

Ralph and Jaime catch them up. ‘Are we going to decide when?’ asks Jaime. ‘I mean, I hate to bring it up but we should probably decide now while we’re all together.’

‘I agree,’ nods Ralph on her other side. ‘The sooner the better. For Paddy.’

Jesse agrees. For Paddy.

He shivers, hurrying along, the landscape now dark and full of shadows. He thinks he can hear something else under the chatter of the group as they head home. Something low and rumbling, something hungry but patient.

Jesse walks faster, making his strides longer, his arm still looped with Willow’s, which is still bothering him somehow, how she made that move, made him feel safe. He drags her along and she ups her pace to match his. Sweat breaks out across his frozen shoulder blades and he feels like if that noise, that vibration comes any closer, he will choke on his own screams and piss his pants all at once.

‘Come on,’ he urges, side-eyeing them. ‘I’m getting nervous.’

Wide-eyed, Jaime hisses back, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just nervous,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘Like we’re being watched. Just hurry. Please hurry.’

They don’t argue. As a line of four linked arms, they break into a cautious yet determined run all along Walkers Road until they turn safely into Taylor’s Drive.

Only then does Jesse give himself permission to slow down and breathe. His face is grey, his lips trembling. The noise has gone. The absence of it is somehow more shocking.

He heads for his block in a hurry, dragging the others with him. He wants them all to come in and be safe too – but he knows he can’t let them see his rancid home, let alone allow them to sleep in it.

He turns to them, slipping out of the line. ‘Next Saturday evening? 8pm?’ His heart is in his throat beating limply. They all look at each other then back at him with a nod.

‘Are you all right?’ Willow asks him.

Jesse shakes his head. ‘Something chased me the other night and I felt it again then. It was watching us. I know that sounds crazy.’

They look at each other again. ‘Not really crazy,’ Willow says after a while. She sinks her hands into her pockets with a heavy sigh. ‘Not after spying policeman and vanishing kids. Do you want to tell us about it?’

‘Not really,’ he bites his lip. ‘I better go.’

‘Okay,’ she nods. ‘See you on Monday then.’

Jesse lets the doors close on them then hurries two at a time up the stairs. He doesn’t feel truly safe until he has closed and locked the flat door behind him.

4

The three of them cut through to High Street and say goodbye to Willow first. She lingers for a moment outside the shop, shivering as she frowns up and down the road.

‘It got dark again quick.’

‘I was just thinking that,’ Jaime agrees in a low voice. ‘Almost like the town wants us home.’

Ralph laughs nervously and when they both look at him he shuts up and stares at his feet. Willow tugs open the shop door and a bright warmth escapes and touches their faces. They breathe.

‘We better find him at school on Monday,’ Willow says of Jesse. ‘Make sure he’s okay.’

Jaime nods. ‘Of course. We’re gonna get to the bottom of all of this, Willow.’ She adds in the same low voice, ‘We’re not going to stop until we do.’

Willow manages a small smile then slips inside and closes the door. Jaime and Ralph fall in step together and walk down to the end of High Street. Ralph pauses at the doors to the pub but Jaime shakes her head.

‘I’ll go in the back way.’

Ralph nods as if he understands why. Through one of the windows, Mayor Sumner and Mr Bishop can be seen sitting at the bar chatting to Jaime’s step-dad.

‘They’re in a lot,’ Jaime confirms as they walk on. ‘Not always all of them but at least one or two, most days. Mark seems to think the world of them.’

‘Everyone does,’ replies Ralph.

‘Plus apparently the bar-maid Tahlia is dating Mr Hewlett.’

Ralph raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh. Didn’t know that.’

They move on in silence, crossing over the entrance to Lupin Lane beside the library. Jaime nudges Ralph as they pass by.

‘I’ll pop in there Monday after school. Just to check whether there are any similar books.’

Ralph winces slightly. ‘Don’t ask Miss Spires though. She’s on the committee.’

‘Okay.’ Jaime thinks for a second and then asks, ‘Are we really going to suspect all of them? The whole committee?’

Ralph looks uncertain. ‘About Paddy? I don’t know. But it’s probably best, don’t you think? I mean, it might not just be Mayfield spying and blackmailing. The committee are pretty tight.’

Jaime nods, thinking about her mother, but she keeps quiet. At the other end of Lupin Lane, Ralph gives her a little cheery wave though he looks as grey-faced and jittery as Jesse did.

‘Well, I’ll say goodbye here then.’

‘Will you be okay? Sure you don’t want me to walk a bit further with you?’

‘Nah.’ He shakes his head with a grin. ‘It’s not far. I’ll be fine. The town’s still busy.’

She looks around and agrees. Although almost dark, there are plenty of people and cars moving around.

‘All right then. Call for me in Monday morning?’

‘Yeah, definitely!’

Jaime stands on the corner and watches until he is out of sight, then she trots quickly down Lupin Lane to the pub garden gates. She’s just about to push the way in when something catches her eye. Back on the corner, a white shape – something and hesitant and about the size of a cat or small dog…. She stares right at it, at first thinking the rising moon is reflecting something else, throwing up a bright shape.

And then it moves.

It raises up on two haunches and Jaime can see a definitive shape now. A long body and long, erect ears. She steps towards it, mesmerised, her hands reaching for her camera. A rabbit? A hare? Then it turns and runs.

Jaime dashes back to the street corner and stares. At first she thinks it’s gone. She can’t see anything moving. But then she spots it again, a white shape loping along the High Street before vanishing into the woods beside Saint Marks church.

Jaime stares after it, transfixed. She has her camera clutched in her hands and wants to chase after it. But somehow she can’t move, can’t force herself forward. Maybe it’s the dense darkness of those woods, or maybe it’s the infectious fear Jesse felt up at the ruins. Maybe she imagined the whole thing. A white rabbit or hare running through town?

She laughs a little. No way. Her excitable mind is playing tricks on her. She laughs again, a little more nervously, then turns and heads back to the pub.

5

Ralph hears his mother moving around the caravan before his alarm goes off. It’s always the same routine on weekdays. She gets up at six, makes herself a cup of tea and a bowl of porridge and curls up in the lounge with a blanket over her. She likes to have her ‘me time’ at either end of the day. She says it gets her ready to face the world. A cup of tea, warm oats and just thirty minutes to herself.

At 6.30am Ralph hears her shower and dress. She always tries to be as careful and quiet as possible but the walls are like paper and he can hear every movement of her daily routine. He hears her pyjamas hitting the floor before she steps into the shower. He hears the hiss of steam. The window being cracked open to let it escape. He hears her dash to her room, shivering in a towel. He hears her brushing her long hair, zipping up her coat. At 7am, she peeks in on him.

‘You awake? I’m off now. Don’t lie in.’

‘I won’t. Mum?’

He face reappears. ‘Yeah?’

‘Can I borrow the chainsaw at the weekend? There are loads of trees down and I thought I could cut some up and sell them.’

‘Oh, did you now?’ She looks at him quizzically. ‘What do you need the money for?’

‘No for you, I mean,’ he says quickly, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘To help out.’

She breaks into a smile. ‘Oh okay, I see. Well in that case, sure, but be careful and take the goggles, okay?’

‘Of course.’

She ducks out then quickly returns, ‘Ralph?’

He props up again. ‘Yeah?’

‘I don’t mean to sound nosy but I did hear a rumour that you’ve been hanging out with Jesse Archer a bit lately. Is that true?’

Ralph freezes. He can’t quite see her expression in the shadows but he can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s been worrying about this, wondering when and how to bring it up. He panics. Should he lie? Didn’t they agree to keep it secret? God, he hates keeping secrets from his mum. She’s always been really hot on honesty. She’s always been completely open with him about everything. And also, why should they lie? They’re not doing anything wrong but spending time together. He enjoys seeing Jesse, feels a bond with him after everything that has happened. And if people are already gossiping…

He exhales slowly and makes a decision. ‘A little bit, yeah, Mum. He’s really not as bad as they say. I think people should give him a second chance.’

She’s quiet for a moment and he can hear her fiddling with her zip. Then she lowers her head slightly and sighs. ‘I think so too, honey. And I trust you. You wouldn’t let anyone lead you astray.’

Depends what astray means, thinks Ralph, but I am one hundred percent sure I am not being led by anyone…

‘Course not, Mum. You can trust me.’

‘I know I can. You’re a good kid. The best.’ She backs out, pulling the door to. ‘Make sure you eat a decent breakfast. See you later.’

‘Seeya, Mum.’

6

After a restless night haunted by dark, fragmented dreams, Jesse gets up to face a new day with grim determination. His father didn’t come home in the night and his brothers are vaguely grateful when he raids the room for dirty washing to cram into a plastic bag. He finds some loose coins on the kitchen windowsill and has a brief dilemma about whether to wash or wear his school uniform.

If he washes it, he can’t wear it to school and although skipping school is obviously appealing, he also doesn’t want to give Mr Bishop or anyone else the satisfaction of gloating over poor attendance so soon into the new term. He decides to wear it – slips his backpack on, grabs the washing and leaves the flat half an hour earlier than usual.

The town is already awake as Jesse slips around the back of it to reach the launderette at the end of the High Street. He wades through long wet grass, crosses Rowan Road and cuts through the community centre and Rowan Woods. By the time he gets there, his trousers are damp and his shoes are muddy but he doesn’t care. Often, Jesse prefers the shortcuts, the alleys, cut throughs and back ways to get around the valley. As much as possible, he prefers not to be seen.

The launderette is open. A face peers at him from the office at the back but they don’t come out. Jesse pours the filthy clothes into a machine, buys a small box of powder, adds it and slams the door before turning it on.

‘I’ll be back for it later,’ he calls to the face in the office and he sees a hand rise and wave in reply.

He considers the next part of his schedule and his stomach rolls over. Out on the High Street, Jesse jams his hands into the pockets of his school trousers and takes a minute to look around. There is gentle movement everywhere. In the hairdresser’s next door, Alexa Duggan’s mum is turning on the lights and flipping the sign on the door to ‘open’. She gives him a glare through the window but he ignores her and crosses the road. The Fish and Chip shop, the grocers, the butchers, are all coming to life with yellow lights and yawning staff and hungry cash registers. Jesse walks past the small woods beside St Marks and continues down to the very end of High Street until he can see Black Hare Cottage in the distance.

It’s small thatched roof looks desolate and neglected. It’s surrounded by trees and through them a small wooden walkway is visible stretching out over the shimmering lake. Jesse can see a spiral of smoke belching from one squat chimney. He walks over the bridge, keeps to the left and slips through the trees.

At this time in the morning Iris Cotton must be at home. The fire is obviously burning. He creeps closer, straining his eyes to glimpse a small window lit up with internal light. The camera sits heavy like a guilty secret in the back pocket of his trousers.

Jesse moves on full alert, barely breathing until Black Hare Cottage is fully revealed. Through the trees he can see the holly hedging that surrounds her plot. The cottage faces away from town, looking over the lake. The back garden is a huge straggly field stretching out behind the house. Jesse can see two small ponies, heads down grazing, a wooden shed, a greenhouse and a line of fruit trees.

Iris has a reputation for being a recluse – someone who only goes to town when she needs something she can’t produce herself. Jesse hopes that Sergeant Mayfield is going to be patient – because unless he ropes in someone to help, this could be a very long job.

He crouches in the undergrowth, watching. While he’s waiting, he thinks about Iris Cotton and what she could have done to end up on Mayfield’s radar. She’s just an old lady, he muses; tiny, birdlike and slightly hunched. Her only relatives are her great-granddaughter, Sarah-Jane Cotton, an English teacher at Jesse’s school, and her son, Nathan Cotton, the nervous and almost definitely gay employee at Martins’ Chemist. They live together on Maze Lane, Jesse remembers, but do they visit Iris much? Or is she usually alone?

Wondering what she did to upset Mayfield, leads Jesse to wondering what Paddy and his father did. He wonders if he could ever summon the courage to ask Mayfield. The man is smug and arrogant – maybe Jesse can entice him into a brag?

Just as he’s about to give up his stakeout for the day and get to school, he spots movement at the cottage. A shuffling figure wearing a dark coat emerges from the front door and starts to make slow progress towards the lake.

Jesse watches from the shadows. It’s Iris Cotton, with a red woollen hat crammed over her tufts of flyaway white hair. It looks like candy floss floating around her head. She uses a cane and her back is crooked and she moves at a slow pace until she reaches the lake. She starts across the wooden walkway and he can just about see her fiddling with something at the edge. A net, or something. Is she fishing? Washing? Jesse cannot tell but all of a sudden, the old woman freezes.

She’s completely still, like a statue. Jesse feels the hairs flick up on the back of his neck. He feels the urge to back away. He feels seen. Exposed. Suddenly, her head turns and she seems to be staring right at him. He falls backwards in alarm, scrambling away through the trees and bushes.

7

Jaime sits nervously on the bench outside Mr Hewlett’s office which is next to Mr Bishop’s. Pupils are moving between classes but most seem to instinctively avoid this corridor. It is eerily quiet. She chews her nails, tries to breathe normally and wonders whether she is being watched.

Five minutes after the appointment was supposed to commence, the door to Mr Hewlett’s office creaks open and his pale, smooth face peeks out at her. She straightens up with a start.

‘Jaime. Come on in.’

She rises on weak legs and forces a cheery smile as she enters the office. It is cramped, dark and far too warm. A small, square sun-filled square window looks down on her as she takes a seat in the plastic chair opposite Mr Hewlett’s cluttered desk.

He sits down and examines her across the desk. His chubby cheeks and strangely smooth skin disarm her for a moment. His hair is pale and thinning but when she imagines a full head of it, she realises he really could be any age at all.

‘Thank you for coming, Jaime. This won’t take long. I just really wanted to check in with you.’

Her smile is frozen on her face. His voice is soft and low, almost a hypnotic whisper. Jaime nods in reply. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

His lips twitch with a little smile. ‘Good. With everything going on Jaime, this is a very worrying and stressful situation we are all in and we’re trying to make sure the students know we are there for them.’ He pauses, frowning. His head lowers slightly on his neck. ‘You can come to us.’

Jaime inhales. Breathes out. Tries another smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Hewlett. I’ll remember that.’

‘Good. Because you are very new to town and that can be stressful in itself, so I really just wanted to check in with you and make sure you know you can come to us any time. If you’re struggling in any way, I mean.’

Jaime shifts in the chair and eyes the door. ‘Thank you. I’m okay though, really. But I’ll remember that.’

‘Good. Good. And if there is anything on your mind, anything at all you’re concerned about, do feel free to find me here in my office any time. Or at weekends at the community centre.’

Jaime grips the arm rests of the chair and prepares to push herself up. ‘Thank you,’ she says again.

He leans forward then. ‘And what about friends? You’ve made friends, I see.’

Her mouth runs dry. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m making friends.’

‘Willow Harrison and Ralph Maxwell, is that right?’

Jaime can’t answer for a moment. She is too shocked, too confused by the line of questioning. He stares at her, into her, no smile now, just an intense frown carving up his smooth forehead.

‘Uh, yes,’ she shrugs. ‘I suppose so. Sort of.’

‘Anyone else?’

A flash of anger causes her to narrow her eyes at him. She stares at him for a beat and then looks to the door again, desperate for this to be over.

‘Jesse Archer?’ he prompts, leaning closer. She stares back at him, refusing to nod or shake her head. Instead, she wants to see where silence will get her. Mr Hewlett’s face cracks with a sudden smile. He shows his teeth and tilts his head. ‘Perhaps I heard wrong. Still, I hope you don’t mind me warning you about him. It’s just his reputation is not good. My girlfriend, Tahlia, lives in the same block as him.’

‘Oh, I love Tahlia,’ smiles Jaime. ‘She works in the pub.’

He nods. ‘She does. And you see that’s how I know about that family…’ He winces and then shudders. ‘Well, anyway. As long as you’re okay, Jaime? And you’ve settled in and made friends and everything is okay?’

Jaime nods and inches forward, her knees flexing, her feet planted and ready to move. She forces another smile, the fakest one yet. ‘Yes, all good thank you.’

He stays silent so she pushes herself up and edges towards the door.

‘Thank you then, sir.’

‘You’re very welcome. Good, good.’

Jaime slips out closes the door behind her and hurries down the corridor as fast as she can without breaking into a run.

8

School drags. There is Maths, which Jaime hates but is good at. English, which she loves but today she finds it impossible to focus and twice Miss Cotton berates her for daydreaming. There is a special assembly during which Vicar Roberts comes in to lead them in prayer for Paddy and afterwards, Mr Hewlett is on hand to offer support and guidance.

There is talk of another search taking place. There is Music, with the vicar’s second in command, Sylvia Gordon teaching piano. She does not smile once and seems to constantly examine the students with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Jaime finds her fascinating to look at though – a strange mix of severe and old-fashioned with her below knee pencil skirt, and overtly sexual, with her high shiny heels and tailored blouses. Her platinum blonde hair is styled in the image of old Hollywood film stars like Marylin Monroe.

Jaime does not see Jesse at all. She speaks briefly to Willow, who shares some of her classes but does not seem in the mood to talk today. Perhaps her mind is occupied with Saturday night. Jaime feels physically sick every time she thinks about it.

‘I can borrow the chainsaw,’ Ralph tells her at the end of the day when they walk along the High Street together towards the library. His voice is low, his eyes restless. Jaime doesn’t blame him. She’s been on edge since their meeting at the ruins. She couldn’t hear or see what frightened Jesse but his fear was impossible to disregard. It had infected them all and when he’d told them about being chased or stalked by something, she’d found it surprisingly easy to believe.

For now, Jaime tries to focus on something she can do to help, such as checking the library for books like the one they saw on the film.

‘If we cut down a tree to knock out the power lines,’ Jaime whispers back to Ralph. ‘Won’t someone be able to tell it was deliberate?’

Ralph pauses, his face paling. ‘Yeah,’ he croaks. ‘Probably.’

‘We need to try and find a half-rotten one if we can. When are we going to look? It has to be close to the lines. There might not even be any we can cut down without being seen.’

Ralph swallows thickly. ‘Better add that to the list of things to do.’

Jaime sighs and then pushes open one of the heavy doors into the library. It groans on its old hinges and they’re greeted by a rush of warm stale air and the unmistakable odour of books.

Despite everything, Jaime can’t help smiling and relaxing as the library reveals itself to her. It’s an old red-brick building; an entrance hall provides notice boards and male and female toilets. Through an arched doorway lies the rest of the library.

Straight ahead, the librarian desk – a thick counter top made of dark, shining wood and behind it, quiet activity – two assistants placing returned books onto a trolley and chatting softly, while the librarian, Eugenie Spires, holds court at the front, eyes bright and focused behind thick lensed glasses.

The frames are blue, and the eyes behind them sharp and dark. Her mouth is small and pursed and she smooths a strand of grey hair away from her face as Ralph and Jaime come inside.

Jaime doesn’t pay much attention to her at first. She is too entranced and excited by the size of the library. The desk sits directly in front, to the left the sign says ‘adult books’ and ‘computers’. Jaime glances that way, her mouth open, her breath held. The adult side contains huge wall to ceiling bookshelves, small round tables surrounded by plastic chair and an L-shaped array of desks and computers. She turns right and sees signs for ‘children’ and ‘young adult’. She steps forward.

‘Look like you’ve never seen a library before, girl.’

Jaime jumps in surprise. The woman at the desk had seemed so small and still, Jaime had almost forgotten she was there. She grins and plods up to the counter,

‘Never one so big! It’s amazing in here!’

‘You must be Jaime,’ the librarian says, her voice dry with a slightly sarcastic tone to it. ‘I’ve met your mum a few times now. I’m Miss Spires, the librarian.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Jaime extends a hand and Eugenie Spires looks at her as if she finds her a little odd, then cautiously takes the hand. Jaime glances at Ralph, wondering if she has maybe gone a little too far, and Ralph shrugs back.

‘Suppose you’ll be needing a library card?’ Miss Spires says, rifling through some forms. ‘Why don’t you fill that out for me? I can’t let you borrow any books until I’ve got your card.’

‘Thank you.’ Jaime picks up the pen pushed her way and begins to fill in the form.

‘Looking for anything particular today?’ Miss Spires asks, her eyes fixing for a moment on Ralph.

‘Me?’ He points to himself. ‘No. Not me. Just showing Jaime around.’

‘Nice to see you’ve made friends already.’ Miss Spires takes the form when Jaime has finished and passes her a small rectangular card. ‘That’s your temporary one. I’ll get you a plastic one made up. Go on then. Have a look around. We’re very proud of our library.’

‘I can see why.’ Jaime smiles and slips the card into her blazer pocket. ‘I’ll have a look around. Thank you.’

Miss Spires nods and does not take her eyes off them as they head to the right side of the building. The children’s side has a separate area cordoned off with brightly coloured low units packed tight with toddler picture books, and several beanbags in primary colours are scattered across striped rugs.

Moving along, the shelves get a little taller and are filled with stories for early readers, followed by middle-grade, then young adult. They line the walls, leading the way back to the desk and the staff room behind it. After young adult come local history and folklore. Jaime’s eyes light up and she raises her eyebrows at Ralph.

He’s pretending to flick through a graphic novel but catches her eye and nods back discreetly. Jaime walks alongside the shelves, pulling out the occasional book, perusing the back cover blurbs with raised eyebrows and then putting it back and the whole time she can feel the librarian’s eyes on her. She looks at Ralph, who is staring at the graphic novel with his eyes a little too wide and a shimmer of sweat on his forehead.

Jaime clears her throat, pulls out a chair and slips into it with a book on her lap. Taking her lead, Ralph plops onto a beanbag and makes a show of trying to decide between the graphic novel and two comic books he has swiped from a shelf.

This is crazy, thinks Jaime, crazy! We should be able to look at whatever books we like and not be judged for it. She feels the pull of the local history and folklore section but cannot bring herself to even look that way. We have to be cautious, she tells herself, we have to assume the book Paddy was hiding was important and we have to assume the committee members are all watching us, like Mayfield is.

‘You might like to read about local history,’ Miss Spires says then, making Jaime jump so hard so drops the book on the floor. She grabs it and looks over her shoulder. Miss Spires is suddenly right behind her, dressed neatly in a knee length pencil skirt of a dark grey material, thick tan tights and flat black shoes with laces. Her blouse is cream and she wears a long, navy-blue cardigan over the top. She is staring intently at Jaime and blinking rapidly. She nods at the local history shelves.

‘If you want to get to know the place,’ she shrugs at Jaime and seems rather disappointed in her.

‘Oh.’ Jaime stands. ‘That’s really good advice, thank you. I didn’t notice. Okay, why not? Could be interesting.’

Miss Spires remains still, hands clasped behind her back. ‘There are some very good ones on the town history – how and when it was founded and so on. There are one or two on local stories, local people, that sort of thing. I know I’m biased having lived here all my life, but our town is a fascinating little place and I think those books are all very good.’

Jaime, nodding and smiling, wanders over to the shelf. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll take a look.’

She scans the shelves, running her index finger along book spines of various thicknesses and heights. She plucks one out –‘‘A Brief History of Black Hare Valley’,’ she reads out loud. ‘Oh, it’s by an L.T Spires. Any relation to you, Miss Spires?’

The librarian is already back at her desk though. Jaime is sure she did not see or hear the woman move.

‘Yes, actually. He was my grandfather. That’s a good place to start.’

Jaime looks down at the book. It’s quite short… She skim reads the introduction, something about the original hill fort being established in the iron age and there being evidence of dwellings going back to Anglo-Saxon times. There is a chapter about Viking invasions and more about the land and dwellings being mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086.

There is further mention of the first buildings and the on-going growth until it was officially founded as the town it is today. Jaime flicks back to the first page to check the publication date, 1878.

‘He started this library,’ Miss Spires announces then. Jaime turns to her but her head remains down, as her pen scratches across a page in front of her. ‘It was just a shed to start with. A small shack for storing and exchanging books, right in this very spot on the high street. I believe there are some early photographs in there.’

Jaime nods then sighs into the pages. She knows they’ve hit a dead end today, plus, it looks like they won’t be getting any peace. She does a final sweep of the shelves in search of any large, old, leather bound books, but there is nothing remotely similar. She tucks the history book under her arm and gestures to Ralph that it’s time to go.

---

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Eleven “The Book”