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1

Willow, Jaime and Ralph trail dejectedly through the double doors, past the milling children enjoying their break. Edward Bishop leads the way, striding briskly in his slightly too snug brown suit. His faded loafers slap against the bleached floor and he glances back occasionally to be sure they are following.

When they reach his office he opens the door and holds it; nodding at them to go in, they are forced to duck under his sweat-stained armpit, one by one. Neville Hewlett comes in last, closes the door softly and leans against it. He wears light grey trousers and a dark green polo shirt. Casual and friendly, he attempts to offer their nervous faces a reassuring smile.

Good cop, bad cop, Edward thinks, irritably, how cliched. 

‘Sit,’ he commands and they obey, Willow Harrison pulling out a plastic chair first and plopping down with her arms folded defensively. Ralph gestures for Jaime to take the other available seat and goes red in the face as he lifts a third chair from a small stack by the door, then positions it next to Jaime’s.

Once all three are seated, Edward Bishop walks purposefully around his desk, keeping his narrowed eyes on them the whole time. He can smell their fear and he likes it. He licks his lips very slowly, savouring the taste, taking his time to fully coat the thicker lower lip with a trail of saliva before he runs his tongue around his teeth and swallows.

He yanks back his own chair and sits on the edge of it. The fast then slow movements are in part deliberate – he can see their fear intensifying with every gasp and widening of eyes – and part instinct. He enjoys the thrill and speed of the chase yet likes to study and savour his victims in their final moments.

Edward Bishop reaches across the desk, his elbows clicking as he clasps his hands together. ‘I’m only going to ask you this once and I expect the truth,’ he says to them in a somewhat monotone voice. He hopes to suggest that he does not doubt they will be instantly honest. He hopes to make it easy for them to crumble.

Their three faces stare back expectantly. Jaime, the new girl, looks suitably terrified. She’s only been here a week but seems to have landed herself right in the thick of things. Her mother and step-father are concerned about her choice of friends so far and Edward thinks they are right to be. Ralph Maxwell has never been on his radar before now but he has always disliked the haughty Harrison girl, probably for the same reasons he disliked Paddy Finnis. Something arrogant about the pair of them, he’s always thought, something restless and unsatisfied, something in their eyes that suggests they think they are better than all this. And of course, he remembers their parents at their age…

The Harrison girl is intelligent but uses it for sarcasm. She’s never shown a desire to fit in or follow the rules and she’s never seemed to fully appreciate their unique little town. Out of the three of them, she is the one he senses anger from. Resentment even, frustration, certainly. She is afraid, but less so.

Edward knows that Catherine and Mark are worried that Jaime has become secretive too. Locking her door and acting differently. She’s up to something. He can feel it. The guilt is written all over her face.

And the Maxwell boy looks like he is close to pissing himself and he should be. This town has always been good to him and his young mother. A teen mum, widowed young, too pretty for her own good. But the town has looked after her well, picked her up, pushed her on to better things.

Ralph Maxwell is therefore an ungrateful little swine.

And that brings Edward Bishop to the missing piece. The errant shit, Jesse Archer. The one they all seem so fascinated by. One minute, these kids suspect him of no-good, just like the rest of the town, and the next they’re sheltering him. Why? What changed?

‘You’ve been told by Sergeant Mayfield and your own parents that Jesse Archer is wanted for resisting arrest and breaking and entering.’ Edward stares at them in pure disdain. He wants them to think he is onto them. He wants them to think the game is up. ‘Do any of you know where he is right now?’

Ralph and Jaime shake their heads instantly but he can see the flicker of uncertainty in Willow’s eyes. She wants to fire a question back at him but she remains silent then finally shakes her head too.

He sighs. ‘Aiding and abetting a criminal is also a criminal offence. If it is found that you are lying, you may also be arrested and charged. Now, we know that for some reason the three of you have been hanging around with Archer as well. That seems odd to me.’ He leans forward. ‘Jesse Archer is a renowned bully, thief, vandal and thug. You were not friends with him before. What changed?’

He scrutinises their faces one by one. Again, Ralph and Jaime look wild with fright and uncertainty, like they could crack at any moment, but Willow is struggling with something else. Every now and then her top lip almost lifts in a snarl of disgust. She is straight-backed and stiff, her knees locked together, and her arms still folded. She is angry. Edward tilts his head. He wonders how far he can go with her.

‘Willow?’ Neville speaks for the first time. ‘You and Paddy were close friends. This must be a very hard time for you.’

‘Yes,’ agrees Edward. ‘And that makes it even harder for me to understand why you’d befriend a miscreant like Archer.’

She swallows. ‘Paddy liked him,’ Her voice is small but firm. ‘I didn’t, but Paddy has always been a good judge of character and now he’s missing, I thought, I felt, like I should give Jesse a chance.’

‘Oh?’ Edward raises his eyebrows at her. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ she nods. ‘And you know what, Mr Bishop? Paddy was right.’

Edward cannot quite comprehend the audacity of her. He gives her a cold look while Neville looks on anxiously.

‘Well, Miss Harrison, that’s really very interesting. And leads me to question if you’re such a fan of Jesse Archer, maybe there’s a chance you know something about him breaking into Sergeant Mayfield’s house? Or maybe you were even part of it?’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she says, staring right back at him.

‘And I suppose you don’t know where he is either?’ He smiles.

She smiles back. ‘It’s a very small town. There can’t be that many places for him to hide.’

‘No. Quite right. And when he is found, he’ll be made a ward of court and taken into foster care. He’s really only delaying the inevitable by hiding away.’ Edward releases a dramatic sigh and bows his head for a moment, hoping to convey his utmost disappointment in them all. When he glances back up, he catches Neville’s eyes. He has moved forward a bit and is twisting his chubby hands together in front of him.

‘Mr Bishop, I understand this has been a difficult week for everyone,’ Hewlett says, his tone sickly sweet. ‘In particular you, Willow, being such close friends with Paddy.’

‘Yeah, and it’s like everyone has just forgotten him already,’ she blurts out then, arms still crossed as she side-eyes Neville.

‘Sorry?’ he replies.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asks Edward.

She clears her throat. ‘Paddy. It’s only been a week but already no one talks about him. They’re not even searching for him anymore. Everyone has just given up.’

Edward shakes his head. ‘That’s not true.’

‘It is,’ Willow insists. ‘There are no searches. Nothing. When the posters get ragged and fall down, no one replaces them.’

Edward does not know what to say – because of course, she is right – and suddenly more than anything he wants to get all three of them out of his office. He looks at Neville for help. Neville places a hand on the back of Willow’s chair and she automatically flinches away from it. Edward feels tired. He wants them gone. He wants time to move on from all this. Because he knows that given enough time, everyone will indeed move on and the town will indeed forget. The town is covered in a sweet haze and only rough spikes like Willow Harrison and Jesse Archer are a risk to that.

Edward misses the sweet haze and hopes they return to it soon. He rubs one eye and gestures to the door.

‘Mr Hewlett, I think we’re going around in circles here.’

‘Yes,’ Neville agrees. ‘What we also wanted to talk about was extra support and guidance for you. Starting right now, in fact. Willow?’

She frowns at him, lips pressed together.

He reaches out and opens the door. ‘We can start with you. Do you want to come to my office? Jaime and Ralph I’ll send for you after.’

‘What about my next class?’ Willow gets up from the chair.

He smiles a charming smile. ‘It’s all arranged. Come along.’

She looks helplessly at her friends before following Mr Hewlett out of the office.

‘Go on,’ Edward says to the other two. ‘Off you go to class and remember, aiding and abetting is a crime too. I want you to think about that very seriously indeed.’

When they are all gone, Edward Bishop flexes his arms and legs and arches his back. He smiles slowly as the stresses of teaching seep away and the potential adventure and freedom his new position offers stretch out enticingly.

2

Neville Hewlett ushers Willow Harrison into his hot, stuffy office and closes the door. She sits down stiffly, animosity leeching into the atmosphere and he wipes his sweaty hands down his trousers and sighs to himself. This won’t be easy because it never is.

He slides behind his desk and finds it hard to look at her because when he does he feels the heavy knowledge settle on him; they don’t take him seriously and they never will.

‘So, Willow,’ he says with a gushing smile meant to relax her. ‘Please be assured that nobody has forgotten Paddy and no one has given up searching for him. He is still a member of our community and this school and a valued member. An important one.’

She eyes him coldly and does not respond. He shifts in his chair and longs for this to be over. Eventually it will be. Time moves on. People forget. It all comes full circle again. It will be all right again, soon. He closes his eyes briefly and pictures the face of his secret date. They will meet in the shadows tonight when his girlfriend Tahlia is working her shift at The Hare and Hound.

‘Whatever.’ Willow says and when his eyes snap open she shrugs at him and flicks back her hair. ‘Can I go now please?’

‘Willow, I’m trying to help you. We’re all trying to help.’ He sits back in his chair, palms upturned in frustration.

‘All right then,’ she says. ‘Can you be honest with me, Mr Hewlett?’

‘Of course, Willow, you can ask me anything.’

She stares at him for a long moment. He wants to look away. Her eyes are large and dark and angry and he fears what is going to come out of her mouth. He suddenly hates his job and feels a sick envy for Mayor Sumner up on her high Hill Fort Farm.

‘What happened to Jesse’s head when Sergeant Mayfield tried to arrest him?’

It’s the very last thing Neville expected her to say. His eyes widen as his mind panics and scrambles for an answer or a way out. He wishes he was back in Bishop’s office. He’s like Mayfield, he thinks, ruthless and confident. But Neville isn’t.

He blinks rapidly and feels hot itchy sweat oozing between his buttocks and the plastic chair under them.

‘What? I don’t- ’ He stumbles over his words as Willow looks on in triumph. He hates her then. Hates her for being so angry and sullen and quick; hates her for still harping on about Paddy bloody Finnis. Mayfield is right about one thing: it should have been Jesse Archer. Then none of this would be happening…

‘You were there, right?’ Her sharp tone cuts right through him. She sounds like an adult. Angry, stern, unimpressed.

‘No, I certainly was not there,’ he laughs. ‘What an absurd suggestion, Willow! Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Jesse said you were there. He’s got a big head injury from Mayfield’s baton so it’s no wonder he legged it. That’s why he’s hiding, Mr Hewlett, because Sergeant Mayfield is a corrupt bully.’

She stops suddenly, though he is sure she wants to go on. But she shuts her mouth and looks around the room anxiously as if a chill has crawled over her.

‘Willow, you really can’t go around making accusations like that. I was not there at all and Jesse Archer is a renowned liar. He’s obviously had quite an effect on you, young lady, which really is a shame! And now you better tell me when and where you saw him! You have just sat there and lied to our faces!’

A siren suddenly blares – making them both jump. Neville glances at the window, then back at her.

‘Sounds like a fire engine.’

She frowns and looks anxiously at the door while the siren moves off into town. Neville nods at her.

‘Go on, I think we’ll leave it there. I’m going to do you one favour and one favour only, Miss Harrison. I’m going to forget what you just said about seeing Jesse Archer and in return, you’re going to stay away from him! Do you understand?’

He waits until she has given him an angry nod, then gets up opens the door for her. Outside in the corridor a crowd of children have gathered at the main doors and a loud cacophony of excited chatter can be heard going back and forth between them.

‘It’s a fire, Mr Hewlett!’ a girl yells out.

‘Well, it’s not here is it, so get back to class,’ he replies, glancing at Willow.

‘It’s in town! Something’s on fire! I can see smoke!’

Several children have pasted themselves dramatically to the glass windows.

‘Come on, back to class all of you! It’s nothing for us to worry about.’

But they don’t listen. A boy suddenly pushes through from outside, wide-eyed and breathless.

‘It’s Black Hare Cottage!’ he yells at them all. ‘It’s on fire!’

Willow gapes in horror and shoots a dark and unforgiving look at Neville Hewlett. He rolls his eyes in despair, turns and goes back into the office.

3

Vicar Greg Roberts is clipping the neat box hedge that surrounds the front garden of Ivy Cottage, when the fire engines roar by. He has, of course, been clipping with the scent of smoke on the air for some time. He makes his way to the gate and leans on the wooden post, shears held against his leg while he witnesses the commotion unfold.

The smoke is now wafting up the High Street from Hare Lane. His wife, Meridith, calls from the front door. ‘Darling, what is it?’

Greg looks over his shoulder at his thin, pale wife. Meredith has shoulder length brown hair and a plain, forgettable face. Despite their undeniable oddness, Greg has always been grateful that his twin daughters, Lillith and Abigail, inherited his vivid red hair. It sets them apart, he thinks, makes them memorable.

Meredith, a mousy woman in cream trousers and a brown blouse, is holding out a bag of rubbish. He places the clippers on the grass then strides up the path to take it from her.

‘Something’s on fire,’ he tells her. ‘Further down.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ she says in a flat voice before retreating back inside.

Greg strolls back to the gate and slips outside to lower the rubbish into the bin. He can’t quite see the curve of the high street, so he calls out to the house, ‘I think I’ll just take a quick look!’

Greg walks away and out of sight. He walks around the copse and once Hare Lane comes into view, he can see what is on fire. It is Black Hare Cottage. He stands, hands on hips, and watches. The fire crew are in attendance and he can see Aaron Mayfield and a few PC’s stringing up tape to keep the public back, but Greg can see it is all in vain.

The thatch is ablaze. The house is made of rotten, crumbling wood. One of the town’s most ancient buildings does not stand a chance.

A crowd has gathered and through the bobbing heads and shrugging shoulders, Greg thinks he catches a glimpse of Bob Rowan. It’s a brief, but fascinating sighting. Bob Rowan is even more of a recluse than Iris Cotton. Greg can’t help wondering if it was the flames that drew him down from his farm, or something else.

It was definitely him though, thinks Greg, a little excitedly. He would recognise that sleek black hair and thin moustache anywhere. He scans the crowd shrewdly but if it was Bob Rowan, he is gone now.

‘Look! Look at that!’ someone in the crowd yells out.

Greg looks where they are pointing and sees a swift white creature darting away from the burning house. It seems to be leaping right out of the flames and appears remarkably unscathed as it zig-zags at speed through the crowd of people before vanishing into the dark depths of the copse beside Saint Marks.

‘Did you see that?’ an old-timer looks up at Greg with a gaping mouth and yellowed teeth. She is leaning over her walking stick and shaking her head.

‘I did indeed!’ he replies warmly. ‘A white hare! What a sight!’

‘They used to say they were witches really,’ the old woman goes on and Greg responds with an appropriately amused chuckle. ‘They’d turn into hares to escape being burned at the stake!’

‘Oh yes, I’ve heard that one,’ smiles Greg. ‘But there is actually a good explanation for it. They used to burn the corn and wheat fields after the harvest and the hares would wait until the last moment to spring out and run past the people to safety – so to them it looked like the hares were running through the fire.’

He gives the old woman a crinkle-eyed smile and she waves her hand at him in a rather disgruntled manner before wandering off. Greg feels someone arrive at his shoulder and glances down to see Sylvia Gordon.

She is small and neat – pocket-sized, he jokes when they are alone – with blonde curls she keeps above neck level. She wears glasses – in a sexy librarian style, he thinks – and orderly, old-fashioned clothes.

‘Well, well,’ she remarks, her eyes fixed on the flaming cottage. ‘Has anyone seen Iris, do you know? Is she safe?’

Greg shrugs as he eyes her curiously. He has lost interest in the cottage. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

She checks her watch and taps the clock face with a neat polished nail. ‘No, I’ve not got another class until after lunch today. I was running a few errands when I heard all the fuss.’ She sidles a little closer and tugs his sleeve. ‘There is a meeting tonight, Greg. I was asked to pass that on.’

‘Oh? At the pub?’

‘No, no.’ She shakes her baby blonde curls at him and he feels a little dizzy. ‘At Margaret’s.’

‘Everyone?’

She makes a face. ‘I’m not sure. Eugenie told me and I was to tell you.’ She looks back at the flames and nods. ‘Guess we’ll find out later. I’m quite looking forward to it. There’s been a lot going on lately.’ Sylvia’s arms reach out in front of her. She clasps her hands together and stretches like a runner. ‘I need a debrief.’

‘Hmm. What time are we required?’

‘Eight.’

‘All right then. I’ll meet you there.’

She looks up, winks then turns and strides away. Greg watches her go then turns back to the warmth of the blaze. The thatch is gone – a black smouldering mess is all that remains. The fire is mostly out but the burnt smell is heavy in the air around them. The crowd start to drift away, muttering. The air is filled with softly floating debris – little remnants of grey or black drifting in the breeze. Iris Cotton’s life, he thinks.

4

The High Street is busier than normal and Eugenie Spires is stood in front of the double doors with her hands planted on her hips to observe. Eugenie is one of life’s great observers. There is not much that gets past her.

She doesn’t consider herself nosy – just watchful. She doesn’t do it on purpose after all; it’s just her nature, the way some people are shy, or nervous, or arrogant. Eugenie is observant. It’s who she is. She can’t help it and she doesn’t consider herself a gossip either. Much of what she picks up she keeps to herself. Gossips pass information on for the sake of it, for attention, whereas Eugenie does not need or desire attention from anyone.

Today she watches smoke drifting up the street with the dispersing crowd and even with the doors shut, the smell of burning straw seeps in. Her nose twitches and she backs off with a haughty sigh. The smell of anything burning is unpleasant: thatch, fields, toast, flesh. She shudders and scurries back into her library.

The children’s area is busy. It’s Rhyme Time for the local toddlers and a group of mothers are sat on the colourful beanbags while Nathan Cotton reads a series of nursery rhymes and the tots respond by clapping hands and smashing plastic instruments together. The noise goes straight through her but Eugenie tolerates it because she’s always had a firm understanding of what this town needs.

She is a great believer in sacrifice and Rhyme Time is a good example. She’s not especially fond of small children but she can tolerate fifty minutes of noise and sticky fingers for the good of the town. Mums and tots need things to do, places to go where they can make friends and Eugenie believes that a love of libraries instilled in young babies can produce life-long readers. What a library needs most is readers and what a town needs most is longevity.

She pauses to watch the young Cotton boy, wondering if she ought to tell him his grandmother’s house is on fire. Or is she his great-grandmother? Eugenie is not sure. Years blend together here. Generations merge and get confused.

She decides not to tell him. She will play dumb. Soon enough, someone will come bundling in excitedly to spill the news and he will find out then. She goes behind the desk and wonders what he will do. Run out probably – try to find his mother and Iris. Will Iris stay at theirs? Of course, the town will come together for Iris. No doubt, they will discuss it at the meeting tonight. What they can do, what support they can offer. Everything will be gone, Eugenie muses. Nothing will survive the flames.

And after the flames comes rebirth; growth, which is why they used to torch the fields after harvest.

‘Hickory dickory dock!’ Nathan sings with his usual red-faced nervousness. He is kneeling in tight blue jeans in front of the mums and tots – the sleeves of his slim fitting red top rolled up to his elbows. ‘Tick tock! Tick, tock!’ he waggles a finger at them. Some of the babies copy, standing up and waving pudgy hands back at him.

Eugenie supposes he does it for fun – can it really be fun? He seems to like the mothers, always making small-talk with them and asking who did their hair or where they got their shoes from. The mums like him too. He’s non-threatening, she supposes. He tells her he enjoys it. That it’s important to give back. That Black Hare Valley has a wonderful community spirit and she agrees. It really does.

Nathan is a good boy. She knows he will be upset about Black Hare Cottage but these things happen. Life will go on. It always does. He will go to work at the chemist tomorrow and he’ll be back for more Rhyme Time next Monday and in between work and home and the library, she supposes he will continue to meet Neville Hewlett in dark, secretive places until one day, inevitably, they get caught.

Eugenie sighs to herself, shaking her head. People are their own worst enemies, she thinks. Secrets everywhere. Secret lives. It makes them soft and vulnerable, easy to manipulate into place.

She thinks about her new neighbours on School Lane. Ralph Maxwell and his delightfully fresh-faced mother, Charlotte. He wasn’t a child she paid much attention to before, but now? Things are different since the Finnis boy vanished – things are not quite right. Eugenie is pleased they are neighbours so that she can do what she does best.

5

Sergeant Mayfield is drawn by the sound of smashing glass and is relieved and smug when he discovers the cause. Dominic Robeson’s large shaved head is the first thing he sees as he approaches the blackened, still smoking husk of Black Hare Cottage just as dusk is falling.

The smell of burnt thatch is thick in the air and he coughs to clear his throat, the sound alerting Dominic to his presence. The big dumb kid stops stomping on window panes and faces him, frozen like a hare caught in the glare of a lamp. For a moment, Aaron considers himself the hound, released and already racing towards its prey. He feels his feet leaving the burnt ground and leaping, flying, ears pressed flat against his long skull, his lean athletic body smashing into the prey and knocking him flat.

‘Don’t stop on my accord!’ Aaron calls out, swinging his baton as he strides towards Dominic. ‘That looks like a lot of fun!’

Dominic lowers the hammer he is holding then opens his fingers, letting it hit the earth with a soft thump. Just then, Aarron hears a crunching from within the remains of the house and a voice calls out, ‘I’ve found a shit load of money!’ They both look on as Steven emerges brashly from the sooty brickwork, clutching handfuls of old jewellery.

He stops when he sees Aaron and his mouth falls open. Steven’s stringy and lean, his eyes smarter and colder than Dominic’s who is a mercifully obedient pet to this thug.

Aaron sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose as if the air offends him. ‘Got you,’ he says cheerily, winking at Steven.

Aaron can see the boy is considering running. He’ll leave his friend behind in a heartbeat because he can run faster. He won’t look back. Aaron swings the baton and steps towards him, holding up a warning finger.

‘Don’t you even think about it. I’ll set you on fire and say you burned when the house did. No one will know any different.’ He glances coldly at Dominic. ‘You too. Don’t move a muscle. Keep your dumb mouths shut and listen. Then I’ll let you go.’

He waits, looking between them, giving them a second to consider their options. The Robeson boy’s shoulders slump miserably and his head lowers. Steven runs a tongue around the inside of his mouth and then stuffs the jewellery into the pockets of his jeans. He glares at Aaron, waiting.

‘I was looking for someone to do me a favour,’ says Aaron. He nods. ‘And you two idiots helped me before, so you can help me again. I won’t have to arrest you for criminal damage and theft if you listen carefully and then do exactly what I tell you, all right?’

The boys edge closer together, both nodding. Aaron continues. ‘Jesse Archer is hiding in the Finnis treehouse, the one you fetched the book from.’ He pauses, registering the interest on Steven’s face. ‘I want you to go there now and lure him out. I want him in the alley between the bookshop and the hardware, you understand?’

‘How do we lure him out?’ Dominic asks dubiously.

‘That’s for you to figure out,’ snaps Aaron. ‘Just get him to that alley any way you can then turn around and leave. We’ll be square then. Agreed?’

The boys look at each other again, Dominic shrugs helplessly while Steven makes the decision for both of them. He nods.

‘Sure, Sergeant Mayfield. Not a problem.’

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 Nineteen “The Meeting”