British Folk Horror

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Twenty-Two “The Ruins”

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

NOTE: I don’t know what’s wrong with me this week but I send the Substack chapter out today instead of tomorrow and I sent the WordPress chapter out on the wrong site!! Anyway, to make up for it I am posting two chapters this week. There will be another one tomorrow!

The Ruins – image is mine

© 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.

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1

Willow writes three identical notes on Wednesday morning before leaving for school. Each one reads simply: The Ruins, Saturday, from 12pm. She decides to write ‘from’ 12pm because after that she has all day. If the others can’t make it until 1pm, 2pm or 3pm, she will just wait.

At school she passes Jaime her note as they cross paths in the playground. She slides Ralph’s into his hand at first break after lingering briefly outside his English class. She doesn’t expect to see Jesse in school but keeps her hand curled around his note just in case. She has to fight hard to hide her amazement when she spots him in the canteen at lunchtime. He looks okay too, which is even more amazing. She wants to rush up and throw a million questions at him but she forces herself to hold back. She knows they are being watched. She agrees with Jaime that pretending to lose interest in finding Paddy is their best bet right now.

She keeps an eye on Jesse until she sees him leave and then she gets up, follows and just as he joins the throng of students in the corridor outside, she slips the note into his back pocket, turns and walks quickly away.

By the end of the day, Willow has received three notes of her own.

From Jaime: I’ll be there. Got lots to tell but Mum and Mark not letting me anywhere!

From Ralph: I’ll be there!

From Jesse: I’ll try. It’s OK here. Weird but OK.

Willow is relieved to read that last bit. She had a sleepless night tossing and turning, unable to stop imagining what awful things might be happening to him. But he’s okay, and back at school which is odd, but at least Mayor Sumner is letting him out.

It’s all odd, Willow thinks on her way home, it’s all very, very odd. Her own parents are not exactly keeping her under lock and key but she has sensed a change in them. They seem nervy and on edge. On Wednesday evening though, her mother finally caves in to her constant badgering and thrusts a handful of old photographs at her.

‘Here,’ she says, something dark and unhappy dancing in her eyes. ‘I finally found them. You can stop going on about it now, and before you ask, no, I don’t remember anything about Carol-Anne Radley.’

‘You must remember she went missing?’ Willow frowns at her as she takes the photos. ‘It must have been in the paper or something?’

Her mother shakes her head, twirling a length of black hair nervously around one index finger. ‘I always thought she just got packed off to a relative or something.’

‘What about Angie? What about Jesse’s mum?’

Lizzie lifts and drops her shoulders and a look of something close to revulsion crosses over her features as she steps away from her daughter. ‘Angie always was a strange one. They were a strange family, and her and Nicky Archer, it didn’t end well. It was never going to end well with those two.’

Willow looks down at the photos and when she looks up to ask another question, her mother has left her room and closed the door behind her. Mystified, Willow shakes her head and examines the photos. There are three.

The first shows a group of young girls all wearing long white dresses and clutching posies of wild flowers. Willow wonders if they are flower girls or bridesmaids and then her eye is drawn to the girl in the middle. She is also wearing a white dress but upon her head of loose fair curls is a crown of flowers, and she is perched demurely on a chair that has been decorated to look like a thrown.

‘May Day,’ Willow whispers, placing her finger gently on the May Queen.

The May Queen looks about twelve or thirteen and she is smiling so widely and brightly, Willow can feel the pure joy in her heart. Her hands are clutching her own posy of flowers and her bare feet are tucked just under the chair. Willow stares at her long and hard, before allowing her gaze to drift to the other girls. She thinks they are aged roughly between four and twelve, and the smallest ones are sat cross-legged on the grass in front of the grinning May Queen.

Her eyes are drawn to one who is undoubtedly her mother. She holds a striking resemblance to Willow, with the same long black hair, though hers has a wide flowered headband holding it back from her slim face. She’s one of the taller girls standing at the back of the group and she has a somewhat haughty and slightly unimpressed air about her, her smile forced and sardonic.

Willow has no idea what Angie and Carol-Anne Radley looked like so she scans the rest of the faces fiercely, looking for Jesse. She runs her finger across the bottom row first, staring intently at each sweet cherubic face. She can’t see Jesse’s scowling eyes in any of them. The next row are a bit older, four girls clustered around the throne, and the back row is made up of her mother and two other girls. She discounts these immediately. She recognises one as Alexa’s mother. Her teenage face is an exact replica of her smug-faced daughters, and she thinks the other girl might be Paddy’s mother.

She focuses on the middle row, the girls surrounding the May Queen. Willow peers into each face and finally makes a connection. The May Queen, although fair-haired, has the exact same face shape, smile and nose as the girl leaning towards her from the right. They both look like they are suppressing an outburst of giggles and their lips, cheeks and eyes are all set exactly the same.

Bingo, she thinks. Carol-Anne must be the May Queen and Angie is the darker haired one leaning next to her. And now that she really scrutinises them, she thinks she can see Jesse in their faces too. She pictures his face when he smiles, how his mouth stretches up more on one side than the other and how his dark eyes almost vanish into his face and she sees it as clear as day. His mother and aunt in the photo with her mother.

Willow slips the photo to the bottom of the pile and examines the next. It only takes a second for Willow to place the location – Milly’s Café. Her mother stands centre stage, one elbow leaning on the countertop while her other hand clutches her narrow waist. She has one leg kicked out behind her, making her pose both dramatic and amusing. Willow smiles as she takes in the younger version of her mother. Long black hair, this time with a heavy fringe skirting dark eyes heavily made up with mascara and eye-liner. Her eyes are narrowed slightly and Willow almost laughs. She’s seen that cool, unimpressed look enough times from her mother. In this photo Lizzie is smiling with her mouth wide open, laughing maybe.

‘So cool,’ Willow murmurs admiringly.

She takes in the rest of the photo and immediately picks out Jesse’s father, Nick Archer.

‘Wow,’ she says, blinking.

It looks almost like Jesse has gone back in time. There he is with his dark hair cut into a fringe, Beatles style, the back and sides looking in need of a trim, curling under his ears and from behind his neck. His eyes are familiar too, dark and scowling, his top lip lifting in a slight sneer while his lips betray him with a smile. He’s wearing a black donkey jacket over dark blue jeans with a white t-shirt. He’s stood beside Willow’s mother, in the centre of the group, a cigarette in one hand and a mug of something in the other.

‘Unbelievable,’ says Willow, turning her attention to the next teenager, another boy, this time perched on a stool and looking back over one shoulder. ‘Oh my God, Ralph!’ Willow blurts out before slapping a hand over her mouth.

She can see where he gets his build and his curls from. The young man who must undoubtedly be Frankie Maxwell, is stocky, his face wide, his gaze firm and unamused. His hair is a tangle of brown curls and he too, is smoking a cigarette.

On the other side of him, her back to the counter, her hands linked in front of her, is a girl who must be Angie, Jesse’s mother. She looks different than the May Queen photo, her dark hair is shorter, a feathered bob style that accentuates her elfin features. She is smiling for the camera but there is no mistaking the haunted, anxious look in her eyes. Willow wonders if Carol-Anne was the one who took the photo, or whether she had already gone missing by the time it was taken.

Sighing, she turns to the final photo. She can’t work out where it was taken, but taking centre stage once again is Nick Archer. This time he is straddling a motorbike, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. He’s not looking at the camera, but appears to be saying something to someone out of shot. His hair looks longer and messier and if Willow really stares, she thinks she can see a cut on his lower lip.

Frankie Maxwell is there again, this time sitting in the grass in front of the motorbike, his knees bent, and his arms around a shaggy lurcher dog. He’s smiling in this one but it looks somewhat forced. Sat beside him is Willow’s mother. She has her own cigarette on the go, hanging loosely from her fingers over one bent knee. She’s dressed casually in bell-bottomed jeans and a flowery top. Her hair is in a ponytail pulled over one shoulder.

She looks sadder too, Willow thinks. There is a trace of a smile on her lips but it’s lost and whimsical and she appears to be gazing at something off camera too. Willow examines the background. She can see fields, and it looks like summer going by the colour of the grass. There is a fence in the distance, she can just make it out stretching between two far off trees. A building beyond that, possibly a house, she’s not sure.

Fascinated, greedy with the hunger for more, Willow slips the photos under her pillow and cannot wait to show the others tomorrow.

That night is another sleepless one for Willow as the anticipation for Saturday grows inside her alongside the excitement of sharing the photos. Her stomach is a mess as she lies on the bed, pressing her hands against it. Her chest too – it feels tight and weird like she can’t catch a breath properly. She thinks of the ruins and her friends and everything Jesse will be able to tell them about Hill Fort Farm. She thinks of Jaime’s words, ‘got lots to tell’ and wonders what on earth it can be. How can she have dug anything else up with her mum and stepdad keeping such a close eye on her?

She has to wait. And waiting is torture.

When sleep refuses to come anywhere close, Willow gives up and goes to the window. The back garden is a dark rectangle, narrow and long just like the one behind Paddy’s shop. The sides are lined with thick clusters of trees and shrubs and a small shed sits at the end beside the gate – the plastic window glinting in a streak of silver moonlight.

It’s here that Willow sees the movement. Although after, when she tries to see it and reimagine it in her head, she can’t quite get it right and it feels more like an impossible dream than anything else. In the moment, she thinks she sees a creature moving slowly in a cautious, loping manner. Her eyes strain to pick out form and shape; a sloping back and long ears. She knows what she’s hoping to see and she doesn’t hesitate. She tears from her room and races downstairs. She wrenches open the back door and whispers, ‘Paddy?’

But the shape has gone. The garden is still. The only sound is a far off howl that makes her jump in fright and slam the door.

2

On Saturday, Jesse is the first to arrive at the ruins. He checks his watch while still climbing the final slope of the hill. It’s 11.50am. He’s breathless and red-cheeked and physically feels better than he has in a long time. Margaret Sumner is a good cook – serving no-nonsense meals that fill him up. She doesn’t believe in snacks or fast food. He’s never consumed so many vegetables in his life.

It’s been a strange week – almost dreamlike, he reflects as he pushes on up the hill. The biggest relief came with his return to school and the biggest surprise in him making it to Friday without a detention. He can tell Bishop is appalled to have him back but fuck him and fuck Mayfield too; for some reason, the mayor seems to like Jesse.

She still won’t let him ask too many questions and she likes to keep him busy. There are always chores to be done around the farm but she isn’t keeping him imprisoned, which is what he feared. Does that mean she trusts him? He thinks probably not but what can he do but try to be patient?

Coming here now is a risk. She thinks he is visiting his brothers but instead he’s clambering up the hill to the ruins to meet the unlikely group of people who he now considers his friends. Despite the risks, Jesse is excited.

He reaches the top and turns around. Black Hare Valley lies below and he feels it watching him. At the moment, it naps with one eye open. It knows he can’t and won’t get far so he can stand on the edge if he likes. The High Street looks like a fat black snake coiling through the centre, winding through the hills, spewing out houses and shops and lives. The rest of the scenery is breathtaking. There is no denying its stark and majestical breed of beauty. The sky is a cold pale blue and the white clouds are stretched thin like the boundaries of town are pulling them taught.

The rolling hills seem to go on forever – layered in different shades of green, decorated with clutches of woods, and sparkling with the drift of a river or stream. A song thrush calls out in the trees behind. A flock of pigeons rear up from the grass lower down and as Jesse peers over he can see a figure in dark clothes making her way up. Black hair billows out behind her. Willow.

Jesse turns and strolls into the ruins and straight into Steven and Dominic. ‘Fuck,’ he mutters as he steps back from Steven’s chest. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Just passing the time,’ smirks Steven, narrowing his eyes. ‘Was once a time you used to hang out here with us.’

Jesse remembers those times. Smoking weed and stolen booze and smashing bottles. Spraying graffiti on the ancient stones, plotting revenge on teachers, parents and nosy neighbours. He feels faintly sick thinking about it now.

He shrugs. ‘Yeah well, times change. Thanks a lot for setting me up the other night by the way.’

Steven just grins but Dominic shrugs apologetically. ‘Sorry. Mayfield caught us smashing up the Cotton house. You know what he’s like.’

‘Yeah, I do.’ He looks at Dominic. ‘Be careful or he’ll be blackmailing you to do all sorts. Been there.’

‘Yeah, and where are you now exactly?’ ponders Steven, stepping forward. ‘I heard you’re living at the mayor’s place? I mean, shit, what the hell is that about?’

Jesse glances away to make sure Willow has not arrived yet. ‘Long story,’ he sighs.

He bites his lip and thinks the old him would have punched Steven by now. But something – everything – has changed him and he doesn’t feel the urge. He also doesn’t feel it’s right, after all, Steven and Dominic were blackmailed just how he used to be. He considers asking them to tell him what they’d been caught doing for Mayfield to blackmail them into stealing the book from Paddy’s treehouse, but he’s not sure it’s wise and besides that, he doesn’t have the energy to converse with them for much longer. He has a moment to consider how much his life has changed, when Steven shoves him in the chest.

He moves away and lifts his hands. ‘Hey, Steven.’

‘Think you’re better than us, don’t you?’ Steven sneers, pushing him again. ‘First, you’re hanging around with a bunch of losers and now you’re living the high life over there with the mayor?’ He drags his gaze up and down Jesse in slow disgust. ‘You’ve changed, Jesse.’

‘Yeah, I have,’ agrees Jesse. ‘I was a knob before. A bully, like you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Steven shoves him harder.

‘Stop it, man.’

‘Make me!’ Steven growls and reaches for him. Jesse side steps then sticks out a foot. Steven sprawls face first into the wet grass then leaps up screaming, ‘You dirty fighter! You shitting bastard!’

‘Someone’s coming,’ Dominic mumbles from behind them.

Jesse is bored of this shit. He wants them both gone before Willow and the others arrive. He shoulders Steven roughly – enough to knock him off balance, then he shoves him again, this time sending him onto his backside.

‘Get out of here,’ he tells Dominic who does not need to be told twice. He slouches away, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Jesse stands back, allowing Steven the space to pick himself up and dust himself off. He does, just before shouldering his way aggressively past Jesse.

‘This isn’t over. You’re a dead man, Archer.’

Jesse raises his eyebrows and watches him go. When he’s sure they have both gone and have not crossed paths with Willow, he races over to Billy’s hiding place and finds what he hoped would be there: a new stash of weed and papers in a small metal tin. Nice one Billy, he thinks with a grin.

He crouches with his back to the wall and is busy perfecting the perfect joint when Willow finally appears. At first he thinks she will judge him or scold him, but when she sees what he’s doing, she just sighs and drags a bottle out from under her cloak.

‘Vodka? Jesus Christ.’

‘My parents have had it in the cupboard for years. I figured they wouldn’t miss it and we might need it.’

Jesse is genuinely shocked. She leans on the wall beside him and stares at the bottle as if in a dream.

‘It’ll be pretty potent then,’ he comments.

She glances at him. ‘Yeah. Probably a dumb idea.’

‘Nah. Hey, I’ll definitely try some.’ He grins at her and she grins back. ‘Is this the kind of thing you and Paddy used to get up to then?’ He’s still grinning, waiting for her answer while she stares at him as if scrutinising his features.

‘No, not exactly.’

Jesse looks back at his joint and finishes it off. ‘Shame.’

‘What did they want?’ Willow asks.

He assumes she means Steven and Dominic and he is glad she doesn’t call them his friends, his gang or even his ‘old’ friends.’

He sighs and slips the roach into one end. ‘Nothing. You don’t worry about them.’

She nods and he can tell she probably wants to call them pricks or something, but she doesn’t. She sits next to him and hugs her legs.

‘Do you feel safe here? Like the treehouse?’

Jesse looks around and he supposes that he does. Not quite in the same way but there is something about it. He shrugs and nods at the same time.

‘Yeah, sort of, I think so. You?’

‘Same. I wonder if Paddy did something here too, like at the treehouse.’ Willow dangles the bottle of vodka between her knees and gazes at it. ‘God, I miss him.’

‘What would he be doing if he were here, do you think?’ asks Jesse. ‘I mean, if you’d gone missing, or someone else?’

‘Would he be trying to solve it like us, you mean?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah, I think he would. He’d be doing exactly what we’re doing. He’d probably be better at it too.’

Jesse twists the other end of the joint, sticks it between his teeth and lights up. ‘Exactly why we should keep it up,’ he says as he exhales.

‘How’s your back?’

‘It’s better. Margaret put some stuff on it and I dunno, it’s healed pretty quick.’

Willow frowns. ‘Christ Jesse, I have so many questions. And I’ve got something to show you too.’

‘We better wait for the others.’

‘I know. Is this risky for you though?’

‘I don’t think so,’ he replies. ‘She sent me back to school.’ He takes another pull on the joint and holds it for a few moments before exhaling slowly. ‘She hasn’t said I can’t see any of you either. She doesn’t have a ton of rules or anything.’

Willow looks surprised. ‘No?’

‘Nope, just chores. Lots of chores, but I don’t mind them. I’d be bored otherwise.’

Willow lowers her head. ‘We were all so worried about you.’

He nods. ‘Mayfield is the one to worry about. As far as I can tell, Margaret has some sort of hold over him. Over all of them maybe.’

‘She must have had something to do with it though,’ Willow states angrily. ‘Paddy. She did something to him. Our own fucking mayor.’

‘She’s more than a mayor,’ Jesse says as the drug seeps thickly through his body, loosening his joints and unwinding the tension. He rests his head on the mossy rocks behind. ‘She’s the town. She’s the whole goddamn town, Willow.’

‘How do we fight her then? How do we get Paddy back?’

He glances at her and sees her pale face and wide eyes. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t think they can. At least not the Paddy she knew. He’s about to try to explain what he thinks Mayfield is when Willow starts again.

‘I think I saw him last night. Paddy. I saw something moving in my back garden from my window so I ran down and I swear I saw a black hare, just like you did. And I just felt, I don’t know, like it was him. Watching over me or something.’

‘Then what happened?’ Jesse asks.

She swallows. ‘There was this piercing howl from nearby and the hare, or whatever it was, it ran off.’

3

Jaime is glad to be walking to the ruins alone. As much as she is desperate to see the others, she can’t bear the thought of having to say it all more than once, so when she spots Ralph pushing his bike up the hill ahead of her, she breathes out in relief. She’s wearing her backpack – filled with the investigation disguised as schoolwork – and she plans to stop by the library on the way back so her excursion is not a total lie. She’s told her mother she’s going for a long ramble first, to take photos for a project and to explore.

It’s been a tense week in The Hare and Hound. Her mother’s pregnancy is exhausting her and although a lot of the staff are doing extra shifts, that has not stopped Mark from watching her almost constantly.

The change in him is palpable and odd. It makes Jaime feel uneasy whenever he’s around because it’s hard to explain or put your finger on. She doesn’t think she’d be able to articulate it enough to form any kind of actual complaint – not that she’d want to upset her mother at the moment anyway – but something has changed and she’s starting to fear that it will never change back.

She shivers just thinking about it. He’s colder, she thinks, and quieter. But it’s not just that. It’s the way he looks at her.

‘Your boyfriend gone without you?’ a voice calls out from behind.

Jaime jerks to a stop and looks over her shoulder. She’s dismayed to see Bryony and Alexa skulking through the trees where Ralph caused the power cut. Jaime glances back at the hill and can’t see him anymore. She smiles weakly as the two girls strut towards her, hands shoved into the pockets of their matching denim jackets.

‘Um no,’ Jaime replies, hoping to put them off following. ‘I’m just going for a walk.’

Alexa jerks her head towards the hill. ‘Saw that chubby Maxwell kid heading up that way. Why are you hanging around him anyway? He’s in the year below!’

Bryony sniggers at this, her brow creased in mock concern as she gives Jaime the usual up and down look.

‘I don’t hang around with him,’ says Jaime, although she has no idea why she should feel the need to explain herself to these two.

‘We’ve seen you, don’t lie,’ sighs Bryony, rolling her eyes. She glances away and fixes her gaze somewhere else, giving Jaime hope that she is getting bored already.

Alexa, however, steps closer. ‘He’s got a crush on you, we reckon.’

Jaime shakes her head and stifles laugher. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘He does,’ insists Alexa. ‘We’ve seen him looking at you, haven’t we Bry?’

‘Yeah,’ Bryony says distractedly, still peering into the trees.

‘I suppose you could do worse,’ shrugs Alexa. ‘He’s younger and funny looking but who knows? Maybe he’ll get really hot one day, right?’

Jaime has no idea how to respond so she says nothing, biting her lip and gazing at her shoes. She doesn’t want to let on where she’s going and is considering changing direction just to avoid these two following her. They wouldn’t, would they?

Bryony tugs at Alexa’s arm. ‘Think I just saw the boys heading that way. Come on.’

Jaime breathes out slowly.

Alexa nods at her friend but narrows her eyes at Jaime. ‘Course I know who you really have a crush on, new girl.’

Jaime laughs. It’s an awkward, high-pitched sound that makes her cringe. ‘I don’t… I don’t have a crush on anyone!’

Alexa leans closer and whispers into her ear. ‘Jesse Archer.’

Jaime moves back. She can feel her cheeks flooding with heat and lets her hair fall forward to cover it, but it’s too late, Alexa has seen.

‘Knew it! Bry, I knew it! I said, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah, you said, come on. Let’s catch the boys up.’ Bryony gives Jaime a dirty look before tossing her hair and marching away.

Jaime wonders if that is it. If they have bored of her already, their short attention spans snatched away by the lure of boys. But Alexa leans close one more time.

‘You wouldn’t have a chance in hell, you know that, right?’ She pauses long enough to give Jaime yet another up-down look of disgust, before spinning on her heel and catching up with Bryony.

Jaime wanders away, shaken. She has no idea why Bryony and Alexa target her whenever they can. It’s never physical, never serious, never anything she’d bother telling anyone about. It’s always subtle, she thinks, cruel and icy comments that could be disguised as jokes. She swallows hard, blinks back tears and starts up the hill.

With the sun in her eyes, Jaime is breathless by the time she reaches the ruins. She staggers towards the wall where Ralph has propped his bike and turns the corner to find the three of them crouched around a small fire. Ralph is warming his hands and throws a huge goofy smile her way. Jaime instantly recalls what Alexa said about Ralph and her cheeks flush again. She smiles back but doesn’t make eye contact. Willow is snapping sticks and feeding them to the flames and Jesse seems to be swigging from a bottle of vodka.

‘Hey Jaime!’ he calls out when he sees her. ‘It’s party time!’

Jaime almost wants to run away. Alexa’s words are ringing in her ears and she wonders for a brief second if she should just walk away from all of this and attempt to live normally in this strange town. If Alexa has noticed her crush on Jesse, what if he has too?

They are all looking at her, so she smiles awkwardly and joins them. She pushes Alexa and Bryony away and forces herself to remember why they are all here. Paddy.

‘Where shall we start?’ Willow asks, looking between them all.

Jaime is quick to jump in. ‘Well, I think our main concern was Jesse but seeing as how he’s here and seems fine, I think I’ll go first if that’s okay with everyone?’

They all nod in solemn agreement and sit around the fire facing each other.

‘The floor is yours,’ Jesse offers with a smile.

She smiles back and pulls her backpack round in front of her. ‘The first thing to say is that I went to Maze Lane to visit Iris Cotton but her grand-daughter, Sarah-Jane, shooed me away. She said Iris is very confused and upset and needs her rest. So, that was that, but I have noticed that her son Nathan regularly does this baby singing thing at the library so I was planning on bumping into him by accident and seeing what I can find out.’

‘Good plan.’ Ralph gives her the thumbs up.

She nods in thanks and goes on. ‘So, I’ve been keeping up the investigation and making sure everything goes on the timeline and so on but I’ve had to be careful and hide it, look…’ Jaime unrolls the paper and demonstrates how the Paddy Finnis Disappearance case is hidden safely behind a history project on the Tudors.

Jesse grins his approval. ‘Very nice. Smart thinking.’

‘Brilliant,’ agrees Willow, her eyes darting over it. ‘So, your folks are still watching you like a hawk, are they?’

Jaime rolls it back up. ‘Yes, so I’m having to be very devious. Every time I go to either library I’m hiding books under books and so on. Anyway, this is the real thing I wanted to show you all.’ She takes out a notepad and unfolds a few loose pieces of paper. The others lean forward and she hands them out. ‘I photocopied them at school. I don’t think anyone saw so I was able to put the newspapers back and take these with me. They’re from the national newspapers and a few others. It took a lot of digging and reading and hiding!’ She breathes out wearily as if it tires her to remember it.

‘These are all missing people,’ says Willow, rifling through the papers and looking from hers to Ralph’s, before peering at Jesse’s.

‘Yep,’ confirms Jaime. ‘There’s at least six mentioned in those stories but there could obviously be more.’

Jesse has skim read the page in his hands. ‘They weren’t from town though?’

She shakes her head. ‘Nope, none of them. They all have a few things in common though.’ She counts them off on her fingers. ‘All young-ish, late teens to early twenties at the most. They were all hikers or walking enthusiasts. And they all vanished in this area never to be seen again.’

‘In this area?’ Ralph stares down at his paper quizzically. ‘But this report doesn’t mention the valley.’

‘No, none of them do but I marked them on a map, look.’ Jaime unfolds another piece of paper – a photocopied map of the Dorset Somerset border. She has marked six circles close to their town. ‘The circles show where each person was last seen or heard from. They were in the area but not here, not as far as we know anyway. But don’t you think it’s weird? Two teenagers vanish from the town thirty years apart and in the meantime at least six outsiders have vanished close to town.’ She looks around at their faces, each deep in thought as they re-read the reports. ‘Maybe they came here or walked through or maybe they never made it that far but it’s got to be connected for so many to vanish so close to our town… I’ll keep looking,’ she adds, quickly anxious that they’re not going to see it the way she does. ‘There could be more.’

Jesse passes the bottle to Willow and looks brightly at Jaime. ‘I think you’re right. This has to be connected. And then there’s my mum being missing too, like you said. I’ve been thinking about that.’

She breathes out in pure relief. ‘Okay, and there’s one more thing. I went through a ton of local history stuff. Births, deaths, marriages, local events, that kind of thing and I found out that Iris Cotton is related to Agnes Salter, the original owner of the original Black Hare Cottage. Cotton is her married name.’

There is a collective gasp and Jaime feels herself swell just a little in front of them. ‘Salter the witch?’ asks Jesse. ‘That’s like a local legend. You know, they burned her and her house.’

‘Same house, different woman, different time,’ replies Jaime. ‘Which is why I really do need to talk to Iris if I can.’

‘My mum delivers logs to Maze Lane,’ Ralph says then. ‘To most of the houses there because they all have open fires. I could see when their next delivery is due and I could offer to go along and help… maybe I could find a way to talk to Iris?’

The others nod firmly and Jesse pats his shoulder. ‘Sweet.’

Jaime watches Ralph grow redder as he smiles in response.

‘Good plan,’ she tells him then starts to pack away her work, just in case. ‘Now,’ she says. ‘Jesse, it’s your turn. You must tell us everything!’

Willow holds up a hand. ‘Hey, hang on, can I jump in first? I’ve got to show you something and it affects nearly all of us.’

The others swap glances and then nod warily. ‘What is it?’ Jesse asks.

Willow pulls a small pile of photos from her cloak and hands them to him. ‘Your dad was right, Jesse. Our parents did know each other. My mum’s still being weird and cagey about it all but she did finally dig these out for me.’

Jesse fans the photos out and they all lean over. He instantly points out his father who looks remarkably like him and is posing with a group of teens in Milly’s Café. ‘That’s my dad! And Willow, your mum!’ He points to a dark-haired girl and Willow nods.

‘Recognise anyone else?’

‘Is that my dad?’ breathes Ralph, his eyes wide. ‘Jesus!’

Jesse points to a girl. ‘That’s my mum!’

Jaime takes the photo when he passes it to her. She scans the faces, noting the undeniable similarities between her new friends and their parents. Jesse is already looking at the next photo.

‘My dad again,’ he confirms. ‘Wonder where that was? Looks a bit like the land near The Fort but I dunno. And there’s your mum Willow and your dad again, Ralph. Looks like they were proper friends, doesn’t it?’

‘Or maybe they weren’t but they were drawn together by a missing person, just like us?’ Jaime suggests with a shrug. She takes the photo from Jesse. ‘They all look so sad here.’

Jesse is scrutinising the final photo. ‘My mum and your mum again,’ he says to Willow.

She leans closer and presses a finger against the May Queen. ‘I think that’s your aunt, Jesse. That’s Carol-Anne. Look at her face and your mum’s face. Don’t you think that could be her?’

‘I’ll have to ask my dad.’ Jesse holds it up, lost for a moment as he stares into a past he never knew existed. ‘But yeah, they look alike, don’t they?’

‘None of them want to talk about it,’ says Willow, pulling up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. ‘I’ll try but I don’t think I’ll get much more out of my mum.’

‘My mum didn’t know much,’ adds Ralph. ‘She said my dad was older than her and when she met him he wasn’t hanging around with anyone.’

‘What can it mean?’ asks Jaime. ‘All I can think is Carol-Anne went missing just like Paddy and your parents tried to find her but for some reason, don’t remember? Or don’t want to talk about it?’

‘It might not mean much at all,’ sighs Jesse, passing the last photo to Jaime, who is now holding all three. ‘What we do know is this. I had an aunt that went missing and that, I dunno, affected my mum, I guess, made her crazy, my dad said. Eventually she couldn’t cope with it all and ran off. No one ever talks about any of it. I mean, I guess I could try and show him these, see if it gets him talking?’

Jaime promptly hands them back.

‘Take them,’ nods Willow. ‘Show him if you get the chance. Now, come on. Your turn.’

4

Ralph sits with his legs crossed the way they make you during school assembly. He’s wearing cargo trousers that are smeared with dirt and grass stains from a morning gardening for Eugenie Spires. He feels lucky that he got away when he did – he had a feeling as soon as he was done his mother would ship him off to Mayor Sumner’s for more work, but she was taking a long bubble bath and reading a novel. She said they’d both worked hard all week so deserved a break. She gave him her blessing to meet his friends and didn’t ask where.

Ralph squirms now with doubt and fear. Maybe he should have lied. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the others. But his mother trusts him and it seems Mayor Sumner has also placed a certain amount of trust in Jesse.

‘From the beginning!’ Jaime is urging. ‘From when they drove you off!’

Jesse sits with his knees up and his elbows resting loosely on them. He looks cleaner and brighter than normal and his clothes are washed and uncrumpled. He’s wearing dark jeans, black boots and a checked flannel shirt over a black t-shirt. His nails are clean and his hair is brushed: it would appear that the mayor is being a good foster parent so far.

He lowers his head slightly but keeps his eyes on them as he speaks. Ralph attempts to read the expression on his face and the closest he can get is that Jesse looks fierce.

‘Okay. When we got to the mayor’s house, something really weird happened. Something scary. It was really fucking scary.’ He stares at them each in turn as if keen to impress this upon them. ‘It was the worst bit but I swear since then, nothing else has happened and it’s just been… I dunno, weirdly okay. I’m still getting used to having a room all to myself and three decent meals but every time I think about what happened first I feel sick and shaky. So, I’ll tell you.’ He glances around again, his eyes narrow and suspicious as if he fears they are being spied on. ‘Even if it messes things up for me,’ he adds.

They wait, breath held. Ralph’s hands are on his knees and he can feel his fingers slowly curling, digging in, holding on. Jesse clears his throat.

‘Inside her kitchen is this big larder, one of those walk-in things, like a whole extra room full of food.’ He swallows. ‘And they took me straight in there, still handcuffed, and there was this other door at the back which led down to some sort of cellar, I guess, under the house. It was dark until they lit a lantern but it was weird too, like there was this weird energy.’ He pauses for a moment, swallowing again and focusing on the ground. His expression is intense, as if he is conjuring the images in his head. ‘It was like it felt alive down there, like it was electric or something. I’ve never felt anything like it. There was a really terrible smell too, really strong. I’m still not sure what it was but…’ He stops again, wrinkling his nose and licking his lips at the memory.

‘What sort of smell?’ Willow asks softly.

‘I don’t know…’ Jesse lifts his head, gazes at the sky above them. ‘Sort of hot and like something old and rotten but a bit like something awful had been cooked or boiled. It was just horrible. Anyway, it was cold too and I could see mist around my feet like I did when I tried to run away. And yeah, just the energy, guys… All my hairs stood on end and I had goosebumps all over! Margaret said it was the ley lines. You guys ever heard of them?’

Willow nods instantly. ‘Sure. Not everyone believes in them but they’re meant to be ancient lines crisscrossing the country. Maybe due to trade or to reach sacred monuments but no one knows for sure. You can’t see them.’

He nods at her. ‘She seemed to believe all right. She said several ley lines converged in the cellar where we were standing and that made the energy so strong there. I couldn’t see too well because of the shadows but I looked around and I could see little rooms, like cells.’ He swallows again and scratches quickly at the back of his neck.

The others swap looks. Willow reacts by drinking more vodka then passing the bottle to Jaime, who almost passes it on, then stops, shrugs and takes a tiny sip, before making a face and giving it to Ralph.

‘Cells?’ Willow is the only one brave enough to prompt him.

His eyes are fixed on the fire. ‘Maybe. I could see bars anyway and I thought, I mean I can’t be sure because it was so dark and I was so shit scared by this point, thinking they were literally about to murder me, so I don’t know, but I thought I saw something in one of those little rooms. I thought I saw bones. Like, this little pile of bones.’

‘Animal bones?’ Ralph asks in a voice that comes out far too high. He coughs and feels his face grow red.

‘Maybe,’ Jesse replies quickly, with a half-smile. He shakes himself. ‘Anyway, the whole thing was a warning. They wanted to show me my options, they said. I couldn’t leave town, they said, or I’d end up down there and when I said, do you mean dead? They laughed and said it’s not death exactly, it’s more like a rebirth.’ Jesse moves his knees together and hugs them. He’s shivering.

‘Jesus…’ Willow murmurs, glancing away.

Ralph gazes into the bottle of vodka then slowly lifts it to his lips. He lets a small amount drip down his throat and winces at the burn.

‘They joked,’ Jesse says in a low voice, ‘about what they could turn me into.’

Willow sits up straighter. ‘Shit.’

‘Then that was it. They told me not to ask any questions and took me back to the kitchen and Margaret made Mayfield leave, so he did. It’s like she has power over him.’

‘Rebirth…’ whisper Willow as Ralph passes the bottle to Jesse. She’s sitting cross-legged with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. ‘What if it’s possible? Say it’s possible. They were threatening to do to you what they must have done to Paddy.’ She looks up right at Jesse. ‘And a black hare helped you, took you to the treehouse and I saw it last night.’ She stares pointedly at the others. ‘I saw it in my garden. Then there was this awful howl nearby and it took off. I felt like it was Paddy. Like he was trying to tell me something.’

Jaime sputters and holds up a hand. ‘Wait. Wait.’

‘It’s got to be!’ Willow goes on, her voice rising. ‘Don’t you see? You must be able to see? It all makes sense. Mayfield, he can turn into something; a wolf or something, something that clawed at Jesse’s back. And, and Iris! The white hare, Jaime! We both saw her and then her house burned down again and… and… she was on the committee and she left the book for Paddy, see?’ She unfolds her arms and claps her hands together, making them all jump. Her face is flushed with excitement. ‘Oh my god, oh my fucking god! They’re witches or something! They’re monsters and they’re doing all this! The missing people! Jaime?’ Willow leans forward to grab her hand. ‘You must be able to see!’

Jaime is shaking her head as she slowly withdraws her hand. ‘No, no, wait. I mean, wait. What are you actually saying?’

Willow leans closer to her. ‘That there is something very wrong here. It’s not just abduction or murder, it’s more than that, it’s whatever powers these people have got… I just can’t…’ Willow bites her lip, frowning deeply, shaking her head until finally she drops it into one hand. ‘Oh, Paddy. Poor Paddy. What did they do to him? We have to find him and help him!’

Ralph sits in silence. Thoughts pop in and out of his head in split seconds, bouncing around and refusing to connect. There is a tense silence between them where he finds it almost impossible to lift his head and look at them all. When he does, he sees intense excitement, fear and anger splashed across Willow’s tightened features. Jesse appears to be the calmest but Ralph supposes he’s known the darkness surrounding them for the longest. Ralph gets the feeling there is still a lot Jesse holds back until he feels they are ready to catch up. As for Jaime, she’s shocked and white and staring at the flames as if she hopes to find an answer there,

‘Wait,’ she says again, waving one hand limply. ‘Just hang on. None of this can be real.’ She finally looks at Willow and Ralph can see tears in her eyes. ‘Can it?’

5

Willow takes both of her hands and squeezes them. She’s wired with adrenalin but looks at Jaime with nothing but pity. She can’t really get her head around it either but everything adds up and she can’t escape it or deny it. It’s not just everything she said or everything Jesse has relayed or Jaime has discovered; it’s more than that. It’s the dull throb of absolute certainty she felt when she saw the hare. She knows it was Paddy.

‘It’s okay,’ she tries to tell Jaime. ‘It’s okay.’

Jaime just keeps shaking her head. She’s blinking back tears but one escapes and rolls down her cheek. Willow can see the turmoil unfolding inside of her. She slips an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

‘Come on, let’s leave it for now. What else can we do about it right now anyway?’

Jaime is silent. Jesse cheers and passes on the bottle.

‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘I say let’s have some fun. Let’s muck about for a while. I think we need it.’ He uses the wall to help him to his feet then stares at them, grinning.

‘But a plan,’ Jaime looks up at him. ‘We still need a plan.’

‘Let us know when you think of one,’ Jesse replies and holds a hand out to her.

Willow knows Jaime will take it and she does, a shy smile breaking out on her face as she reaches up tentatively and is pulled to her feet by Jesse’s tug.

‘Come on,’ Jesse says, pulling Jaime with him and snatching up Willow’s hand too. ‘There’s something I like to do.’

They follow him to the other side, where beyond the higher walls, the outskirts of the valley roll away before them. They can almost feel the earth rolling gently under their feet in an ever undulating wave towards the glistening river.

Jesse breaks free and lies down on the grass with his arms wrapped around his body. ‘Follow me!’ he yells and before anyone can question, he is off, rolling rapidly down the hill, bumping and spinning over grassy slopes and hillocks.

‘He’ll kill himself!’ Jaime gasps, but Willow is already lying down, compelled by the urge to be moving along with the land, to be part of it and to not lose Jesse. She feels drawn to his still rolling figure, bellowing laughter as he goes.

She pushes off and feels herself flying. Her bones thud and jar but every now and then she is in the air, weightless, and the world is turning over her again and again, blue then green, then blue, then green then suddenly she slows and rolls to a stop. The land rises up, creating a ridge – a protective barrier saving them at the last moment from an icy drench in the river,

Willow looks for Jesse and finds him sitting further along, rubbing his shoulders and grinning wildly.

‘That was amazing!’ she tells him breathlessly. ‘That was terrifying!’

‘I know!’ He looks back up the hill and they watch Ralph, then Jaime start to roll. They seem to be rolling impossibly fast, just blurs of colour plummeting towards them and then, just when it seems they will crash into them and shatter their bones, they start to slow, eventually rolling slowly up against the ridge before finally stopping.

They sit up, wincing and laughing and checking their limbs for damage. Willow laughs and drops back in the grass. She feels something she has not felt since Paddy vanished. She feels love. And hope.

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 Twenty-Three “The Raven”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Nineteen “The Meeting”

~ ChanAtkins ~ 1 Comment
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1

Willow is the only one who comes to see him after school and Jesse can guess why. The smell of burning thatch has reached Black Hare Road and he learns from Willow that if Iris Cotton did give Paddy the book to help him, then she has been severely punished for it.

Willow explains that she has to be quick and discreet and Jesse can imagine the committee members closing in on them. Bishop, Hewlett and Gordon all work at the school. Perhaps they have been warned off, blackmailed or threatened? He nods and waits for Willow to unload the torrent of information he can sense thrumming inside of her.

She can’t stop checking over her shoulder. ‘They’ve burned her house down. Again,’ she adds for impact. ‘Jaime saw her this morning while Ralph was here. I saw a white hare run down the High Street and Jaime said one came inside Iris’s gate then ran around to the back garden. When Jaime followed it, she found Iris there, sweeping.’

‘She can turn into a hare like Mayfield can turn into some sort of wolf-thing,’ Jesse says because he knows it is true. Having already shown Willow the violent claw marks down his back, he watches her nod in white-faced horror.

‘And so maybe she tried to warn Paddy,’ Willow goes on, grimly. ‘She admitted that she put the book there and so far all Jaime’s translations have come up with spells or poems, maybe, weird stuff all written in Latin.’

‘Anything about the treehouse?’ Jesse wonders. ‘The wolf-thing couldn’t come in the garden and Mayfield still hasn’t come here to find me.’

Willow gulps nervously. ‘Yes. She translated something about a protection spell, a safe circle or something. Maybe that’s all Paddy had time to work out; how to make it safe out here. The committee are closing in though,’ she adds softly, looking over her shoulder again. ‘We all got cornered by Mr Bishop and Mr Hewlett today. Asking where you were, accusing us of lying, that kind of thing.’

‘I can’t stay here forever,’ he tells her helplessly. ‘I’ll go crazy, Willow. Did Jaime find out anything on my mum, or Carol-Anne?’

Willow shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Mark arrived to walk her home from school so I don’t think she got the chance.’

Jesse grimaces. ‘That’s just creepy.’

‘I know. And Ralph’s mum met him too – said something about a few hours work at Hill Fort Farm and off they went.’

‘Keeping us apart,’ he says and Willow smiles at him.

‘Well, it won’t work. And you’re right, you can’t stay here forever. I think we need to do this properly, Jesse.’

He frowns. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Go to the station in the morning hand yourself in. I’ll get Billy to meet you there.’

Jesse ponders it and realises it makes a horrible kind of sense. In daylight, with his family there, what can Mayfield do?

‘Maybe,’ he whispers.

Willow looks around again, her expression half-cautious, half-curious. ‘Jesse,’ she says, ‘I’m sorry I doubted you to begin with.’ She is sitting beside him with her legs dangling from the platform. He looks at her, not understanding. ‘I really did think you were hassling Paddy. Maybe I was a bit jealous too. You know, that he seemed to have a new friend.’ She glances away, her fingers twiddling. ‘I’ve never been that good at making friends myself. Maybe I was a bit, you know, possessive of him.’

Jesse grins. It feels blissful on his tensed features. ‘Hey, I can’t blame you. And I did bully him before. All of you.’

She exhales softly, her shoulders lowering. ‘Yeah, but I kind of get why now. Seems like you’ve had a lot of people bullying you.’

Jesse is not sure so he shrugs.

She pauses, swinging her legs and looking at the sky while her hands knit together in her lap. Then she looks back at him. ‘Can I ask you though? Paddy never, I mean, he never mentioned the book to you? Or spells? Or the committee? In any way?’

He feels her intense gaze. Everything about Willow is intense – her attention, her individuality, her scorn, her clothes – he realises she is as much an outcast as he is.

He shakes his head. ‘No. He never said anything about the book or spells. All I can say is he seemed… energetic, maybe.’

‘Energetic?’

‘Yeah, like focused. Excited, sort of. A bit like he had a secret, if I think about it now. Maybe something he wanted to talk about but just hadn’t decided who to tell yet. Was he like that with you? Different than normal?’

She nods. ‘Yeah if I think about it, he was a bit like that. I mean, he always had this thirst for knowledge, this determination to learn and know everything. But yeah, it seemed like he was super focused, brighter than normal but to be honest? I thought it was because of you. And I was jealous of it. But who knows?’ She shrugs and swings her legs. ‘It could have been both. Or neither.’

Jesse wants to ask what she thinks about the black hare, what she thinks about all of it, and he wants to ask if Paddy ever said anything about him to her, anything good, but he doesn’t. He enjoys the relative peace and normality of a friend sat beside him in a treehouse and soon she goes home.

Jesse feels impatient sat in the treehouse with only his wounds and a torch for company. Mr Finnis has been providing food and drink but he’s worried about popping out to him too often – he doesn’t want to draw attention to Jesse’s hiding place.

Jesse settles on his belly and feels the scratches pulsating on his back. He stares at the quiet blackness of the garden and longs for something to happen. He fixates on the shadows, hoping to see one move, hoping to see a black shape emerge… A sign, maybe. Something to tell them what to do.

It’s not quite dark when he hears a, ‘Psstt!’ from the bottom of the garden. Jesse stares into the shadows, trying to decipher shape or form. His stomach contracts as his skin prickles in warning. Then,

‘Jesse! Hey bud, it’s just us!’ A pause. ‘You there?’

Jesse is momentarily relieved – it’s Steven and Dominic, but then his back is up again. He hasn’t seen them since Mayfield broke up their fight. What the hell do they want and how the hell did they know he was here? Maybe they want to talk to him about Mayfield blackmailing them to take the book?

Feeling vaguely hopeful, he steps uneasily onto the rope ladder, gripping the wall as it sways under his weight. He can see them now, lingering at the gate and he calls out a gruff, ‘Hang on,’ before descending the ladder.

Jesse meets them at the gate. Steven is smoking a cigarette and Dominic just stands there with his oversized hands stuffed inside the pockets of his grimy denim jacket.

‘What?’ he hisses at them.

Steven slips a conspiratorial arm around his neck and starts to walk. ‘Need to talk to you, man. Where the hell you been? You’re a wanted man for fucks sake! I mean, what the hell?’

Jesse’s movements are stiff but somehow he has allowed Steven to propel him out of the gate. ‘Complicated,’ he replies, looking over his shoulder. He catches Dominic’s eye but the bigger boy just looks away miserably.

‘Yeah, I bet, I bet,’ says Steven, grinning at him. He smells of smoke. Its suddenly too strange and Jesse wriggles free of Steven’s arm. ‘Whoa, what mate?’

‘Nothing.’ Jesse looks around anxiously, his senses on high alert. He shrugs at Steven’s confused face. ‘What do you want, Steven?’

‘Just to hang out,’ he shrugs, finishing his cigarette and chucking it down. ‘I thought we were mates.’

Jesse is tempted to tell him the truth, that they have never been friends, not really. They just grew up in the same building and drifted towards each other to escape their equally horrible parents. They linked up with dumb Dominic and passed their anger and frustration on to anyone weaker than them. It disgusts Jesse now – what they did, who he was when he was with them. But he just wants them gone – not another fight.

‘Yeah, we are,’ he tells Steven to shut him up. ‘It’s just stuff. Complicated.’

But suddenly they are gone. Jesse almost misses their exit. One minute they were right there – Dominic looking unhappy and scared and Steven looked mock-friendly as usual and he looked away, just for a moment, just to scour the darkness, just for a moment, just to check and in that second they have vanished. Drifted away.

It’s eerie but Jesse doesn’t have time to ponder it for long. He steps towards the garden and bumps into something instead, something that wasn’t there a moment ago. His eyes drift slowly, fearfully up the thick barrel chest, tightly contained inside a policeman’s uniform, and fix in horror on Sergeant Mayfield’s unsmiling face.

A choked sound escapes his lips then the police baton is shoved sideways into his neck and he is slammed back into the fence behind. He feels it give, hears a crack in the old wood. Mayfield’s weight is behind the baton and the fence creaks again. Jesse uses his last breath to force his body backwards, kicking out at the rotten slats behind him then gasping as he feels it give way completely.

Wood splinters and cracks in the air around him and he’s falling weightlessly and free of the dreaded baton. He can breathe again, though he’s instantly winded when his body hits the ground with a thud.

Mayfield rears up and over him, face twisted in rage, eyes glowing – but he does not advance. He can’t. Jesse scrambles backwards, his heels digging into dirt, his hands splayed into grass. Mayfield glares at him in pure hatred and then lets out a roar, sending strings of saliva whipping around his twisted face.

Jesse spins onto all fours and crawls, then staggers to his feet, and runs for the treehouse. He can hear nothing but his own terrified breath rasping in his throat and his legs are shaking as he scrambles up the ladder and hauls himself inside. He whips around and stares at the fence but Mayfield has gone.

2

Margaret Sumner carries six dead pheasants by the neck into the kitchen, three in each hand, and dumps them on the table. She brushes her hands off on a nearby tea towel then smiles lovingly down at Horatio, her faithful Labrador. It’s a cool night and he has arranged himself beside the Aga, stretched out on one of his blankets with a chewed and misshapen tennis ball beside him.

‘Good boy, Horatio,’ she says kindly, before gathering two bottles of wine from the sideboard. ‘You are a very good boy.’ He looks up with adoring eyes and his thick tail thumps against the floor. ‘I always knew you would be,’ she adds softly before leaving the room.

Her guests have arrived on time and are already gathered in the drawing room. As it’s not an official neighbourhood watch meeting, Catherine Aster is not present. Margaret sent a message earlier telling her the urgent meeting had been cancelled. Margaret strides in with the bottles of wine and takes a moment to survey the group.

Aaron is agonised, she notes with some amusement. He prowls around the edge of the group with a whisky already on the go and his hackles up under his shirt. He paces like an animal, more beast than man tonight. He lets his instincts rule him, she notes then looks at the two women, Eugenie and Sylvia. Separated by generations yet so similar in outlook and mannerisms.

They are sat beside each other in the fireside armchairs. Each with legs crossed and hands resting demurely on the arm rests. Eugenie is small and sharp and made up of hard angles and natural suspicion – nothing gets past her and like Aaron, she knows everyone’s secrets. The only difference is, Aaron knows hers thanks to the extra eyes he places around town.

Margaret watches her now, eyeing her long neat fingers and wonders how many small and pointless items she has stolen over the decades. She smiles a little – compulsive stealing was after all, what got Eugenie into trouble as a young girl.

And Sylvia, the newest member until the arrival of Catherine. Margaret admires her haughtiness, the old-fashioned no-nonsense attitude that does little to quell the seeping sexuality of her. She has cast a powerful spell over Greg Roberts, that’s for sure. But none of that is on the agenda this evening.

Margaret’s eyes track over to Greg who is deep in conversation with Neville and Edward. Though talking and gesturing wildly, Greg cannot prevent his gaze from drifting almost constantly back to Sylvia. Neville appears calm but slightly nervous, as is his default setting. He likes to appease people, stay on neutral ground and everyone’s good sides, so he always listens attentively to every word said and nods and smiles in all the right places. Margaret knows that Aaron has several interesting videos of his late night clinches with seventeen-year-old Nathan Cotton.

Edward, meanwhile, wears his usual expression of thinly veiled disgust, but he has a new, replenished air about him too. He eyes them all as scathingly as normal and his top lip is almost always raised in a sneer, as if the stain of working with children all day cannot be washed away, but he does seem brighter tonight, she thinks, louder, more alive. Margaret wonders if he is enjoying his new, elevated, elongated life.

She supposes she feels a bit like mother to all of them. A mother welcoming them to the flock, teaching, advising, nurturing and punishing until they are all ready to take the next step. Her gaze drifts to the large windows and she supposes at one point Bob Rowan was the father of the group and Iris Cotton, the grandmother. She feels a twinge of regret but it doesn’t last long. They have too much to discuss. There is a lively atmosphere in the room; a taut tension sparkling in the air. She senses excitement, fear and frustration and she thrives on it all.

She places the bottles on the small fireside table and begins to twist the cork out of the red. ‘Red or white?’ she calls out, her firm harsh voice instantly cutting through their chatter and silencing them. ‘Grab a glass and drink. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

Eugenie is the first to hold out a glass. ‘Red please, Margaret.’

‘Oh and for me too,’ says Sylvia.

Margaret fills their glasses while the men collect theirs from the sideboard. There is a series of thumps heard from upstairs and Margaret rolls her eyes at her guests. ‘Hilda. She’s in the playroom. Aaron? Red or white?’

He arrives silently at her side, broad and tall and white-haired, a mountain of a man capable of just about anything. She finds his cruelty and rage endlessly exciting. He grunts for red and she fills his glass.

Edward, Neville and Greg choose white and everyone settles down, only Margaret and Aaron remain standing. Sylvia has her notebook and pen on her lap ready to make notes.

‘It’s been quite a week,’ Margaret addresses them. ‘Quite a challenging one. Also, quite an interesting one. We’ll start with Iris Cotton. Any news?’

‘I heard her grand-daughter took her in,’ Eugenie speaks with authority. ‘I let Nathan go after his Rhyme Time once he’d heard the news. He was heading home. Not long after that someone said they saw Iris going into Sarah-Jane’s house on Maze Lane.’

‘Aaron, can you confirm?’

‘Yes,’ he says with certainty. ‘She’s there. They have a spare room.’

‘Unhurt?’

He nods. ‘Nothing can hurt that old witch.’

A snigger moves around the room. Margaret smiles in empathy. ‘Quite. And the cottage?’

Aaron grunts. ‘I was there earlier. It’s just rubble. A few incomplete walls and that’s it. No roof left. I caught a couple of local reprobates there smashing glass for fun.’

‘Yes well, we’ll come to that in a moment,’ says Margaret. ‘But the house is badly damaged and can’t be salvaged?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. It’s gone. And everything in it.’

Another murmur drifts among them. Margaret can feel their excitement rising.

‘And do you want to tell us about the boys you caught, Aaron?’

He sniffs, his eyes dark with anger. ‘Dominic Robeson, the half-wit from the caravan park and Steven Davies, the thug from Taylor Drive, both used to be in a gang with Jesse Archer. At one point, the three of them were always together causing trouble. Not so much now. Anyway, I tried to use the boys to lure Archer from the Finnis garden.’

‘Tried to?’ Edward cannot hide the ridicule in his voice.

Aaron glares at him. ‘It worked. I had that little bastard but he broke the bloody fence down. I lost him.’

This time there is a collective sigh.

‘Again,’ says Edward, unhelpfully.

Aaron growls.

‘Now, now.’ Margaret holds up a calming hand. ‘There’s no need for that, gentleman. Jesse Archer is a smart boy and he’s not acting alone, let’s remember. He has others helping him but we will get him eventually. We’ll get him in custody and bring him here.’

‘Then what?’ asks Sylvia. ‘You can’t… You know. It isn’t time.’

‘I realise that,’ replies Margaret. ‘He’s a very lucky boy and he doesn’t even know it. We still need him here though. He knows far too much and we need to set him straight. Give him a chance.’

‘A chance for what?’ wonders Eugenie, looking unsure. ‘Joining us?’

‘Maybe, yes,’ smiles Margaret, enjoying the look of disgust on Aaron’s face. ‘In years to come of course and that will be very much up to him. We should be a group of nine, remember.’

‘True, but that does seem risky.’ Eugenie pushes her glasses up her nose and shifts in her chair.

‘You could let him go,’ Neville suggests with a weak smile. ‘Like you did with his mother? Wouldn’t that be better for everyone? If he just left town?’

‘I think he’d come back,’ replies Margaret and Aaron nods in agreement. ‘And as for the rest of them, they’re in too deep. Plotting and digging. If he left too, it would only spur them on.’

‘So, what is it you’re suggesting?’ asks Edward.

‘Our best bet is to weaken them,’ she says. ‘To split them up and tire them out. To keep them busy, or scared or distracted. We need to put water on the fire, in other words. They’re all very different and different techniques will work for each, but that’s my suggestion. They are weaker divided. Weaker confused. Weaker scared. They are, after all, just children. They’ll give up. It will not be worth it to them to continue. They’ll have to accept that Paddy is gone. And then soon they will forget like everyone else.’

She looks around at them, smiling pleasantly while her words sink in. This is the way Margaret envisions it. After all, it’s not the first time they’ve been through this and it’s not the first time a fuss has been made about a missing child. She does agree with Aaron on one thing; it really should have been Jesse Archer who went missing. No one would have bothered to look for him. But Iris Cotton had to interfere. Revenge, she supposes, or maybe just good old-fashioned mischief. Iris always did like to set the cat among the pigeons. It doesn’t matter now. They had no choice and what’s done is done.

‘So,’ she continues smoothly when no voice rises to challenge her. ‘We need a way to get him away from that garden so Aaron can arrest him for the break-in. The paperwork to take him into care is already prepared and signed by his father. He’s very easy to persuade when he’s drunk and can barely see the hand in front of his face, let alone what he’s signing. So, everything is ready. We just need the boy.’

‘You could always light another fire?’ Sylvia suggests with a shrug. She looks around at the others. ‘Just a small one in the garden. He’d have to move then, wouldn’t he?’

It’s a risky proposition but Margaret quite likes it. As long as the fire doesn’t get out of control, it could work. It could be the fastest and simplest solution.

As if reading her mind, Aaron nods and say, ‘I could get Dominic and Steven to light it.’

‘You could,’ nods Margaret. ‘And you’d be on hand and ready to catch him when he runs.’

‘Once he’s out of that bloody garden he’ll never outrun me,’ says Aaron brashly and Margaret knows he is right.

She glances around at the rest of them. ‘Well then, we’ll try that tomorrow. I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Aaron. Call me as soon as you have him. Now, on to the rest of the group. Eugenie?’

Eugenie sits up straight, knees pressed together. ‘Charlotte and Ralph have settled in well next door to me,’ she reports. ‘On the very first day Charlotte offered to prune my apple tree for me. She’s already done a lot to the garden. She never stops, does she?’

Margaret smiles fondly. ‘No, she’s a force of nature that one.’

‘And the boy seems well-behaved,’ Eugenie adds. ‘I think I’ll enjoy having them as neighbours.’

‘I’ll be keeping Ralph busy here,’ says Margaret. ‘He’s always keen to help his mother and provide. He’s just like her really. A hard worker. Of course, we’re all relieved he didn’t take after his father.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ remarks Edward with raised eyebrows. ‘He might be a hard worker like his mum but he’s got the same nosy streak his old man had if you ask me.’

Margaret nods in regret. ‘Possibly. Possibly that could be Archer’s bad influence. But we do need to keep an eye on him. He’s such a lovely child, it would be a real shame to see him led astray.’

There are nods from everyone. Ralph Maxwell is just the kind of boy Black Hare Velly thrives on nurturing.

‘Jaime, the new girl,’ Edward goes on. ‘She shows a lot of promise and is very smart but I’m afraid she’s mixed up in all this too and her teachers have seen her concentration nosedive as the week has gone on.’

‘Mark is concerned, I can tell,’ nods Eugenie, who often likes to end her day with a quick sherry in the Hare and Hound. ‘He and Catherine will keep an eye on her. I see them as fair but strict parents.’

‘Willow Harrison’s parents are not though,’ sighs Greg. ‘And I think we know why.’

Margaret knows he views them as nothing more than godless, misguided pagans and permissive hippy types but she’s not too concerned herself. It stands to reason that Willow would act out the most. Paddy was her best and only friend.

‘She was very confrontational with me,’ Neville adds sadly as Edward shakes his head slowly and gravely. ‘It’s her I fear Archer has his claws into the most.’

‘Her mother was the same,’ nods Greg, his expression dour. ‘I’ve been tempted to encourage her to leave town enough times. Is there a chance she could be fuelling Willow? Her and Nick Archer were thick as thieves last time.’

‘No,’ Aaron shakes his head with certainty. ‘She doesn’t remember. None of them do.’

‘We’ll keep an eye on Willow,’ nods Margaret looking at Aaron. He nods back and sips his whiskey. His eyes, of course, are everywhere. ‘But yes, this does all come back to Jesse Archer, which is why most of this can be resolved and ironed out once I have him here with me. Like I said, we weaken them, distract them and divide them. The others will drift away and I have every confidence I can get through to the Archer boy. Iris has been dealt with. It’s just one last loose end to tie up.’

‘What about Bob Rowan?’ asks Greg. ‘I thought I saw him at the fire.’

Margaret waves a hand dismissively. ‘We don’t have to worry about him. He didn’t want to be on the committee anymore and that’s his right. As long as he keeps to his side and stays out of our business, I don’t see a problem.’

There is a collective sigh of relief and contentment. Only Aaron still seems riled up – but that’s nothing new. When the others start talking about Edward and how he’s been feeling since his transition, Margaret positions herself beside Aaron and waits for him to acknowledge her.

He does so with a reluctant grunt. Sometimes she thinks he is more beast than man and always has been.

‘All of this could have been avoided if it had been Archer, not Finnis,’ he says in a low voice.

Margaret does not hide her irritation. It’s like listening to a broken record. ‘Oh, Aaron, do get over it. What’s done is done and you know we had no choice. Blame Iris, not me.’

‘Oh, I do. I do.’

‘You’ve got to calm down, Aaron. You’re letting your mask slip too often. I’m going to have to do a lot of damage control with the Archer boy when he’s here, thanks to you.’

Aaron glares at her, his lips pressed and trembling. She reaches out and clasps his wrist in her hand.

‘Aaron, forgive me, but you know I always speak my mind. You have a temper. And you like drama. That is not a good combination. In fact, it is your weakness.’

She watches the anger flare in his blue eyes. He feels rigid with rage and his muscles are tensed under her touch but she is not afraid. ‘It’s all right,’ she tells him soothingly. ‘Everyone has a weakness. That’s yours.’

‘And what’s yours?’ he asks in a tight, thin voice.

Margaret smiles. ‘Why, I should think that is very obvious, Aaron. It’s this town, of course.’

3

Jaime looks up with a start when someone knocks on her door. The entire investigation is spread out on her bed and it’ll take time she maybe doesn’t have to clear away – or she could call out – maybe it’s just a knock to say that dinner is ready. She checks the time – it’s probably that.

She gathers up the notepaper, the timeline, the translated notes and the photos and bundles them into her school backpack. Hiding them is becoming a constant source of worry for her. She can’t lock her door when she leaves her room – so how is she to know that they won’t come looking? Jaime used to trust her mum implicitly but she can’t help feeling that trust has been damaged by Black Hare Valley and the secrets it holds.

‘Yes?’ she calls out, zipping the bag and shoving it under her bed. She grabs a book from the bedside table and flips it open on her pillow.

‘Jaime, it’s Mum.’

She gets up reluctantly and opens the door, already dreading her mother’s concerned and cautious expression. Her mother smiles weakly. She looks pale and winces as she rubs both hands across her taut belly.

‘You okay, Mum? I thought you had a meeting?’

‘They cancelled it last minute and I really don’t feel like cooking so I thought me and you could grab fish and chips from down the road and have a nice walk?’

Jaime stiffens. What if it is a guise to get her away from her backpack?

‘Okay, sure.’ She smiles as breezily as she can. ‘Can I just get changed?’ She feels weak with relief that she hasn’t yet changed out of her uniform.

‘Of course. I’ll wait downstairs for you.’

Jaime closes the door and panics. She can’t take the bag with her; it’ll look odd. She can’t leave it under the bed either; Mark could come in and see it. She opens the wardrobe – a messy splurge of colours and textures bursts out at her, but again, Mark could easily search it. Finally, she opens the bag and takes it all out. She needs to make it smaller. Make it fit somewhere else. The treehouse she thinks with certainty.

For now, Jaime uses the large timeline of events to envelope all the other pieces in. She rolls it up until it’s a tight, neat tube then she slips it inside one of her wellington boots and pushes the boots to the back of the wardrobe. Her heart is beating painfully because it still doesn’t feel like enough.

But when she joins her mother downstairs she is less concerned. The bar is heaving; Mark and Tahlia look overworked and stressed.

‘Don’t they need your help?’ Jaime wonders as they head for the kitchen and the back door.

‘I’ve worked all day,’ her mum replies with a weary smile. ‘I just need a breather to catch up with my girl. They’ll be fine.’

‘All right.’

They head out into the dark garden, then turn through the gate onto Lupin Lane, before making their way to the High Street. It’s quiet and the air still smells of burnt thatch. Jaime recalls the whispers she heard all day at school and at the pub. The gossip is that Iris Cotton’s house burned down because she’s a very old and forgetful lady. She probably left something dangling too close to a candle or made a mistake with the log burner or the stove. Nothing remains, they say, such a shame, one of the oldest houses in the valley, they say.

Only Jaime seems to know that it has burned down before, when Agnes Salter was accused of being a witch. Were they related, she wonders, did Iris marry a Cotton before she had her daughter? Was her maiden name Salter? And even more worrying, was her house burned down on purpose? As a punishment for helping Paddy and admitting such to Jaime? Or perhaps she gave him the book to place him in harm?

Jaime shudders. Not for the first time she wonders if she herself is in danger. She doesn’t have much information for Jesse and she feels bad about it. She found a newspaper story from the year Carol-Anne Radley vanished, and that was hard enough to come by. She spent lunch and second break in the school library where she was almost about to give up until she found a pile of old newspapers collecting dust in the history section.

A quick rummage revealed Black Hare Valley Times – a paper that was apparently no longer in existence. It was a thin publication mostly full of adverts, upcoming events and a few mild local news stories. Jaime has the clipping in her tube of evidence. A front page story from the year 1966, ‘Have You Seen Carol-Anne?’ It seemed that no one had and no one ever did again.

As Jaime’s mum steps into the fish and chip shop, she can’t stop thinking about it. Another missing child. The same town. No answers. Does anyone even remember it? We have to bring it up, she decides, no matter what danger that brings. She reasons that they are already in danger to some extent, so why stop now? She’s thinking about it as her mother orders the food and makes friendly small talk with the other customers. Should she tell her mum? Not about all of it, but some of it?

Mark has been weird with her again – tense, edgy – accusing her once more of knowing where Jesse Archer is hiding out. Jaime doesn’t know how much more she can take. She feels she will crack like an egg, mess oozing out everywhere, secrets and lies revealed all over the place. But then she thinks, what is the worst that can happen?

Her mother carries the food to the park and they sit on a bench overlooking the pond. And after a few bites, her mother says, ‘Mark and I are quite worried about you, darling.’

Jaime doesn’t look at her mother as she chews and swallows her first chip then says, ‘Mum, did you know another kid vanished from here in 1966? Carol-Anne Radley. She was fourteen too. No one ever found out what happened to her.’

4

Willow is quiet throughout dinner. While her parents are discussing a novel they both recently read, she is trying to work out the best way to tackle her mum about Angie and Carol-Anne Radley. She is desperate to question her mother and keen to examine the look on her face when she either remembers or doesn’t. The need to know is under her skin making her want to tear at it with her nails, but she is afraid.

She’s already let it slip to Mr Hewlett that she has seen Jesse since he escaped custody and the fear of what that could bring is churning her stomach and making it impossible to eat. As she pushes her mashed potato around the plate, she has to bite her lip to stop her from screaming. She is also wary of upsetting her mother. Her mother has what her father sometimes describes as ‘a nervous constitution’ which, he has explained to Willow before, sometimes leads to her getting swallowed up by the blues. Willow knows this because when she looks back on her childhood there are patches of time when her mother was absent. She didn’t go anywhere physically – in fact, for sometimes months at a time she was unable to leave their home – but she did go somewhere in her own head.

During those times her father often warned Willow not to upset or worry her mother, to be extra good, extra considerate until her mother was better able to cope again. Willow has never understood where the nerves or the blues come from. She often wonders if she might suffer from them herself, one way or the other. Although nerves for her often manifests itself in anger, she can admit that the anger does sometimes lead her down a dark and lonely path.

Paddy saw that in her, she thinks now, and he would always gently pull her back. He wouldn’t ask her what was wrong, and he wouldn’t try to cheer her up or distract her. But he would make her come outside with him. Just for walks, sometimes even at night to look at the stars. She misses that about Paddy the most. His way of just knowing.

Finally, her father leaves the table to answer the phone and Willow jumps to her feet and starts to help clear the table. It’s now or never, she thinks, and although she is loath to push her mother into a state of nervousness, she has to at least try.

‘You grew up here, right Mum?’

Her mother is at the kitchen sink swirling Fairy Liquid into the running water. Willow hears her sigh softly as she circles a hand in the basin. Tiny bubbles rise in the air around her.

‘Yes, sweetie.’

Willow opens her mouth then pauses. Suddenly a hundred questions want to erupt out of her. What was it like? Why did you stay? Why didn’t you move away when you were old enough? Who were your friends? What kind of trouble did you get into? She wonders then why they have never talked about these things before. But then she supposes it is because her mother has never wanted to.

Her mother looks over her shoulder, frowning gently. ‘You okay?’

Willow clears her throat. It is now or never. She can’t think of a subtle way to ask and if she leaves it much longer, her dad will get off the phone and come back in. She knows he moved to the valley when he was twenty, so whatever went on when her mother was a teenager, has nothing to do with him.

‘Um.’ She arrives at her mother’s side and pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘You never talk about it much,’ she says, glancing anxiously towards the door. She can hear her father laughing on the phone.

‘Don’t I?’ Lizzie Harrison looks slightly perturbed as she turns off the taps and starts lowering dishes and cutlery into the bubbly water. ‘I suppose I assumed you wouldn’t be interested. Why? Something you want to talk about, love?’

‘What were you like?’ Willow bursts out suddenly. She knows she should get straight to the point but suddenly she really wants to know. ‘Have you got any photos?’

Her mother laughs. ‘Oh, I expect there are some lying about somewhere. I’ll dig some out for you if you like.’

‘Yes please.’

‘Curious, all of a sudden?’ Her mother side-eyes her, still smiling.

Willow shrugs. ‘Yeah, maybe. Like, were you like me?’

‘I was a lot like you,’ Lizzie laughs, rubbing vigorously at a bowl.

‘In what ways?’

‘Um, well, I guess I didn’t like authority much. You definitely get that from me.’

Willow nods and waits for more, but although her mother is not exactly shutting her down or ignoring her, she’s starting to get the sense that she isn’t particularly keen on revisiting the past either.

‘Anything else?’ she urges. ‘Did you get in trouble at school? What was your favourite subject?’ Suddenly, there are so many things she wants to know.

She watches her mother tuck loose black hair behind her ears just as Willow did moments before, and she watches her mother frowning slightly as her teeth pull gently at her lower lip. Her mother is thinking, she can tell. Her mother is working out what to say.

‘Anything arty, I guess,’ she replies with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. ‘I don’t know. Anything to do with music or art, or drama. I liked those things. Same as you really.’

‘Who were your friends?’ Willow can see the questions are getting her nowhere so she goes straight for the jugular.

Lizzie shifts her position, lifting one foot and then the other, then shaking her hair back and wincing slightly before offering up another smile. Willow stares at her, her eyes slowly narrowing.

‘Um. Well, let me think.’

‘Were you friends with Jesse Archer’s dad, by any chance?’

Willow can see the question has shocked her mother. Her dark eyes blink rapidly and her tongue runs across her lips while her cheeks gently flush. Willow wants to grab hold of her and shake her.

‘Did he say that? Where did you hear that?’

‘I didn’t, I was just wondering.’

‘Willow.’ Her mother drops the dish she is holding, wipes her hands off on a tea towel and turns to face her daughter. Her expression has now settled into one of stern suspicion.

‘What? I’m just asking who you were friends with when you were my age. You’ve never told me stuff like that.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘So, were you then?’

‘What?’

Willow resists the urge to roll her eyes and suspects her mother of stalling. ‘Friends with Nick Archer?’

‘No,’ Lizzie says firmly. ‘Not really, and I do want to know where you heard that, Willow. You know you’re supposed to tell us if you see that boy, don’t you? The police are looking for him.’

Willow crosses her arms defensively. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ she replies evenly. ‘He told me ages ago. He was teasing me about it actually and I just didn’t like to ask you at the time. But is it true, Mum? Did you hang around Nick Archer and what about Angie and Carol-Anne Radley? Remember them?’

Now it’s her mother’s turn to open her mouth then close it again before anything can emerge. Willow watches her eyes widen before she turns back to the sink and plunges her hands back under the water.

‘Mum? Why are you being so cagey?’

‘Because it was a long time ago, that’s why.’

‘So? What’s the big deal?’

‘Nothing,’ she shrugs irritably and glances over her shoulder. ‘Just, you know. It was a long time ago. I was a kid, who didn’t know any better.’

‘So, you did then? And the Radley’s too? Angie and Carol-Anne, right?’

Lizzie winces again as if in pain. ‘I don’t… I’m not sure…’

‘Jesus Christ, Mum, it’s a simple question!’

Her mother slams a plate down onto the side. ‘You don’t have to take that tone with me, young lady. I can’t help it if I can’t remember. It was a very long time ago and I haven’t thought about any of those people since…’ She frowns heavily and suddenly reminds Willow of a petulant chid.

‘You’re saying you’ve forgotten?’ Willow lowers her voice and tries a gentler tone.

Her mother nods and swallows. ‘Yes. I had forgotten.’

‘Do you remember now?’ she asks gently. ‘Who you hung out with? What sort of stuff you got up to?’

‘No, not really…’ Lizzie waves a hand, sending foam across the floor tiles. ‘Willow, I’m getting a bit of a headache. Perhaps you could finish this up for me?’

‘Okay, but seriously Mum. Jesse’s dad said you were all friends. You and him, and Angie and Carol-Anne. Do you remember Carol-Anne? Could you maybe check your photos?’

Her mother nods and wipes her hands down her legs. She won’t make eye contact with her daughter as she turns and heads for the door.

‘I’ll see if I can find them in a bit,’ she says as she goes. ‘I just need to lie down a bit first.’

‘Okay, Mum. Thanks.’

Willow is left alone in the kitchen with the dirty dishes and her ruffled thoughts. She starts to wash up, her mind spinning as she tries to determine her mother’s reactions. Were they genuine? Had her mother genuinely forgotten who her teenage friends were, and if so, how disturbing and strange is that? Or was she lying for some reason?

Willow cannot decide what is worse.

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 Twenty “The Prisoner”