Black Hare Valley Chapter Six: “School Days

June 5, 2025June 1, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

© 2025 Chantelle Atkins. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

On the way to school, Jesse is twice tempted to play truant. Once, when he comes out of the block of flats and his gaze is drawn to the fields and hills behind Taylor Drive. The pull is strong; he could turn right, pick up Walkers Road and just keep walking… For the first time, as he stands with his bag on his back and his hands in his pockets, he considers just going. Just walking and not stopping. Not until he is as far away as he can get from all of them. Not until he can breathe again.

He only considers it for a few seconds. Then his feet move to the left and he is walking down Taylor Drive whether he wants to or not. He cuts across a wet field, ignoring the curious gaze of a lone Shetland pony, then cuts down the alley between Milly’s Café and the post office. Here, he turns left onto High Street and joins the herd of children flocking to school.

He keeps his eyes out for Paddy Finnis but knows he is unlikely to see him, as he approaches the school from Black Hare Road. Still, the closer Jesse gets to the building he attempted to blow up, the more he looks around for Paddy. He still needs to talk to him. He couldn’t say any of it in front of those other kids yesterday but he wants to warn Paddy about the camera. He didn’t sleep last night thinking about it.

As he enters the school playground, Jesse stops and turns around. He has another urge to ditch it all and walk away, fast. Run away from the valley and never come back. He sees Mr Bishop drive his navy blue Porsche into the staff car park and his stomach turns to liquid. What if Mayfield told Bishop?

Jaime smiles proudly when she steps out of the pub (now open for business) and falls into step with Ralph Maxwell. As promised, he has called for her to walk to school together. Jaime’s natural positivity blossoms inside her as she and Ralph stroll along.

‘Are you nervous?’ Ralph asks her kindly.

She looks him over. He’s short for his age too but not chubby like her. He’s solid and outdoorsy, his skin well-tanned from a summer of outdoor pursuits. His hair is brown and curly; it looks both wild and soft as a gentle breeze tousles it around his ears and neck. He has hazel eyes and long lashes, a wide nose and a wide smile to match.

Jaime looks ahead at the sea of children flooding towards School Lane. She shrugs. ‘Yeah, I am actually. But I’m thinking of it as a fresh start.’

‘You won’t miss your old home then? Your old school?’

She shakes her head quickly. ‘No, definitely not.’ Jaime looks around, brightening. Black Hare Valley awakes early and it’s moving around her. The sun is shining today and the temperature is rising. ‘I think I’m going to really like it here,’ she says.

‘Good.’ Ralph grins back.

Jaime’s own smile fades when she spots the girls from the café standing just outside the school gates. They are smoking cigarettes whilst lounging against the railings, nodding and pointing and laughing at people as they pass by. She lowers her head and tries to hide behind Ralph, but it’s too late, they’ve spotted her.

Alexa flicks her long sleek hair from one shoulder to the other. She is heavily made up and Jaime can see sparkly grips pinning her hair in place just above one ear. ‘Fat little loser,’ she whispers to Bryony, who only pretends to be appalled, before both girls erupt into giggles.

Jaime keeps walking. She tells herself it was not aimed at her. The girls were looking everyone up and down and casting judgement. That could have been aimed at anyone. She feels Ralph eyeing her curiously and forces a smile as she lifts her chin and moves on.

Suddenly, Ralph grabs her arm and points ahead.

‘Look, there he is.’

Jaime looks and sees the mysterious Jesse Archer up ahead. He’s staring at the staff car park, his dark hair blowing in the breeze. She feels her pulse quicken and her cheeks flush. He might be a little rough around the edges, but she can’t help how she feels. There is something about Jesse Archer, she thinks as she fixes her gaze on him. He’s a strange mix of anger and vulnerability and she thinks he is handsome enough to be in a band or on TV. She is just picturing him looking moody on stage with his long hair and high cheekbones, when she hears Ralph exhale beside her.

With a little shake of his head he asks her in a low voice, ‘Shall we follow him then?’

Jaime nods without hesitation. ‘Yep.’

Jesse walks reluctantly into the building. He spots Steven and Dominic ahead, stuffing PE kits into their lockers. All at once the anger consumes him and he can’t think, or reason, or even slow himself down. He storms through the crowd, marches up to them and grabs Steven by the lapels of his school blazer.

‘Hey!’

‘Where the hell were you?’ Jesse snarls, pushing his face into Steven’s before slamming him back into the lockers.

The school bell rings. Dominic scuttles off. At the other end of the corridor, Jaime and Ralph look on in awe.

‘You didn’t show up, you useless bastard!’

Jesse is about to punch him when he hears a voice that chills him to the bone.

‘Archer! My office, now!’

He lets Steven go. Steven smirks, shakes himself off and slouches away. Jesse turns around to see Mr Bishop leaning out of his office at the far end of the corridor. He is staring at Jesse with malicious intensity.

Jesse moves, his body on auto-pilot once again. He may as well get it over with and then he will find Paddy later and warn him. He goes to Mr Bishop’s office and is swallowed up inside.

When Paddy doesn’t meet her on the corner as planned, Willow walks as slowly as possible into the playground, wincing as the school bell screams above her head and looking back over her shoulder almost constantly for Paddy. She has no choice but to allow herself to be bustled inside the hectic building.

She goes solemnly to her locker, feeling lost without him. It’s not like Paddy to take a day off school, especially the first one back after summer. He takes his education far too seriously for that and he was absolutely fine yesterday…

Then she remembers how drenched they all were. Maybe he caught a cold or the weather made his asthma play up. Still, it’s weird. She thinks about what Paddy said yesterday after Jesse Archer had stormed off. ‘I think he was trying to tell me something. Something about Sergeant Mayfield.’

Willow is still not convinced, she has never seen Jesse Archer as anything other than a thug and a bully, skulking around town with his stupid mates, trying to act hard. She finds it impossible to believe he is capable of feeling pity for the humiliation Paddy suffered thanks to Bishop’s assembly that day. He probably just wants revenge. Still, the stuff about Mayfield arresting him then just letting him go doesn’t make sense.

The corridor is empty – Willow sighs and heads to class.

Jesse sits slumped in the chair, his legs stuck out in front of him, his fake Nikes pointing to the ceiling. As Mr Bishop shuts the office door with a bang, Jesse stares upwards, locating a huge water stain and following its edges until it starts to resemble a tractor.

He expects Bishop to sit behind his desk to commence the lecture or the expulsion, but he doesn’t. He stands right in front of Jesse and looks down at him. Jesse withdraws his legs and waits. He finds it hard to look back at Mr Bishop. Not just because he is incredibly intimidated by him and can feel the man’s hatred for him rolling off in barely constrained waves. But because the man is just so unattractive. It almost makes Jesse feel sorry for him, and that’s saying something because he hates Bishop almost as much as he hates Mayfield.

He’s one of those tall thin men who eats too much crap and drinks too much booze when he’s home on his own. As a result, he’s made up of thin arms and legs and a big, fat, hard, barrel gut. This makes him look unstable, like he might topple. His shirt is always straining across his middle because if he bought one to fit his belly, it would be far too long in the arm, and he has this awful, and possibly deliberate, habit of leaning in too close when he speaks to people. His breath is atrocious. It smells like dog sick.

His head is rectangular, and his black, somewhat greasy hair, is shot with grey and has a lank, home-cut look about it. His eyes are pale blue and far too staring; they remind Jesse of a the eyes of a dead fish, and his nose is hooked and thin. His lips are strangely plump and his skin riddled with old acne scars. Crater-face, Jesse thinks, squirming under his gaze.

The pale eyes narrow. He looks angry and yet somehow triumphant, as if he woke up this morning hoping and praying that Jesse Archer would do something wrong. Jesse stares back at him and knows that he knows… Of course he knows. Bishop and Mayfield are old friends and they’re both on that stupid Neighbourhood Watch Committee.

‘Trespassing,’ Bishop finally says and the words slip out like a hiss from a snake. ‘Eh?’ He leans closer, sliding his hands down the legs of his dark blue trousers until his terrible face is right next to Jesse’s. ‘Archer. Speak up, cretin.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Bishop nods. ‘Slimebag. Just like your brothers and your old man.’

Jesse shrugs. Bishop glowers. Sweat stands out on his forehead. ‘Get up,’ he barks suddenly, spittle spraying Jesse’s face.

He drags the cuff of his blazer across his cheek. ‘Why?’

‘Get up,’ Bishop says again and opens the door. ‘Follow me. I want to show you something.’

The corridors are empty. Classes have commenced without Jesse. He wonders if he is about to be escorted off the school grounds for good and finds himself hoping for that scenario.

Bishop seizes the top of his arm and looks disgusted with him. ‘Come on. This way.’

They head towards the main doors and Jesse braces himself. He’s about to be thrown out, finally, after all these years. He wonders what he will do, where he will go, whether his dad will care at all…

But Bishop steers him left. They pass the assembly hall and Jesse fights the urge to mention it, to bring up that awful talk he gave, that pointless and vicious humiliation. He wants to ask Bishop what the point of it was, and why Paddy? He can understand Bishop wanting to punish him; the antagonism between them goes back years, but Paddy Finnis is a good kid, a good student. He’s smart and well behaved. What did he do to deserve such treatment?

Jesse bites his lower lip with his teeth and attempts to pull his arm free. He cannot bear such a ghastly man touching him.

Bishop feels him start to pull free and tightens his grip. ‘You’re in Year 11 now,’ he tells Jesse as they continue past the hall. He looks at Jesse sharply, as if expecting an answer.

‘Yeah,’ Jesse nods.

‘Yeah,’ Bishop mocks his gruff tones. ‘Final year. What’re you gonna do after that then?’

‘Don’t know, sir.’

‘Poaching and thieving like your brothers, like your old man.’

‘No, sir.’

‘No, that’s right. I’ll show you what you’re gonna do.’

Jesse wonders if Mr Bishop has finally gone mad, ‘full psycho’ as Steven would say. What is he talking about?

‘I’ll be late for class, sir.’

Bishop snorts. ‘Like you care. This way.’

They take a right past the sports hall. To the left is an open door and an overweight, balding man can be seen backing slowly out of it, dragging a bucket and a mop with him. He looks their way and a shadow of fear passes over his face.

‘Oh, Mr Bishop,’ he says, straightening up. ‘I’m on my way. Boys’ toilets near the science block, I know.’

Bishop waves a hand at him. ‘All right, Mr Burns, no hurry. Archer.’ He turns his glare on Jesse. ‘You know Mr Burns, don’t you?’

Jesse is utterly confused. He nods. Burns is the school caretaker. He lives in the caravan park, chain-smokes and is often seen propping up the bar in The Old Fort, the smaller, darker and seedier public house in Black Hare Valley. He has thinning yellow hair, a bristly chin, sweat stains under each arm and his shoelaces always seem to be undone. He’s not exactly friends with Jesse’s father, Nick, but he knows they drink together sometimes.

Burns remains quiet, his head hanging.

‘Mr Burns here used to be just like you, Archer,’ says Bishop, finally letting go of Jesse’s arm. He laces his hands behind his back and rocks back on his heels, his nose wrinkling in distaste. ‘You went to this school, didn’t you, Burns? Back when my father was the headteacher here. Used to be a lazy student and an awful bully, didn’t you, Burns?’

It’s no surprise to Jesse to hear Mr Bishop talk so rudely to Burns – everyone treats old Burns like shit, but there is something very unsettling about what he is saying, and why. The caretaker drops his head even lower. Jesse watches his hands shaking as they grip the mop.

‘Yes, Mr Bishop,’ he mumbles his reply.

Bishop grins maniacally at Jesse. ‘Used to have a pathetic little gang too, just like you, Archer. Your dad was in that gang. Used to bully me actually, didn’t you, Burns? You and Nicky Archer. Remember that?’

The man does not answer but his lips quiver.

Bishop clears his throat. ‘But he’s changed now. He’s a useful member of the community and a valued employee of our school. He does a good job and do you know what he happens to be looking for after the summer, Archer?’

‘No, sir.’

‘An apprentice,’ Bishop laughs, his eyes twinkling. ‘It’s getting a bit much for him, you see. He’s not in the best of health these days but he’s far too young to retire, so we thought an apprentice would be a good idea. You know, someone he can train up for a few years. Someone who can take over when he’s gone. And that’s where you come in.’

Jesse opens his mouth to argue. He wants to laugh out loud. He wants to turn around and run. He wants to say no, no fucking way, are you fucking insane? What the hell is mad Bishop talking about? For a moment, the words spin around in his head but they don’t make their way to his lips and instead, he swallows thickly and closes his mouth.

He knows exactly what this is and why.

He is ice cold and rigid with fear. He can only stare while Bishop laughs, enjoying the joke that isn’t a joke.

‘There you are, Archer. There’s your future. Don’t worry about bad grades and poor attendance. We’ll forgive all that and you’ll be him, okay? Just like he used to be you.’

There is no point in arguing. There is no point Jesse shaking his head and saying no thank you, I don’t want to be a caretaker because he understands better than anyone how this town works.

‘As you were, Burns.’ Bishop takes Jesse by the arm again and leads him back the way they came. ‘That’s your future, Archer and don’t you forget it. You’ll be right where I can always keep an eye on you. You’re be out of Sergeant Mayfield’s way. Do you understand?’

He stops walking and stares into Jesse’s eyes.

‘Yeah,’ Jesse says because he knows Bishop has him where he wants him, just like that bastard Mayfield does. Bishop knows what he tried to do yesterday.

‘Good.’ Bishop lets go of his arm. ‘Off you go then, Archer. Get to class. And no more trespassing, you hear?’

Jesse walks away as fast as he can.

At 9.20am Willow is called to the school office. There is a bad feeling sloshing around in her belly as she leaves her class and tries to figure out what she might have done wrong. She is met in the office by one of the admin staff and Mr Hewlett, the school pastoral worker.

He is a chubby man with pale hair, unblemished skin and a nervous disposition. Dressed in his trademark ironed blue jeans and v-neck jumper, his hands remain clasped together and his fingers writhe like small snakes as he smiles warmly at Willow.

‘Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,’ he reassures her, pausing to run one of his childlike hands through his thinning hair. His huge forehead gleams down at her. ‘We just need to ask you a few questions.’

No one tells her she can sit down so she remains standing. ‘About what?’

‘About Paddy Finnis.’

Her stomach turns over. ‘What about him? Is he okay?’

‘Now, there’s no need to panic but his father is getting a tad worried. It seems, Willow, that Paddy went to bed last night but when Mr Finnis looked in on him this morning he was gone.’

Willow has to sit down. Her knees are trembling as she reaches for a chair. ‘What?’

‘Yes, it is all a bit strange but I’m sure he’s just fine. His father is talking to the police at the moment and I was asked to talk to his friends and anyone he might have seen yesterday. Have you seen him today, Willow? Or heard from him?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head in dismay. ‘No, nothing.’

‘He didn’t call your house, or the shop? Anything like that? Last night or even this morning?’

‘No, not as far as I know, but I’d have to check with my parents.’

‘Yes, please do. Check he didn’t leave any messages about where he was going, because the thing is it seems that wherever he chose to go, he didn’t take anything with him.’

She hunches forward on the chair. ‘What?’

‘Yes, it does seem odd.’ Mr Hewlett winces slightly as he continues to twist his hands together. ‘At first, his father thought he’d just left for school early but then he realised he hadn’t taken his school bag or lunch. Or his shoes. Or coat…’ He winces again. ‘But I am sure he’ll turn up. Now, you’ve no idea where he might have gone? Anyone he might have arranged to meet, for example? Or perhaps, anything he might have said to you? Anything strange or out of character? Anything would be useful, Willow. Anything.’

‘You should talk to Jesse Archer,’ she says through clenched teeth.

Mr Hewlett looks concerned. ‘Oh? What makes you say that?’

‘He’s been hanging around Paddy a lot lately. He was there yesterday in the treehouse too. They’re not friends. If something has happened to Paddy, I bet it has something to do with him.’

The day is going well for Jaime until she bumps into Alexa and Bryony again. She keeps her head down, her eyes averted, determined not to let them bother her, but as they tug their PE kits out in the girls changing room, she feels their sharp eyes upon her.

They’re giggling and whispering and when she dares to look, they are staring right at her. She wishes she knew more people other than Ralph, who is in the year below her. She could do with some of his friendly cheer right now.

It’s okay, she tells herself, just get through this.

Jaime keeps her back turned and unbuttons her shirt. She tugs the polo shirt over her head and wriggles into it, trying to be as discreet as possible. The whole time she can feel them watching her. Her cheeks are so hot she feels like she could burst into flames.

‘Settling in well?’ one of them asks her, but the question is not friendly.

She pulls her PE shorts up under her school skirt and then lets the skirt drop to the floor. Job done, with her dignity intact, just about.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she mumbles over one shoulder.

‘Absolutely disgusting,’ she hears one of them hiss but when she turns to see if its directed at her, they are both walking away.

Jaime sags, sitting on the hard wooden bench and dropping her head into her hands. Why do girls have to be so mean to other girls? She will never understand it.

‘Fuck them,’ a voice says from behind her.

Jaime turns and peers through the mass of hanging uniforms and PE bags to see Willow’s pale face staring back at her. Her cat-like eyes are a deep green framed by thick black lashes accentuated by expertly applied eyeliner, and she narrows them at Jaime while her shiny black hair hangs heavily on either side of her face. A slightly too long fringe covers her eyebrows.

‘Hi, Willow.’ Jaime feels a stirring of hope. ‘Thanks. I don’t know what their problem is.’

‘Small-minded bitches.’ Willow shrugs. ‘Hey, did you know that Paddy is missing?’

‘What?’

Willow comes around the bench and sits next to her. Her hands rest on her bare knees. Her fingers are long, pale and delicate.

‘He vanished in the night,’ she says, her eyes fixed ahead as if in a dream. ‘I mean, what the fuck is that about? Who does that?’

Jaime is transfixed. ‘What do you mean he’s vanished?’

‘Went to bed,’ Willow says calmly. ‘Then gone in the morning.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Mr Hewlett, he’s the pastoral care guy, he literally just told me. They wanted to know if I’d heard from him, if I knew anything…’

‘Oh my god!’ Jaime exclaims before clapping both hands over her mouth. ‘Are the police involved?’

Willow nods grimly. ‘Yes. This isn’t like Paddy, you know.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘I told them we were all at the treehouse yesterday and I told them to ask Jesse Archer.’

‘Why? You don’t really think he’s done something?’

Willow shrugs. Jaime stares at her carefully composed face but she can sense the confusion and the panic drumming inside of her. She puts her hand over Willow’s and Willow stares down at it.

‘You don’t know Jesse like we do,’ says Willow. ‘He’s a bully.’

‘Paddy seemed okay with him. Like maybe they’d been making friends.’

Suddenly, Willow leans forward, dropping her head into her hands. ‘That’s the really weird thing. They had been making friends recently but I didn’t trust Jesse and I still don’t.’

‘Ralph and I are gonna follow him. See what’s going on.’

Finally, Willow looks at her. Really looks at her. ‘Are you? When?’

‘Whenever. At school. After. That whole thing was the policeman was really weird in my opinion.’

‘Yeah, it was.’

‘We need to talk to him. Do you think he knows about Paddy yet?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Okay.’ Jaime pats her shoulder. ‘Meet me and Ralph after school by the gates. We won’t let Jesse Archer out of our sight.’

Willow gives a cautious nod. She looks dazed as she stands up. ‘Okay then. So, you and Ralph?’

‘Friends,’ Jaime nods happily. She gets up and shakes back her hair. ‘We’ll help you figure this out, Willow.’

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 Seven “The Neighbourhood”

Black Hare Valley Chapter Five: “Ralph, Monster Hunter”

May 29, 2025May 28, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

Ralph Maxwell is shopping with his mother when the weather changes. The morning had begun with a hesitant blue sky but by lunchtime the clouds had swum in to hang over Black Hare Valley like a petulant threat.

The rain does not bother his young mother, Charlotte, a widow since his father died when he was three years old. Neither of them own a decent raincoat but Charlotte never falters, in fact, she seems to barely notice the rain as it patters down, at first just wetting their hair and faces as they roll their bikes from shop to shop. Between the post office and the chemist, the rain hardens and by the time Charlotte emerges with her prescription, Ralph is soaked through to his t-shirt and shivering. They’re not done yet though.

There’s bacon and eggs to buy from the butchers, bread and crusty cob rolls from the bakery and apples, carrots and potatoes from the grocers. Charlotte, farmhand and stable girl at Hill Fort Farm, is frugal with money and plans their menus on a daily basis. Together they bike around town almost every day, collecting items from her carefully planned list.

Ralph thinks they’re done now. He hopes they are done now. She promised him fish and chips at the end of their route and his stomach is growling in anticipation. He’s also got his whole afternoon mapped out. Charlotte will be up on the farm after lunch, having been offered some extra hours by Mayor Sumner yesterday. Of course, she’d said yes. Charlotte’s life goal is to get them out of the caravan and into one of the small cottages on School or Fort Lane.

Ralph gets it, but not in a big way. The caravan is plenty big enough for the two of them. It’s warm and cosy and it’s the only home he’s ever known. But Charlotte is a grafter, everyone says it. She won’t give up and he supposes he ought to feel proud of her. For some reason, he mostly just feels guilty for existing.

She had him by accident at eighteen. He knows he played no part in it other than accidentally being conceived, but he can’t quite shift the guilt, especially when people tell him (as they often do) how hard his mother works to provide for him, how she works her fingers to the bone to keep a roof over his head or how young she is to be doing it all alone.

It’s also not his fault his father died when he was only three, but still, he feels the guilt about that too. A boating accident is how it’s been explained to him; a freak accident on the lake while he and his mother were still sleeping in the caravan. He sometimes wants to ask his mother more, but she rarely mentions Frankie Maxwell, making Ralph feel he ought not to bring it up. Besides, she’s got her plate full, they all say. A real survivor.

Ralph does his bit. He’s thirteen now and never says no if Mayor Sumner asks him to pick apples or clean up horse manure. When he’s old enough he will get a job and give his mum all of the money so she doesn’t have to work so much.

In the meantime, it’s a cold rainy Wednesday; May Day, no less and Ralph has fish and chips and a solitary afternoon investigation on his mind. His mum comes out of the grocers and shoves a five pound note into his wet hand.

‘I’ve forgotten something,’ she says. ‘We need that cereal you like and I need coffee and conditioner. I forgot to put them on my list. You get your lunch and head home.’ She turns her bike around.

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll grab something later. Be good. Meet me at the park for the May Day thing?’

Ralph stares at her. ‘In this weather! Do I have to?’

Charlotte rolls her eyes but gives in. ‘Okay, I’ll tell Margaret you have a cold. See you later.’

And she’s gone, swinging her soaked denim-clad leg over the saddle and powering back up the high street. Ralph watches her go, blinking as rain water drips from his hair into his eyes. He sees what they see in her: that grit and determination; her hunched shoulders and set expression. Nothing gets in her way and she never complains. An absolute star, Mayor Sumner calls her, an absolute angel.

Ralph sighs and pushes his way into the fish and chip shop. They suddenly don’t seem so inviting. He doesn’t like eating alone. He orders a bag of chips and runs his mind through options for company.

There’s Daryl, who lives two caravans down. He enjoys exploring the woods and the hills and he sort of looks up to Ralph, which is nice. Daryl will go along with any of his suggestions, but Daryl is only nine years old and it’s kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. There’s Franny who lives next door to Daryl. She’s twelve but she’s such a whiner. There’s always something wrong with her. A headache or a stomach ache or a bad case of head lice.

Ralph pays for his food and thinks no. Not today. Shaking his head, Ralph heads home. It’s too late now to rally any troops. He’ll do this alone. As he crosses over High Street and cuts across the fields behind Saint Marks, he regrets not having a decent side-kick. Life would be so much easier and a hell of a lot more fun if he had someone in tow, someone on the same wave length as him. A Scully to his Mulder.

Ralph smiles. His obsession with the X-Files started two years ago when the show first aired on BBC2. To start with, his mother had enjoyed the show far more than him. She’d practically been drooling over FBI Agent Fox Mulder while Ralph had struggled to keep up with the storylines.

But now it is his obsession alone. He likes to think of himself as rebellious and obsessive like Mulder, and while investigating strange phenomena Ralph often talks out loud to an imaginary partner, one who tries to reel his outlandish theories in.

What Ralph really needs is a sidekick. A Scully. Tracking monsters is not a job for a lone man. It gets lonely. Ralph leaves his bike outside the caravan and lets himself inside. He drips all over the floor whilst carefully transferring the shopping and his chips inside. Then he strips off his coat and drapes it over the airer beside the fire. He crouches there to eat his chips and considers his next move while the photograph of his father watches over him from the shelf above.

The plaster of Paris he begged from Miss Crow in the art department would surely be dry by now? It had been drying overnight and the rain won’t affect it if it had already set…

He might as well fetch it now, bring it home, catalogue it in his records and add it to the collection. Then? Maybe he will head to the bookshop. Mr Finnis promised he would hold a book on tracking animals for him until he could afford to pay for it. He won’t quite have the money yet but he’s sure Mr Finnis won’t mind letting him look at the book to take some notes. After all, he and his mum are very loyal customers.

Decision made, Ralph slips his wet coat back on, borrows a plastic Tupperware container from the kitchen, leaves a note for his mum and goes back out into the rain. He doesn’t bother with his bike now; where he’s going the land is too rough and it’ll just pick up a puncture.

The sky is a deep grey. Rain falls hard, plastering his hair to his skull. Ralph trudges quickly through wet grass, skirting around the back of the caravan park towards the bottom of Hill Lane. There is no one about. In weather like this, the townsfolk usually scurry home and hunker down. Ralph hears thunder rolling suggestively on the other side of the hills and presses on.

He passes the play-park, where the rain drums noisily against the metal slide and roundabout, and the swings whip back and forth in a sudden, violent squall of rain and wind. It’s like that in the valley, he thinks, grimacing. Sometimes the wind just races through from one side to the other. Sometimes it seems to turn around and race right back. Sometimes it seems to come out of nowhere.

He crosses the bridge over the river and pauses to glance down at the water. Like the weather, it changes fast here. He was wading in this water just yesterday, having scrambled down the bank further back, behind the caravan park, certain he had spotted some strange tracks on the opposite side. If he tried that now, he’d get swept away. The river water looks black in the fading light. It rolls and tumbles at a terrifying speed. Ralph gulps and hurries over the bridge, then walks as fast as he can up Hill Lane. In the end, the tracks had been otter tracks, but he is sure the ones in the woods are something far, far bigger.

He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that the river is watching him back. He passes Lovers Lane and starts the steep incline beyond it. Hill Lane narrows to one track. One either side are ancient gravestones, all unmarked. Many have crumbled to mere piles of mossy stones. Some are cracked down the middle but holding on.

There’s a stillness in the air here. The rain falls, but does so almost soundlessly. Suddenly, Ralph is aware of the sound of his own breathing, his squelching footsteps, maybe even his own heartbeat. Underfoot, the land throbs with a pulse of its own.

As the graves end, Hill Lane continues on up and up towards Hill Fort Farm, where Mayor Margaret Sumner lives with her disabled sister, Hilda. Ralph goes the other way, climbing the hill towards Black Woods. Even in the poor light, under the heavy blanket of rapidly darkening clouds, Ralph can see the maze, surrounded by the black, watchful trees. A scattering of broken graves poke out of the grassy earth like old bones. Ralph passes through them carefully, and skirts around the edge.

It’s not much of a maze these days. No one can get lost in it. There are no hedges or fences to pen you in, just small worn slopes that used to be hills. Sometimes kids from the town use it to race their BMX bikes, skidding and bunny-hopping from one side to the other, churning up the mud and the grass.

Ralph avoids it now though, head bowed, not wanting to look but not knowing why. He sees the line of trees beyond the maze and is momentarily stunned by the darkness. It’s only two o’clock. Yet the fir trees are so dense, so tall, so close together, they almost form a solid impenetrable wall.

In the spaces between the trunks, all Ralph can see are shadows. His plaster-of-Paris is in there somewhere. He hopes he can remember the route. Straight through past the ring of mushrooms, into the trees, alongside the fallen one follow a straight line until he reaches a slope that eases downwards, a muddy patch of earth, another older, rotten fallen tree and there it should be.

Yet when he gets there its gone.

He looks around wildly, cursing under his breath. He is sure this is where he sat and carefully poured the white liquid until it filled every part of the footprint in the mud. The footprint of a beast far bigger than any dog he knows of. There had been other footprints too but this one had been the clearest. He’d asked Miss Crow for the plaster-of-Paris the next day, calling at her home on Taylor Close. She’d been happy to help him out – always keen to encourage an art or science project.

It should be here, he thinks, I left it here. It should be waiting for him, a solid, perfect mould of the strange footprint. Oh damn, thinks Ralph, I should have come earlier… I should have come first thing.

There’s a simple explanation but it’s a disappointing one. Someone else came along and found it. He places his hands on his hips, throws back his head and growls in pure frustration. He can’t add it to the collection now. He can’t show it off at school tomorrow. He can’t solve the mystery, or not yet anyway.

He doesn’t linger. The Black Woods are as eerily silent as the old graves and the neglected maze. Time stops here; it lingers and floats. You feel like you could easily get pulled in. Absorbed somehow. Unwittingly sucked into the earth under a heap of broken gravestones if you stayed still for too long.

Ralph hurries on until he reaches the bridge to the Quigley Dairy Farm. Then he follows the fence back down to the river. It’s hammering it down now. The rain pounds into him, driving his head ever lower until he finds the foot bridge on Maze Lane and crosses over.

Thunder booms over the valley. Ralph jumps, swears and laughs at himself. Mulder and Scully wouldn’t be afraid of thunder, he thinks, or dark woods, weird mazes or old graves. They wouldn’t quit either; they’d go back again and again until they cracked it.

Ralph plods through a vast wet field that rolls around the back of the Town Hall, fire station and police station. He trots out onto Station Road, shivering now and longing for the warmth of home. He turns left onto Black Hare Road and quickens his pace until he reaches The Magic Of Books. Ralph pushes his way inside then stands on the mat, arms outstretched as rivers of rainwater fall from him to the floor.

‘Oh, Ralph!’ Mr Finnis hurries over to him in concern. ‘Goodness, look at you!’

‘I think there’s a storm coming,’ he tells him apologetically. ‘I’m sorry about the floor.’

‘Oh, don’t you worry, come over here and give me that coat, it’s soaked through! I can lend you a raincoat to get home in, you’ll catch your death like that.’

Ralph lets Mr Finnis pull him over to the narrow corridor that leads down to the conservatory.

‘Where’s everyone else?’ he asks, wondering why the shop is so quiet.

‘Oh, they’re in the treehouse!’

‘What? Who is?’ Ralph is confused. Mr Finnis takes his coat and drapes it over a large old radiator. He throws him a towel and he starts to rub at his hair.

‘Paddy and the others. Go on through. Unless you wanted something?’

Ralph knows and likes Paddy but he’s in the year above him at school and they’ve never hung out…

‘I meant the customers,’ Ralph shrugs at Mr Finnis.

‘Oh, they all rushed home at the first crack of thunder. Just the kids are still here. Are you going to join them? Oh hey, I was just about to take this flask of hot chocolate out to them. You can take it for me. Here, swap.’

Mr Finnis presses the flask into his hand, takes the empty Tupperware container and waves him away. Ralph feels a heady mixture of panic and curiosity. Of course, he wants to go to the treehouse, who wouldn’t? He’s heard Paddy and his witchy friend, Willow, talking about it and he’s always been jealous of anyone who has a treehouse. Plus, what did Mr Finnis mean when he said ‘kids’? Paddy and Willow for sure – they’ve been best friends for years, everyone knows that – but he made it sound like there was a whole bunch out there.

He looks back at Mr Finnis because, although excited, Ralph also wants to slow this all down: wants to ask for names, ages and personalities before he ventures out there alone. He wants to take his time and prepare himself. Paddy seems a decent kind of kid but Willow Harrison has always intimidated him. He’s always envied their friendship too; always felt the lack of a best friend as if a bad reflection on him and his personality. Ralph is friendly and gets on with everyone, but he has never had a best friend and it bothers him.

You can’t just rush into these thing unprepared, he wants to tell Paddy’s dad. ‘Uh, do you have any new DVD’s in?’ he asks.

He looks back at him with a shrug. ‘I think so. I’ll have a rummage for you in a minute. And I’ve still got that book aside for you!’

‘Awesome, thanks!’ He searches for something else to ask, something to tell him maybe, some way to postpone venturing out to a treehouse full of unknown children but it’s too late, he’s gone and he can already hear him talking to a customer.

Great. Doesn’t Mr Finnis realise these are not his friends? Why do adults always assume kids all know each other and can just easily get along? I mean, Christ, he thinks, there are some nasty, shitty kids in Black Hare Valley – there are at least five Ralph can think of who he’d not want to be on the same street as, let alone stuck in a treehouse with during a storm. Why does Mr Finnis just assume that whoever is in the treehouse will welcome him?

Fair enough, his son probably will, but everyone knows Willow Harrison can be a real bitch. He supposes at least he can be sure that the awful thuggish trio of Steven, Dominic and Jesse won’t be out there. They’ve been bullying Paddy Finnis for years. No way would Mr Finnis call any of them friends…

He’s outside now. He’s in the rain again. He’s wrapped in a towel, holding a flask of hot chocolate. He can’t escape. He has to do this. Okay, what would Mulder and Scully do? Roll on in as cool as fuck and act like they have every right to be there. Okay then. You can do this, Ralph.

He climbs the ladder, clutching the swollen wet rope as it swings in the wind, flask tucked under one arm. He hears shouting, maybe, or laughing? He decides to just roll with it. Fake it until he makes it.

Ralph pops up in the middle of something, holding out the flask and announcing his arrival with the first thing that pops in his head, ‘What’s up, bitches?’

Silence follows. It consumes him. His eyes slowly scan the four faces staring back at him. Paddy. Willow. A new girl? And Jesse Archer… No fucking way. And why the hell did he call them bitches?

‘Oh hey, come on up, Ralph.’ Paddy fills the silence, grabbing the flask and shifting closer to Willow to make room for him.

‘Jesus, there’s no more room,’ Willow grumbles, folding up her long, thin legs.

Ralph hesitates because of Jesse Archer. He doesn’t understand what the boy is doing here. He throws things at people. He doles out wedgies and wet willies in the ear. He steals, lies and cheats. He breaks things just for fun. He once chased Ralph all the way home then threw a barrage of tin cans and glass bottles at the caravan.

Ralph is frozen in fear and confusion until Paddy grabs his arm and hauls him all the way up. ‘Come on, you’re getting wet.’

‘Your dad sent me,’ Ralph says, not tearing his eyes away from Jesse. ‘I don’t know why, sorry. I didn’t mean to gate-crash.’

‘Don’t worry,’ snaps Willow, narrowing her eyes at Jesse as she viciously twirls a damp strand of hair around a long, thin index finger. ‘It’s not a party.’

‘More like an interrogation,’ Jesse mumbles.

‘Or an investigation,’ the new girl says, smiling excitedly.

Ralph meets her eye and smiles back. She’s round and chubby but he thinks she’s pretty too. She smiles at him as if trying to put him at ease and he smiles back, a thank you.

‘An investigation?’ he asks, thinking of his footprint collection. ‘I’m good at those.’

‘I’m Jaime, by the way.’ She thrusts a confident hand at him. ‘I just moved here yesterday.’

‘Ralph,’ he replies, shaking her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Thanks, you too!’

There’s an impatient growl from Willow while Paddy unscrews the cap of the flask. ‘Jesse was about to answer a very important question,’ she says, glaring at him.

‘What question?’ asks Ralph, suddenly nervous again as Jesse’s eyes fall on him.

‘Well,’ breathes Jaime. ‘I saw him getting arrested by a policeman earlier. Handcuffed, and everything!’

‘Sergeant Mayfield,’ adds Paddy, eyebrows raised.

‘Because he caught him in the act of trying to blow up the school!’ Jaime relays breathlessly.

‘She followed me,’ grumbles Jesse. ‘Like some kind of stalker.’

Jaime ignores him. ‘I took photos and everything,’ she says proudly. ‘I want to be a journalist when I grow up. You might as well start practicing young, right?’

‘I totally agree,’ Ralph grins. He’s really starting to like this girl. There is a warm and exuberant vibe about her. She’s like a big friendly hug. He starts to imagine her as a female investigator. A sidekick. A Scully. Suddenly, Ralph really wants to tell them all about the giant footprint he tried to record… He opens his mouth to start but Willow jumps in first.

Her voice is firm and hard, commanding you to listen. A deep serious voice that seems a little out of place on such a wispy frame. She glares.

‘Never mind all that, Nancy Drew. We were talking about Jesse.’ She spits out his name as if it offends her and makes her mouth taste bad. Jaime has instantly shut up, zipping her lips together and leaning forward with the others to stare intently at Jesse Archer. Ralph does the same.

‘Nothing,’ Jesse says, answering a question Ralph was not there to hear. ‘I told you, nothing.’

Ralph thinks the boy seems different. He’s not the sneering, hard-eyed boy who stuck his foot out and sent Ralph sprawling with his dinner tray in the school canteen. He seems somehow smaller here, thinner. He’s as wet as the rest of them but looks somehow drowned; his face grey and drawn, purple shadows standing out under each eye. He looks younger even though he is older than all of them.

‘Don’t buy it.’ Willow shakes her head. ‘You don’t get off with a slapped wrist and a warning for trying to blow up the school.’

‘He’ll tell my dad,’ shrugs Jesse.

‘He won’t care,’ Willow states. ‘He’s a criminal.’

Jaime gasps and Ralph holds his breath but Jesse’s expression does not change. If anything, he looks even smaller.

‘He didn’t get any evidence. So, it was just for trespassing.’ He looks at Willow, a little light returning to his eyes. ‘That’s all. Just a warning for trespass.’

There is silence while everyone mulls it over. Ralph looks to Willow, but she’s quiet – her eyes fixed on Jesse’s. He looks away. Down. Then up. Above her head. Her eyes narrow.

‘Then you’re a liar.’

‘What?’

‘You lied to Paddy. You weren’t trying to avenge what Bishop did. You came here to bully him like always.’

‘No, I was gonna burn it down. I was!’

‘None of this matters!’ Paddy says finally, passing the warm flask to Jesse, who takes it with a look of genuine surprise on his face, then hugs it to his wet chest. ‘Nothing happened. School is still there. We’ll all be back there tomorrow. But maybe now, we can all be friends?’

Ralph thinks this is the best thing he’s ever heard. He grins and Jaime quickly fist-bumps him. Willow groans.

Jesse passes the flask back to Paddy and gets up suddenly, wobbling slightly on weak legs above them.

‘Going home,’ he mutters and steps over their wet legs.

No one stops him. Paddy reaches out but his hand grasps at thin air. Jesse climbs down and is gone.

‘He’s hiding something,’ Willow claims.

Jaime squeezes Ralph’s knee. ‘I say we find out what it is!’

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter. What do you think is going on between Sergeant Mayfield and Jesse Archer?

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Six: “School Days”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Four “Willow Watches”

May 22, 2025May 20, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

Willow Harrison knows exactly who the strange girl at the window is. In a small town like Black Hare Valley, any news is big news and her parents have told her all about Mark Aster returning to Black Hare Valley to reclaim the Hare and Hound pub after his father, Clive, passed away.

It was no secret that they never got along and that Clive Aster never forgave his only son for not marrying or reproducing. Who had the last laugh, Willow wonders now, staring at the girl’s moonbeam face. Mark Aster now has a wife, a step-daughter and a baby of his own on the way. Nice work, she concedes, and just look at that poor soul. Not a clue…

The girl seems frozen. Her face is a mask of panic, embarrassment and possibly hope. If she thinks Willow is going to move from her cosy spot behind the counter, she has another thing coming. Willow glares at her, wishing her away.

Suddenly, the girl turns, her attention averted by the clatter and chatter of two girls leaving Milly’s Café next door. Now Willow’s mood shifts. When she sees it’s the abhorrent Alexa Bradley and Bryony Duggan, she feels a surge of pity for the new girl. The inanely grinning, chubby-faced, mud-splattered new girl. A long sigh escapes her lips and she pushes back her hair before slinking out from behind the till and approaching the window in wonder.

It’s a bit like watching a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. The perfect teenage girls versus the inadequate and desperate to please new specimen, who Willow can tell from even such a brief view, is not the kind of girl Alexa and Bryony would give the time of day to in a million years.

She watches in absolute horror as the new girl offers them her hand to shake…

Oh God, no.

The perfect girls titter and giggle. They say something that causes the new girl’s smile to wither and fade. Then they skirt around her like they are avoiding dog shit on the pavement. Willow watches. The girl sags, then makes a snap decision to bundle hurriedly across the road and divert almost blindly down School Lane.

‘Where they will return to eat you alive…’ Willow murmurs to herself. ‘Leaving only bones,’ she adds as she turns away.

The door opens and the bell jingles and Willow half-expects the girl to be back, but no, it’s the vicar, Gregory Roberts.

Oh, Christ.

Won’t he ever give up?

‘Good afternoon, Miss Harrison!’ he declares in the same booming and authoritative voice he uses with his congregation at Saint Marks church.

‘Afternoon, Vicar,’ she returns evenly, her face expressionless.

‘Wet out there,’ he says rather pointlessly as he aims his folded umbrella at the floor and gives it a vigorous shake. Willow watches the rainwater spraying across the shop, peppering the books and gifts with droplets. ‘But don’t you worry, the May Queen will still be crowned!’ He flashes her a toothy smile. ‘It will just be inside a rather large tent.’

‘I wasn’t worried.’

He ignores the comment as he takes off his glasses to rub them dry on the inside of his coat. His red hair is thinning on top so he keeps it very short and neat. He is always clean shaven and is remarkably unwrinkled for a man of forty-eight. His skin has a loose, smooth quality to it. He is a portly man with a chin that blends into his neck and he is rarely seen without a sheen of perspiration on his smooth forehead.

‘What a shame you have to work!’ he goes on. ‘Mind you, I suspect it will be a smaller crowd than usual, what with the weather and everything. It really is blowing up a storm out there!’

‘Yes,’ Willow agrees, her voice soft as she glances at the window and the soaked town beyond it. ‘It is. How can I help you?’ She heads back to the counter, the new girl entirely forgotten.

Vicar Roberts looks around the gift shop and laughs out loud. Evidently, he has no idea how offensive he can be at times. Willow rolls her eyes, plonks herself down on the stool and picks up her book.

‘Oh no, no no,’ he says, not moving from the door. He rarely comes in any further, as if slightly afraid of the place. ‘I was just passing.’

Of course you were, she thinks.

‘Popping next door for a cream tea, actually,’ he goes on. ‘Plus I’m spreading the word about the marquees they’ve been erecting in the park. We don’t want people missing out on the celebrations just because of the rain. Oh, it was lovely this morning though!’ he tells her. ‘Isn’t it funny how it can change like that?’ He laughs as if it is all a great joke and Willow stares down at the pages of her book, wishing he would just leave. ‘Are your parents in? I was hoping to talk to them again about the neighbourhood watch committee.’

‘They’re a bit busy right now,’ Willow sighs, ‘but I’ll pass on the message.’

‘Oh. Okay. Right then.’ The vicar frowns and for a moment his lower lip protrudes like a sulky child. ‘And your mum is all right?’ he adds as an afterthought, although it can’t be, not really. He asks every time he comes in and Willows mother nearly always hides from him.

‘Yes, she’s fine.’ It’s always the same, Willow thinks in frustration, he just never gives up. He shifts slightly towards the door, umbrella in hand, but she can tell he hates to leave without getting what he wanted.

Go, please, just go.

‘Oh,’ he says then. ‘You will tell them about the marquees, won’t you? I really don’t want the weather putting people off. May Day is such an important event in the calendar.’

Willow releases the tiniest of sighs.

‘Oh, and you could pass on another message if you like.’

She raises her eyebrows and waits.

‘The new people arrived.’

‘Oh yeah.’ She looks back at her book. ‘I know.’

The vicar steps forward again. ‘Oh, you’ve seen them?’

‘Yeah, the girl was out there earlier.’

‘Oh, how lovely! I know the mayor was going to visit them and see if the mother would be interested in joining the committee. I do hope she was successful. Then of course for the girl there’s Sunday School, the Youth Choir…’

‘I’ll tell them,’ Willow cuts him off with a tight smile.

The vicar Roberts looks at her for a moment and Willow stares back at him. She keeps her expression as blank as possible. His smile is still there but its weaker now, his congregation cheer frozen. Willow waits.

He opens the door. ‘As you were.’

‘Goodbye, Vicar.’

He leaves. She watches him outside, putting the umbrella back up, flicking up the collar of his raincoat. He waits for a moment, as if gathering himself together. Then finally he strides away and out of sight.

‘Fuck you,’ Willow says, putting down her book. ‘Mum?’

‘Is he gone?’

‘He’s gone.’

Her mother’s pale face appears around the door to the stock room. She wears her dark hair long like her daughter’s and her slim frame is enveloped in a paint-splattered old shirt. She gently twists the ring through her nose and sighs wearily.

‘Well, thank goodness. D’you know, some things never change? I used to hide from him as a kid. Now all these years later I’m doing it again.’

Willow opens her mouth to ask what her mother means, but promptly changes her mind. She does not need to know. As much as she loves and appreciates her parents, Willow is not particularly interested in what they were like at her age, what they did, where they went. It might be the same town, she often wants to tell them, but it’s the 90s now, not the 60s. It’s different.

She checks her mother’s expression and demeanour though; she can’t not. Willow has learnt to spot the signs. Sometimes she thinks her mother’s depression is like a sleepless monster that lives inside of her. It claws her away from time to time, making her bleed. But she seems okay at the moment. So there is hope.

Her mother waves a hand at her. ‘Darling, you can go. I’ll take over. Not that we’ll get much custom in this weather.’

Willow does not need to be told twice. She grabs her own raincoat from the hook next to the door and zips it up over her black clothes.

‘I’m going to Paddy’s.’

‘Thought so.’

Willow slips out. The coast is clear. She can hear roars of laughter from the cafe as the vicar’s repertoire is eagerly received by Milly and all the other old women.

Willow crosses the road, holding onto her hood. The streets are deserted. As she cuts down School Lane, she sees someone up ahead. A bright blue anorak and duck yellow wellington boots. It’s the new girl. Willow slows, reluctant to bump into her. The rain is harder now but if she walks too fast she will easily catch up with the girl.

Part of her thinks, well, so what? Maybe I’ll say hi. Maybe I’ll tell her not to give a fuck about Alexa and Bryony. But part of her doesn’t want to be anywhere near this new girl. Her desperation was just too tragic. Willow is not good at sympathy and struggles with empathy too. She knows she won’t be any good for the new girl, so what would the point be?

She thinks about Paddy and their ongoing story and her mind is made up. The Tale of Dirty Feet and Esme is a story they have been writing together for almost a year now and the lure of another chapter is too important. The idea was born on a lazy July afternoon last summer when they were lying behind the old ruins that overlook Bob Rowan’s land. They were watching hares, she remembers, when fascinated and amused by their antics, they started to give them all names. Dirty Feet was the biggest boy and Esme was the smallest girl and together they got up to the most mischief. Before they knew it they had planned a story where the hares could talk and dream and plan just like humans.

Willow is normally a private writer. She doesn’t even hand her best work in at school. She thinks writing is a way to both make sense of life and endure it. In her darkest moments, she scrawls angry poems in notebooks she keeps stuffed under her mattress. In her darkest moments, Willow feels a bright hungry fear that she is turning into her mother.

Their story took them over last summer, Willow remembers now, with each of them injecting ideas and dreaming up adventures for the two hares. They had started to take turns to write it down and it had been a surprise to Willow to realise she could share both her writing and her ideas. It had never been just her story. It had always been Paddy’s too, and it still was. Paddy’s father had promised he would lend them his typewriter to type it up when it was finished. He would place it in the bookshop, he said, pride of place. The last time they’d worked on it, Paddy had been adamant he wanted to find a way to send the hares to space and Willow had hated the idea. It’s not a sci-fi story, she had insisted and he had winked at her.

The girl is suddenly moving faster. She’s almost running, which seems stranger. She goes out of sight, onto Black Hare Road. Maybe she’s really upset, Willow considers, picking her pace up a little. But if she is, why not just go home?

And if the girl is upset, so what? What can Willow do about it? Absolutely fuck all.

Unlike Jesse Archer, Willow has a healthy respect and even a grouchy sort of love for Black Hare Valley. It’s never quite turned on her the way it has Jesse. As she scuttles along its rain washed streets she feels a sense of it cleansing itself when it has to. She catches glimpses of the hills on either side of the valley – a vibration of their foreboding, patience and longevity fills the town and as always, she pictures Dirty Feet and Esme dancing across the hills.

Willow, along with Paddy, has mastered the art of courteous exploration – spending their childhoods playing in the woods, paddling in streams and rolling down hills. They’ve pretended to be kings and queens, cops and robbers, witches and dragons and everything else in between for years. They’ve even snuck into the Holloway, made dens in it, clambered up its earthy claggy walls and left their footprints in the clay and mud. The Holloway, of course, is where Dirty Feet and Esme live.

The town has been their playground and as Mayor Sumner likes to say so often, it really does have everything they need. Willow supposes it depends to some degree what you need, but her and Paddy have been well provided for: hours of dipping feet in dappled water, resting on smooth pebbles while frogspawn floats, dragonflies hover and newts bask in the sun; day long games in the woods, hiding from the world, just them and their make-believe worlds; weeks of tracking and recording the natural world as it is permitted to thrive boastfully in Black Hare Valley; promising themselves that they’ll be able to finally see a legendary black hare but feeling equally satisfied and entranced with the brown hares they glimpse from time to time.

Willow and Paddy have been watched and watched over by deer, foxes, badgers, rabbits, buzzards, sparrowhawks … And if she feels watched over by anyone its by Vicar Gregory Roberts – but that’s because he is one of those religious types who thinks it’s his life’s duty to convert everyone else.

Willow passes the school. The clouds are moving fast, swollen with black rain. It feels suddenly much later, almost evening. There’s a chill around her legs and a cold wind blasts around the corner, forcing her to recoil.

She bows her head and moves faster. She stops at Black Hare Road and scans the area. There is no sign of the new girl. Maybe she ducked into a shop to escape the downpour. Willow shrugs to herself. She crosses over, still checking around just in case.

The Hardware and Pets store is closed. The bookshop is open – maybe she went in there? She looks like the bookish type… Willow pulls open the door and goes insides, immediately soothed by the familiar and comforting smell of dusty warmth and the residue of hazy sunshine. The bookshop shields her from the brewing storm.

It’s like a separate entity frozen in time. The pace is lighter here, slower, calmer. In here, you lose time. She can see quietly bowed heads wandering in every aisle and she can hear the delicate rustle of old pages being turned. She focuses on the threadbare carpet and imagines Dirty Feet and Esme padding gently across it to hide behind bookshelves.

She drifts through, calmer now, inhaling the smell of a million stories. Paddy’s dad is at the counter, and looks up from a book to smile warmly at Willow. Paddy’s father looks exactly how she imagines Paddy will when he’s a man. Marvin Finnis is thin and tall and wears glasses like his son. He gives off a gentle, old-fashioned vibe, she thinks, in his knitted cardigans and soft corduroy trousers. She cannot imagine him in jeans and a t-shirt.

‘Oh Willow, go on through. They’re in the treehouse.’

‘They?’

So, the new girl did come in here then? Did Paddy see her, maybe? It would be just like him to spot a girl in distress and offer her shelter and comfort. Willow can see how that would have happened. She feels a stab of jealousy and hopes he is not telling the new girl about their story.

‘Yes, Jesse came in again.’

Willow’s mouth snaps shut. Her hands clench. She swallows and moves stiffly away.

‘Okay, thanks Mr Finnis.’

Fucking Jesse Archer! The absolute shit. Willow storms through to the conservatory, while the rain drums relentlessly on the thin glass and outside the sky is almost black. What the hell is the malignant creep playing at? Did he really feel so humiliated by that bloody stupid assembly that he’s still taking his rage out on Paddy, who, he obviously fails to realise, was equally as humiliated?

‘God’s sake,’ she huffs, yanking open the door. Jesse Archer is a manipulative, lying, thieving little shit. He’s taking the piss out of you; she has tried to warn Paddy over the last six weeks. She has warned him more than once that he cannot trust an Archer.

But he doesn’t seem to get it. His soft, sweet heart malleable like putty. His intention to see the same honesty and integrity in others as he strives for in himself. It’s partly his dad’s fault, she concedes, the man is obsessed with giving people second chances. He seems to think Jesse’s father Nick had a bad time as a kid and as a result has passed that on to his own son. Not entirely sure what he means, Willow also doesn’t care. In her opinion, having a shit dad is not an excuse to be shitty to everyone else.

Willow scurries through the rain to the treehouse. Lightning flashes across the sky and thunder cracks as she clings to the ladder and makes her way up. She clambers into the shelter and for a moment is lost for words. Just then another roll of thunder crashes above them and the four teenagers all cringe at the same time.

Willow eyes the new girl distrustfully but it does make sense that she ran in here to shelter from the rain and Paddy welcomed her into his treehouse, because that’s how he is. Mr Finnis loves a stray and no doubt rounded her up and made sure Paddy looked after her.

It’s Jesse Archer that Willow really glares at. Why is he sat there like that, like he owns the place? It instantly enrages her. He walks around school and town like he owns the world; can’t they at least have one place that is sacred and safe? And why is he sat between Paddy and the new girl like he’s some kind of leader, just because he’s older and taller? Why were they having such an animated conversation without her? And why do Jesse’s eyes keep tracking to a spot in the pallet roof?

She scowls as Paddy helps her in. ‘This is my best friend, Willow,’ he tells the new girl.

New girl does that hand thing again – almost taking Willow’s eyes out. She jerks away from it, still scowling.

‘Jaime.’

‘Okay.’ Willow looks at Paddy. ‘What the hell, Paddy?’

He shrugs but he’s smiling. Of course, he’s happy to have these strange intruders in their treehouse, invading their hideout. He’s always enjoyed teasing Willow about how unsociable she is. She supposes he thinks this is funny.

‘Everything happened at once!’ he tells her.

Jaime lowers her hand, her bottom lip pulled in by her teeth. ‘I saw you in the gift shop.’

‘Yeah, I work there.’

‘Her parents own it,’ Paddy adds.

‘Oh cool!’ Jaime brightens again. She doesn’t seem to stay down for long… ‘It’s so cool that all our parents own businesses here!’

Willow frowns – is this kid simple? She really does look delighted with this pointless fact.

‘My mum is married to Mark and we’ve just taken over the Hare and Hound,’ she goes on, as if they didn’t all know that already. ‘And obviously Paddy lives above the bookshop. How cool is that? What about you, Jesse? Where do you live? What do your parents do?’

All eyes turn to Jesse and Willow smirks, enjoying his obvious discomfort.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Tell her where you live, Jesse. Tell her about your parents.’

His jaw tightens and his expression sours under their persistent gaze. His arms are wrapped tightly around his wet jeans and Willow watches his fingers clasp together tightly, as if holding on.

‘Why all the questions?’ he mutters.

‘Here’s another one for you,’ says Willow. ‘Why are you even here and why won’t you leave Paddy alone and stop whatever this long-winded plot to humiliate him is?’

‘What?’ Jesse blinks at her.

‘You know what I’m talking about!’

‘No, I fucking don’t!’

‘Willow -’

‘No Paddy, I’m serious. Ever since that stupid assembly he keeps showing up here latching onto you. What for? He can’t really want to be friends. He’s up to something!’

‘Willow, come on…’ Paddy lays a hand on her arm but she shakes it off.

Her penetrating glare remains on Jesse. He tries to meet her gaze and hold it, but he can’t. His eyes are shooting all over the place. Guilty conscience, she thinks.

‘Maybe I do want to be friends…’ he says, his eyes meeting Paddy’s.

Paddy smiles while Willow growls.

‘You’re his fucking bully! Bully!’

‘Willow,’ Paddy tries again. ‘Seriously, you can’t be so cynical your whole life. He hasn’t done anything to me, I swear.’

Willow looks at Paddy in disgust. ‘Yeah, and you can’t be so trusting… I know he’s up to something. He’s always up to something!’

‘He just tried to blow up the school!’ Jaime pipes up excitedly.

They all look at her. Her blue eyes are wide, her small thin lips pulled into a huge smile. Willow can’t work her out. She looks like someone who just won the jackpot.

‘That’s what we were just talking about.’ Paddy turns to Willow. ‘See? Jesse tried to avenge us. Tried to get back at Bishop.’

Willow shakes her head; she can barely believe what she is hearing. ‘Are you actually serious?’

They all nod. Jaime is grinning like a loon, while Paddy’s eyebrows are arched as if suggesting this act of insanity proves his point somehow, and Jesse is just glaring back at her like; yeah, so what?

‘You tried to blow up our school? Are you fucking stupid?’ She holds up a hand. ‘No, don’t answer that. I know you are.’

‘The policeman caught him in the act,’ Jaime witters on. ‘I got photos and everything.’

Jesse looks away – his lips are moving but nothing is coming out.

Willow leans forward. ‘What do you mean, you got photos? Of what?’

Jaime looks hesitant but then unzips her anorak to reveal the camera. ‘I got this for my last birthday,’ she says. ‘Do you know anywhere I can develop the film?’

Willow throws up her hands aggressively. ‘Why are you wandering around taking goddamn photos of people? That’s not gonna make you any friends, you know!’

Jaime zips it back up. ‘I’m a reporter.’

‘She wants to be…’ Jesse murmurs.

‘She’s just curious,’ Paddy says, helping her out. ‘I think it’s an admirable quality.’

Willow elbows him. ‘You would.’

Jaime looks at her lap. ‘It’s my ambition, that’s all. I get a bit carried away sometimes.’ Her gaze shifts to Jesse, and Willow, watching, sees her eyes glaze over a little, her lower lip droop. Oh God, no. ‘I won’t do anything with them,’ she tells him quietly. ‘I promise.’

‘You’re not gonna blackmail him?’ Willow asks. ‘Well, that is disappointing.’

‘I’m not gonna do anything,’ Jaime says, her eyes still on Jesse, who is doing the shifty eye thing again, trying like hell not to make eye contact with any of them. What is he up to?

‘You’re not gonna write a story or anything?’ he finally asks, glancing just briefly at Jaime.

She beams back at him. ‘No! Of course not. Not now I’ve met you.’

‘You should probably give him the photos when you develop them,’ Paddy suggests, ever the voice of reason and fairness. ‘That’d be the right thing to do. He won’t want his dad seeing anything like that.’

‘My dad won’t care,’ Jesse snorts, his top lip raising.

Willow snorts back in agreement. ‘His dad is a bigger criminal than he is.’

‘But what about the policeman?’ Jaime looks bewildered, staring at them each in turn. ‘Won’t he tell someone? Won’t he tell your dad?’

Suddenly, all eyes are back on Jesse and Willow can tell that he hates it. He opens his mouth then thinks twice and closes it again. He shifts his backside and glances at the door. Willow can sense his desire to escape. More than anything right now she can feel how much he wants to just run. He gulps. His panic reeks. For the first time, Willow is genuinely curious about this boy. What is he so panicked about? What is he hiding?

‘Maybe he let you off with a warning?’ Jaime suggests for him. ‘Police can be like that sometimes. Like, maybe he wanted to give you a second chance.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Jesse sighs, eyes down. He pulls at a strip of rubber coming loose from the soles of his fake Nike trainers.

‘Well, what then?’ Willow demands. ‘Truth time. Who was it, Mayfield? I bet it was Mayfield.’ Jesse nods reluctantly, not meeting her eye. ‘What, he just catches you trying to burn down the school and lets you off with a warning? No way. I’m not buying that.’

‘Does seem kind of strange,’ admits Paddy.

‘Very strange,’ Willow goes on. ‘Tell us what you saw, Jaime. Did Mayfield even take Jesse home?’

‘I don’t know where he lives, but no. He just drove him here and let him out.’

‘He lives in the scuzzy flats on Taylor Drive,’ Willow says, not taking her eyes off Jesse. ‘So, what else?’

‘He was in handcuffs.’

Jesse’s face burns.

‘Handcuffs?’ Willow inhales, her eyes stern. ‘Well, well, well. You better start talking, Jesse Archer. What the hell is going on between you and Sergeant Mayfield?

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter. Who is your favourite character so far? What are your thoughts on the town?

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Five “Ralph – Monster Hunter”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Three “Paddy’s Treehouse”

May 15, 2025May 9, 2025 ~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment

The rain hammers against the roof of the treehouse. Paddy Finnis pulls his legs up and shuffles back until his spine meets the rough wooden wall. There is only one window, or rather, a gap in the wood big enough to be classed as a window. It once had a small sheet of see-through plastic nailed over it to protect the floor from the elements but it has long since torn and flown away. Now, a small puddle starts to form under the window and Paddy finds he only has limited space on either side of the window and door in which to keep dry.

No matter. The roof is solid and trustworthy. It will hold. The floor too is dependable. Paddy can still remember his father dutifully collecting piles of old wooden pallets all those years ago. The resulting treehouse was not quite the grand affair eight-year-old Paddy had envisioned but he had been happy and grateful just the same. Beyond the door, the rope ladder whips back and forth in the wind and he wonders if a storm is coming. He smiles to himself, imagining how that will affect the May Day celebrations that he won’t be going to, but he is sure the mayor will have a solution up her capable sleeve.

From his position, Paddy can see the thin stretch of garden which leads up to the conservatory. He can see his father’s rickety deckchairs and array of houseplants on the windowsills. He can just about see the blue wooden door that leads into the shop. To the right is a striped curtain and behind that, the narrow, dark stairs that lead up to the cluttered two bedroomed flat.

His eyes drift up to the windows – the long bay is his father’s room, on the opposite side is the lounge and to the left is the kitchen, both with views of Black Hare Road. Higher still, is Paddy’s room, the loft room, smaller, darker, colder but with a window on each side which gives him an almost aerial view of the whole town.

Both are perfect for stargazing and he moves his Meade LX200 telescope from one side to the other on a daily basis. Out in the treehouse he keeps his smaller Celestron Firstscope.

Paddy scowls at the weather. Yesterday had been so beautiful; one of those days when you feel good to be alive and grateful to live in such a beautiful place. But the weather in Black Hare Valley twists and turns like a restless soul and today the sky is a sulky grey and the clouds are black and billowing, throwing out rain as if in a temper. Paddy can hear cars splashing through puddles on the road and imagines folk dashing about under umbrellas. It is quite amusing however that the weather chose to be vile on May Day.

Paddy and his father had already opted to boycott what they consider to be an outdated tradition. His father refuses to bow down to the shop being closed for the day and they both think sitting a pretty young girl on a throne and pulling her through town is a bit old-fashioned, to say the least. Willow, of course, has far stronger things to say about the May Queen and Paddy hopes she turns up after working the morning shift in her parent’s gift shop. Paddy knows she detests the rain but she detests the May Queen tradition even more and he’ll enjoy hearing her rant about it.

He wants to do something in the meantime though – not just sit it out and wait for school to come crawling after him. He feels the first flutter of dread in his belly and resents it and the bullies that usually cause it; Steven, Dominic and Jesse. Thinking about Jesse, Paddy’s lower lip juts out as it tends to do when he is mulling something over.

There has been a change in Jesse Archer recently and at first, Paddy didn’t know whether to trust it or not. Willow doesn’t, that’s for sure. She still thinks his sudden and awkward attempts at friendship are part of a nasty plot; that he intends to make Paddy think they’re friends and then humiliate him at school. She could be right. She probably is right. Why would someone tough and cool like Jesse Archer ever want to be friends with someone like him?

As Mr Bishop had so unkindly pointed out on that hideous day six weeks ago, the two boys were polar opposites. Prey and predator, he had called them, right in front of an assembly of children. Paddy’s cheeks burn with shame at the memory and his small hands clench into fists on his lap.

The townsfolk always sing the praises of Mr Bishop but Paddy knows he is just another vile bully. Maybe the worst of them all. He sneers at children, looks down on them distastefully, wrinkles his nose at them as if they all give off an offensive smell. It was worse when I was at school, Paddy’s father likes to remind him, we were caned for giggling or not standing up straight enough! You kids don’t know how lucky you are.

Paddy is not sure about that but he rarely argues with his father, who has an eternal sleepiness about him that makes Paddy fear he is perpetually slipping away.

It hadn’t been Paddy’s fault that day, but it hadn’t exactly been Jesse’s either. That’s what Paddy can’t stop thinking about. If it is all a nasty plan to humiliate him, Paddy will be impressed because as Mr Bishop unhelpfully pointed out, Jesse Archer is not an obvious strategist or intellectual.

‘An animal,’ Mr Bishop had called him. ‘A predator of brute force hunting in a pack. Seeking out the physically weak and picking them off.’

Paddy shudders at the memory. It was actually Steven who had thrown the ball of wet tissues at his head but it was Jesse who had got the blame and wearily accepted it. But Mr Bishop was never one for missing an opportunity to teach. A kinder man may have sent both boys out of the hall or even to detention, but no, his eyes lighting up in glee, the headteacher had ordered Paddy and Jesse up onto the stage where he had been giving an assembly on his recent trip to Africa.

Mr Bishop went abroad twice a year and twice a year he gave endless and monotonous assemblies where the children were forced to endure slideshows in the name of education. He’d find a way to relate it to various topics they were studying but usually it was a tenuous link that none of them quite believed in.

On the screen behind them was a photograph of a lioness stalking a young, fragile gazelle. Mr Bishop kept a firm hand on each boy’s shoulder. He held assemblies alone – there were no other adults there to witness him describe Paddy as classic prey for bullies and brutes. Small, thin, weak, fragile, Paddy had felt his eyes burning into the floor as his head dropped lower and lower.

‘Probably born prematurely, poor eyesight. Quite probably uncoordinated and clumsy. Attracts the attention of the predator as an easy kill.’

Bishop had given Jesse’s shoulder a little shake. Paddy, risking a sideways glance, had seen the true fury on the other boy’s face. A knitted brow, flared nostrils, lips screwed up tight and pale as his body seemed to tremble with the effort to remain still under Bishop’s claw of a hand.

‘Predator. Survival of the fittest, you see. Taller, stronger, faster, braver. Brutish. Desperate to survive. Hunts in packs, exists in a hierarchal system. Must prove himself again and again.’

Paddy sits now staring at the puddle and still unable to quite believe the things Mr Bishop had said about them.

‘Of course, the gazelle has a choice. He can outwit the predator. Like Patrick Finnis here. A smart, quick, intellectual mind can sometimes outwit the plodding nature of a predator. But often not. It’s brute force and speed that wins.’

The stranger thing was the way Jesse Archer turned up at the bookshop the next day. Alone, not with his goons in tow. Paddy had been stacking books while his father answered a phone call behind the till.

Jesse Archer had slouched in, looked once at Paddy and then looked away. He had circled the shop twice – slowly, running his index finger along the spines of second hand books – pausing occasionally to pluck one out, read the back and slot it back in place.

Paddy had no idea what his game was. Stealing, probably, but he wasn’t in the mood for it. He sighed, put down the books and slipped through the maze of mismatched bookshelves to find Jesse in the far corner of the shop, perusing the books in the window display.

He looked over his shoulder at Paddy and said, ‘It’s trapped.’

‘What?’

On closer inspection, Paddy saw what Jesse was looking at. A Red Admiral butterfly was batting itself against the window in a frantic attempt to get out. Paddy put his hands in his pockets and came up bare.

‘Have you got a tissue or a handkerchief?’ he asked Jesse.

Jesse pulled a black and white bandanna out of his back pocket. Paddy recognised it – when they were a few years younger, Jesse and his gang had declared themselves outlaws. Cowboys. Jesse was at that point in his life totally in love with the fact his father had named his three sons after real life Wild West gunslingers.

He handed it to Paddy and Paddy leaned carefully over the books and used the cloth to gently scoop up the butterfly.

‘Out the back,’ he had said, thinking of the flowerbeds, and for some reason, Jesse Archer, notorious bully and good-for-nothing third son of drunken Nick Archer, followed him with a look of awe on his face.

Paddy walked to the back, through the dusty conservatory and out into the garden. The thin stretch was a colourful haven for pollinators – sunflowers, wildflowers, lavender, foxgloves, geraniums – the perfect place for a lonely butterfly.

He had crouched beside the lavender bush and unfolded the bandanna. Jesse had crouched too, and watched silently as the butterfly paused, flapped its wings twice then fluttered on to the bush.

‘Here.’ Paddy had returned the bandanna.

Jesse said, ‘Mr Bishop is a bastard. He’s wrong you know. He’s wrong about everything.’

It was the first time Paddy had considered that Jesse hadn’t just been angry up on that stage, but humiliated, just like him. It was the first time Paddy had considered that Jesse Archer had feelings of his own.

He’d nodded at the treehouse. ‘Want to come up?’

Now, Paddy hears a voice.

He scrambles forward and sticks out his head. His father is at the conservatory door, waving.

‘You’ve got a visitor!’

Paddy wonders if it’s Jesse. No, more likely it is Willow. He climbs down and dashes through the rain to follow his father through the shop. He looks around but can’t see Willow.

Instead, Jesse Archer is skulking in the shadows. He couldn’t look more suspicious if he tried. Paddy glances at his father who smiles and goes back to the book he is reading behind the counter.

Since the day with the butterfly, Jesse Archer has wandered in alone at least once a week and on a few occasions, he and Paddy have ended up back in the treehouse together.

Jesse never asks. He never says hello. He just wanders around the shop until Paddy intervenes. His father, ever the optimist, thinks it’s a good sign. He sees it as hopeful and has reminded Paddy to never judge a book by its cover, or by the gossip spread by townsfolk. In response, Paddy reminded his father about Jesse’s behaviour; his reputation for a troublemaker and a bully is well known.

‘He’s a nightmare at school,’ Paddy said. ‘He trips people up, he disrupts classes, he throws things at people. You don’t want to run into him.’

Paddy’s father had smiled gently before telling him that sometimes people just need a chance to do the right thing and that maybe Jesse has never been given that chance. He knows about Jesse – his family, his brothers, his background – and being the kind and gentle man he is, he feels for him. Mr Finnis think bad apples can turn good. Paddy is not yet convinced, but he is curious enough to give Jesse a chance. He hates to admit it even to himself, but he has been enjoying the boy’s company.

There is something there, he has found himself thinking, there is something about him.

And here he is again.

And this time, he walks right up to Paddy, hands in pockets, soaked through, no coat, blood on his neck.

‘I need to talk to you.’

Paddy nods and leads the way back to the treehouse. Just as Paddy is climbing up after him, Jesse holds up a hand.

‘Is there any chance of a drink? Or something to eat?’

Paddy pauses. Jesse has never asked for anything before. But he does look hungry. And weary. Like something heavy is pushing down on him relentlessly. Paddy’s father has told him more than once that Jesse does not have the best home life and this makes Paddy feel sorry for him.

‘Okay. Hang on.’

Paddy scuttles off to the kitchen, retrieves two slices of apple cake, a big bag of salt and vinegar crisps and two cans of 7-Up from the fridge.

Back in the treehouse, Jesse is sitting against the wall and glaring hard at an undefinable point in the roof – a gap between slats and spongey green moss. He looks angry as he raises a middle finger.

‘What’re you doing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Here.’ Paddy clambers up and passes the cake and crisps over.

For a while they sit in silence. Jesse eats and drinks with his eyes fixed on the same spot. Paddy watches him silently, uneasily. He still can’t read the boy. He doesn’t understand him at all. He’s not sure he’s safe with this boy and he knows that Jesse has stolen books from them, just as his father knows.

‘It’s all right, Paddy,’ he’d said when Paddy had voiced his suspicions. ‘Maybe he’s reading them.’

Paddy hopes so.

‘More like burning them,’ Willow had snapped, churlishly.

But Paddy remembers the look of gentle wonder on Jesse’s face when the butterfly flew away. Paddy remembers that Jesse was side-tracked by its futile attempt to escape via a hard glass window. Paddy hopes that Jesse is not faking it when he asks to look through the telescope, and that he means it when he quietly declares that one day he is going to get out of this town and make something of himself.

‘What is it?’ he asks Jesse now.

The boy looks at him with sharp dark eyes. Paddy looks back and he does not see a brute or a hooligan now. He sees intensity – something fierce, inquisitive and acutely alive.

‘I tried to burn down the school.’

Paddy, visibly shocked, asks, ‘What? Why?’

‘Why’d you think? So we don’t have to go back there ever again.’

‘Oh.’ A few beats later… ‘Wow.’

Jesse looks away and shrugs. ‘Didn’t work.’

‘That’s probably a good thing.’

Jesse looks back at him and seems about to say something. But a metallic clattering sound outside halts him and they both turn suddenly and suspiciously towards the noise. Paddy stares at the end of the garden where the metal bins sit and the old gate doesn’t quite close properly.

‘There’s someone there,’ he says in surprise.

Jesse moves fast. Shoving the food from his lap, he shoots past Paddy and practically leaps to the ground before rushing over to the gate.

It’s raining harder now. Paddy almost slips on the rope ladder on his way down and when he lands, his other foot loses grip on wet grass and he goes down on his backside. He clambers quickly to his feet and rushes up behind Jesse who is towering aggressively over a short chubby girl in a bright blue anorak.

‘Who are you? What the hell are you doing spying on us?’

The girl just stares in horror. Her mouth an ‘o’ shape, her hands clutching the camera around her neck.

‘Were you spying on us?’ Paddy demands. He is sure he has never seen her before, which is a rare thing in such a small town.

Jesse pulls her inside the gate and she squeaks in fright.

‘Who the hell are you?’

Suddenly, there is a crack in the sky above them. Lightning forks without warning and is promptly followed by a deafening boom of thunder. The air hisses with electricity.

Paddy doesn’t think twice. He grabs Jesse’s hand and the girl’s and pulls them both towards the treehouse.

Jesse stands back, shaking now as heavy sheets of rain drum down on them, allowing the girl to scramble up first. He then gestures to Paddy, but it’s Paddy’s treehouse and he enjoys playing the host so he shakes his head and gives Jesse an urgent shove.

Jesse does not need to be asked twice. He hoists himself up after the girl and Paddy follows.

The three of them huddle together in the dry spot. The girl squeals when the sky booms again and Paddy puts out a hand to calm her.

‘It’s okay. Just thunder. I’m Paddy, by the way. I live here.’

‘Jaime,’ she replies, her voice a little high as her eyes shoot anxiously between him and Jesse. ‘And I wasn’t spying. Honest. Okay, I sort of was. But only because I’m a reporter you see, a journalist – okay, well not really, not yet, obviously, because I’m only fourteen right now but I want to be one day and so I’m sort of in training, you see? And anyway, sorry but I’m really not going to do anything with the photos anyway. I don’t even have a newspaper or anywhere to share them.’

She looks between their startled faces, smiling desperately, her shoulders bunched up to her neck.

‘You took photos?’ asks Paddy. ‘Of what?’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Jesse demands again, glowering at her.

‘Jaime Perry,’ she says again, a little exasperated now. ‘We just moved in yesterday. I’m new.’

To this, Jesse groans. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, are you fucking mad? Why would anyone want to move here?’

‘My mum,’ she frowns, looking at Paddy as if hoping he will help her. ‘She and my step-dad, Mark.’

‘Aster?’ Paddy helps her out and nods at Jesse as if to reassure him. ‘It’s okay, my dad told me Mark Aster is back in town to take over the Hare and Hound since his old man passed away. Remember? He got married. This must be his step-daughter.’

Both boys stare at Jaime, looking her up and down. Paddy sees a kindly face framed by wet blonde air. Her cheeks are as round as her bright blue eyes and her mouth is one big smile. She looks like the sort of person who smiles at everything and everyone.

‘Jaime,’ she says again, in case they have forgotten.

‘Still doesn’t explain the creeping around and taking photos,’ Jesse growls at her.

She seems to shrink, wrapping her arms around her knees. ‘I told you. I’m a reporter.’

‘You’re fourteen.’

‘Yes, I know, I said one day. I mean, one day I will be.’ She shrugs hopefully at Paddy. ‘I’m practicing. Don’t you guys practice what you want to be when you grow up?’

The boys swap a look. Paddy thinks about his treehouse and wonders if Jesse is thinking about crime. Yeah, they both practice.

‘Okay,’ he says to Jaime. ‘We get you.’

‘I don’t,’ Jesse disagrees and is still glaring at her. ‘I want to know what was so interesting about us.’

‘You,’ she corrects him and then blushes a fierce red. Paddy smiles, feeling sorry for her. Jesse just looks angrier.

‘What about me?’

‘I mean, I followed you here. I saw you get arrested at the school and I saw that policeman just drop you off here after so I was curious. I mean, you have to be curious if you want to be a journalist, so I went around the back to see what I could see. I was chasing a story.’

‘Not creepy at all…’ Jesse mutters.

Paddy is enthralled. ‘You didn’t say you got caught!’

Jesse shifts uneasily. ‘Course I did. Everything always goes fucking wrong.’

Paddy exhales slowly. He looks between Jesse and the new girl.

‘And what? Mayfield just let you go?’

‘No damage done.’ Jesse looks away. ‘Me and Mayfield have an understanding. I just came to tell you that I tried, that’s all.’

‘Jesse, you’re crazy! You didn’t have to try and burn down the school for me. Or you!’

‘Is that why you got arrested?’ Jaime is all ears and her eyes are wide, the storm forgotten as she stares greedily at Jesse.

He gives her a long, measured look. ‘Yeah.’

She slaps a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. This is so exciting. I am so glad I moved here!’

Jesse examines her carefully before shifting his gaze to Paddy, his eyebrows raised.

‘She won’t be for long…’

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of Chapter One – May Day. Please also let me know if you would prefer shorter chapters. They are quite long and I could split each in half. What do you think of the characters introduced so far??

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Four “Willow Watches”

The Glorious Outsiders

Chantelle Atkins, Author

Writing

Black Hare Valley Chapter Six: “School Days

Thanks for reading!

Black Hare Valley Chapter Five: “Ralph, Monster Hunter”

Thanks for reading!

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Four “Willow Watches”

Thanks for reading!

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Three “Paddy’s Treehouse”

Thanks for reading!

Thanks for reading!

Share this:

Thanks for reading!

Share this:

Thanks for reading!

Share this:

Thanks for reading!

Share this: