Black Hare Valley Chapter Seven: “The Neighbourhood”

Hill Fort Farmhouse – 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

Somehow, Jesse makes it through the day. He cannot find Paddy anywhere though and when he is called in to see Mr Hewlett, he starts to panic. He never gets called to see Mr Hewlett; it’s only ever Bishop who wants a word with him. No one gives a shit if he’s anxious or depressed or has family trouble. He almost blurts it out right away, is this about Paddy? But he doesn’t.

Mr Hewlett is wringing his wormy hands as he thanks him for coming in. Mr Bishop lurks in the background, brooding, his eyes on Jesse as he slips into a waiting chair.

‘It’s nothing to worry about but we were wondering if you have seen or heard from Paddy Finnis at all today?’

He shakes his head slowly. ‘No, but I saw him yesterday.’

The two men swap a look. ‘Where?’ asks Mr Hewlett. ‘What time?’

‘I dunno, one-ish, maybe. Ask his dad. I went in the shop to get out of the rain and he said I could go out the back.’

‘Out the back?’

‘Paddy’s treehouse.’

‘I see and was it just the two of you there?’

‘Only for a few minutes and then some other kids turned up.’

Mr Hewlett grabs a notebook and pen. ‘Their names?’

‘His friend, Willow Harrison, Ralph Maxwell and that new girl. Jaime someone.’

‘Okay, thank you. We’ll talk to them too. What time did you leave, Jesse?’

‘I dunno exactly. Not long after. I wasn’t there long.’

‘Were you the first to leave or the last?’

‘The first.’

‘All right, thank you. And you’re sure you haven’t heard from Paddy since then? Nothing last night, for example, or this morning?’

‘No, nothing. Why?’

‘He’s vanished,’ Mr Bishop speaks up, arms folded. ‘And if anything bad has happened to that boy, you can bet your doorstep will be the first place the police turn up. Now get back to class, go on.’

Mr Hewlett’s eyes widen in alarm, maybe even in pity, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t stand up for Jesse; no one ever does.

For the remainder of the day, he panics.

What the hell does this mean? How can a kid just vanish in the night? And not just any kid either – a smart, nice, sensible kid with a decent home. It doesn’t make any sense.

After school, Jesse heads home. He doesn’t want to but he doesn’t know where else to go. He can’t go back to the bookshop no matter how much he wants to, because it will probably be crawling with police. He can’t stop thinking about the camera…

Jesse walks home in a daze – dry-mouthed, his stomach a mess, his heart thudding like it’s going to break. When he sees the police car waiting for him outside his block of flats, he almost vomits right there and then. He feels light-headed, woozy. This can’t be happening. What the hell does he want?

Sergeant Mayfield throws open the passenger door. ‘Get in. Now.’

He could run. He could hide; he knows some places, he knows how to get into the Holloway, but what would be the point? He gets into the car and closes the door.

Mayfield shifts to face him, that ever present mirth sparkling in his eyes. ‘The treehouse?’ he barks, and Jesse flinches. ‘The fucking treehouse?’

Jesse opens his mouth then closes it again. He looks around wildly and that’s when he spots the three kids hiding behind a bush further back. They’ve followed him. He recognises Willow Harrison’s black hair. Just like everyone else, they obviously suspect him of doing something bad to Paddy…

‘Paddy’s missing,’ he says.

‘Yes, I know. I’m not talking about that.’

‘But is it related?’

‘How can it be related, you fucking little scrote? What the hell are you implying?’

Jesse looks away, confused. ‘I don’t know. I thought-’

‘Don’t think.’ Mayfield winks at him. ‘You’ll hurt yourself. Let us worry about Paddy Finnis. That’s not your business.’

‘It is,’ he argues. ‘People think I did something to him!’

‘And did you? I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘No! Why would I? We were…’ Jesse stops. He shakes his head and looks down at his lap.

‘You were what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘That’s right. It doesn’t. We’ll find Paddy and by the way, I watched the footage. That’s not your usual group of friends and I didn’t like how nosy they all were.’ Mayfield raises his eyebrows, expecting Jesse to detect the threat in his tone.

He does. He swallows and lowers his eyes. ‘I can’t help it if the new girl followed me. She saw us together and thought it was weird.’

‘Yeah, well, anyway,’ Mayfield clears his throat. ‘I’m not here to talk about Paddy or those other kids. I’ve got your stinking old man in a cell right now.’

Jesse frowns. ‘Why?’

‘Why? Because I can, that’s why. If you want him back you better play ball, understand sunshine?’

Jesse looks away. ‘You mean the camera.’

Sergeant Mayfield cocks a finger at him. ‘Jackpot.’

‘You want me to get it.’

‘No, I want you to put it back. Here.’ Mayfield digs the small black camera out of his pocket and presses it into his hand. Of course, he’s already been back to the treehouse, he’s searched it while pretending to care about Paddy… ‘It’s no good to my investigation in a kids fucking treehouse, is it? Put it in the shop or the flat like I fucking told you to in the first place.’

Jesse turns it over in his hands, wondering if it picked up anything interesting. He pockets it and nods at Mayfield.

‘Yeah, I will.’

‘Soon as you can.’

Jesse reaches for the door handle. ‘Okay.’

He wants to ask why the hell Mayfield can’t plant his own damn cameras but he also wants to get as far away as possible as soon as he can.

Mayfield picks up his police baton and presses it up under Jesse’s chin. Jesse freezes, not breathing.

‘Tick tock,’ he says. ‘The longer I keep your old man locked up, the sooner social services will come sniffing around. There are lots of lovely foster parents waiting to get their God-fearing claws into a wayward bastard like you, Jesse Archer. Including the good vicar Roberts. Including me. Got it?’

Jesse nods. Keeps quiet. He has heard this threat before and it terrifies him.

‘Good. Get out.’

2

‘Jesus Christ,’ Ralph hisses under his breath. ‘What is going on between those two?’

‘I think he’s threatening him,’ Jaime says, her eyes fixed on the police baton that is holding Jesse’s chin up. She pulls out her camera and zooms in. ‘He’s terrified.’

‘What the hell…’ Willow murmurs behind her.

Jaime takes a picture then they all duck down behind the bush again as Jesse finally gets out of the police car. He heads, shoulders slumped and eyes down, towards his block of flats.

‘Do we go after him?’ wonders Ralph.

Jaime watches Jesse disappear inside the building. ‘I feel sorry for him,’ she states. ‘It looks like he’s being threatened or blackmailed.’ She turns to Willow and Ralph, noting the utter confusion on their faces. ‘What do you think? You know them both better than me. What did we just witness?’

Ralph shrugs and pockets his hands. ‘Looked like it to me. I’ve never had any bother with Sergeant Mayfield before but for some reason, he does give me the creeps.’

‘Like Vicar Roberts,’ Willow says.

‘Who?’ Jaime frowns at her.

‘Doesn’t matter. Come on, we need to go to Paddy’s and see if there’s been any news.’ She strides off, leading the way briskly before either of them can argue.

3

Jesse takes out the key he wears around his neck and lets himself into the flat. His mind is so occupied by the camera and what might be on it that at first he doesn’t fully absorb the scene he has walked into.

‘Hey Jess, wanna join in?’

He blinks and snaps out of his daydream. Wyatt is lying buck naked on the sofa with an equally naked girl straddling him. Wyatt doesn’t seem to notice Jesse and neither does the girl – they are both far too busy throwing back their heads and moaning in what appears to be a grossly over-exaggerated way.

Billy is behind the camera on a tripod, and he grins wolfishly at Jesse who can only stare back in utter horror.

‘Billy! What the hell?’

‘Adult films, Jess, you wanna get in on it? We’re gonna make a killing!’

‘God, no!’

Jesse covers his eyes whilst his oldest brother laughs. He is used to walking in on dodgy deals and hastily hidden stolen goods, but this is a new one. His eldest brother Billy might as well be the man of the house at age twenty; he does far more to bring money in than their father does and this is obviously one of his latest schemes. Wyatt is nineteen and has always followed Billy around like a lovesick puppy. Jesse remembers his mother saying that Wyatt was special because he hadn’t been blessed with a full set of cards. Jesse isn’t sure about that, but he does know Wyatt has never liked him and the two of them have never been close.

He supposes it’s similar to the awkward trio he has always had with Steven and Dominic. Three really is a crowd, and with his older brothers, he always feels like he is just in their way and that they don’t really have the time or the energy to get to know him.

He backs into the hallway, fumbles behind him for the door handle, then falls clumsily into the bedroom he shares with Wyatt and Billy. He slams the door, leans back on it then sags slowly to the floor.

‘Come on, Jess, what’s wrong with you?’ he hears Billy yelling after him while Wyatt and the girl laugh. ‘Bout time you lost your cherry or people will start calling you a faggot!’

Jesse covers his ears and tries to block them out.

It takes a few minutes to wipe the scene from his mind but eventually he parts his fingers and peers out at the bedroom. It’s a tiny narrow room, with bunkbeds against the wall to the left and one single against the wall to the right. There are no sheets and no pillows, just bundles of unwashed blankets and a chaos of clothes. More clothes, shoes and broken electrical equipment spews out from under the beds. The walls are covered in posters of naked women and behind them, the old Superman wallpaper is damp with mould. The window is smashed and taped up with cardboard. The light hasn’t worked for the past two years.

Under the window are a stack of cardboard boxes, more than likely all containing stolen goods. Jesse hides behind his hands again as Wyatt and the girl continue to moan and shout on the other side of the closed door. He feels a wetness leaking from his eyes and is shocked that this day has brought him to tears – the first time he has cried in five years.

4

They approach the shop with purpose but soon slow down when they see the activity going on. Two police cars are parked outside and Sergeant Mayfield has beaten them here and is inside the shop talking to Paddy’s father.

Willow is unsure how to proceed. She has hated Jesse Archer for so long that it feels unnatural to protect him – but she has to agree with Jaime; he really did look terrified of Sergeant Mayfield. She turns quickly to the others.

‘Play it cool and follow my lead.’

Ralph and Jaime exchange a nervous glance but nod obediently. Willow enters the shop and is immediately swallowed up in a near-hysterical hug from a distraught Mr Finnis. She fights for balance while he’s gripping her shoulders as if afraid to let her go. Then he suddenly releases her, wipes his face with both hands, standing stiffly and biting at his lip.

‘Is there any news?’ Willow manages to ask, as he shakes her head in misery.

‘No, nothing. Which is just so strange, I mean, Paddy… You know Paddy! He wouldn’t want me to worry like this. Willow, are you sure you haven’t heard from him? Or did he say anything to you? Anything odd? Maybe he wanted you to go somewhere with him or do something?’

‘No, nothing, I’m so sorry Mr Finnis.’

Mr Finnis tries and fails to compose himself, dropping his hands and gesturing wildly as he wails, ‘It just makes no sense!’

‘I know,’ Willow agrees, her gaze shifting to Sergeant Mayfield. ‘This isn’t like Paddy at all. He wouldn’t just leave in the middle of the night without telling anyone.’

Sergeant Mayfield smiles patiently and crooks his finger at her. ‘Could you kids please follow me back here a moment?’

He backs down to the conservatory and they follow silently while Mr Finnis continues to sob. Mayfield ushers them inside and shuts the door. The small conservatory is stiflingly hot as the sun beats down on the garden that had been so storm battered just yesterday.

‘Willow Harrison.’ Sergeant Mayfield flips open his little notepad and his stubby yellow pencil hovers above a fresh page. ‘You first. You said something very interesting to Mr Hewlett at school today.’

She frowns, gazing away at the bright array of houseplants Mr Finnis has been cultivating as she considers Jesse Archer with the police baton pressed up under his chin. She swallows nervously. Her eyes automatically moving to the baton resting against Mayfield’s broad thigh.

He’s watching her carefully. ‘About Jesse Archer,’ he presses her when she doesn’t immediately respond. He flips over a page and peruses his earlier notes. ‘You said, and I quote, ‘he’s been hanging around Paddy. I don’t know why. They’re not friends. If Paddy is missing it has something to do with him.’ What exactly did you mean by that?’ He looks up from his notepad, eyes narrow.

Willow stares at Mayfield and pictures the terror on Jesse Archer’s face. What the hell had been going on between them in that car? She forces a smile.

‘I don’t know to be honest. I think I got it wrong, sir. I think they might actually be friends.’

‘Oh? What’s changed your mind?’

‘Well, we were all here together yesterday in the treehouse and Paddy was really relaxed with Jesse. Right, guys?’

‘More than happy to have him there,’ says Ralph as he and Jaime nod in unison.

‘Seemed absolutely fine,’ adds Jaime, her cheeks reddening.

‘So, you’re all friends then?’ Mayfield lowers the notepad and scrutinises them with narrowed eyes.

Willow grimaces and tries not to panic under his steely gaze. ‘Not exactly. Sort of. I mean, maybe.’

Mayfield exhales in irritation. He sticks one leg forward and rests on the other hip. ‘So, you don’t think Jesse Archer has anything to do with Paddy being missing?’

Willow shrugs. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘So why on earth did you say what you did?’

‘Um. Well.’ Now it’s Willow’s turn to blush. She clasps her hands together and scuffs one foot against the shabby linoleum. ‘I’ve just never liked Jesse and I was suspicious about him making friends with Paddy, because he’s always been a bit of a bully, see. But I realise now that Paddy was fine with it, fine with him and Paddy’s not an idiot. So, you know. He seemed really comfortable with him, which makes me think I was probably massively over-reacting.’

Mayfield’s eyes bore into hers, unflinching. ‘Over-reacting, you say? So you don’t think Archer was winding him up then? Stringing him along? Creating a false sense of security or something like that?’

‘I just don’t know, sir. I really don’t. They just seemed fine together. Like friends.’

‘No matter.’ Mayfield snaps the book shut. ‘We’ll be bringing him in for questioning anyway.’

‘Are there any clues?’ Jaime bursts out and when Willow looks at her she can see the girl is almost about to explode with questions.

‘Not really.’ Mayfield shakes his head regretfully. ‘Welcome to town, by the way. And don’t let this put you off, will you? This is very unusual. We have a very low crime rate here and we’re very confident Paddy will turn up just fine.’

Sergeant Mayfield reaches for the door handle.

‘Did he take his coat and shoes?’ Willow asks, needing to know more. ‘Mr Hewlett said he didn’t. Is that true?’

‘We’re not sure. We’re still checking.’

‘Did he take a bag? Or a torch?’

‘Not that we know of, no.’

‘What about money?’ Willow presses as Mayfield opens the door end edges out.

‘We’re still checking.’ He smiles at her gently. ‘All I can say is there was no sign of a break-in, no sign of intruders. No note left for his father. It would appear that he left of his own accord and in good health. That’s all I can say for now, kids. We’ve got a lot to get on with.’

He gives them all a sympathetic smile before leaving and closing the conservatory door behind him.

‘Doesn’t make sense.’ Willow is shaking her head and biting at her thumbnail. She turns in a circle. ‘Kids just don’t vanish. Paddy wouldn’t just go off. I mean, where the hell would he go in the middle of the night on his own? And why? He would have told me. I’m his best friend.’

She suddenly feels bereft, close to tears. This can’t really be happening. It can’t be real. Things like this only happen in movies and books. Her heart pounds with fear. What if he doesn’t come back? What if they never find him? What will she do without her one true friend? Then she pictures poor Mr Finnis and her heart breaks all over again. Paddy’s mother succumbed to breast cancer when he was just seven years old. Willow doesn’t remember a lot of that time, but she does remember holding Paddy’s hand at the cemetery, feeling his thin fragile fingers clinging to hers as his mother was lowered into the ground.

It’s not fair, she thinks, they’re such good people, they don’t deserve this.

She feels Jaime’s hand, warm and firm on her shoulder, holding her still. ‘Willow, why don’t we search the treehouse while we’re here? And then come with me to the chemist. I want to get these pictures developed. You never know; we might find a clue.’

Willow nods. She feels hope and looks at Jaime gratefully. The girl is right. They are not helpless; they can do something. There has to be something somewhere, an answer, a clue, something. Kids don’t just vanish into thin air.

5

When night falls, Billy kicks open the bedroom door and sends Jesse sprawling. He picks himself up and faces his brother.

‘Is dad really at the police station?’

Billy pushes impatiently past him and starts rummaging under the bed. ‘Yep, they picked him up off the floor at The Old Fort. Drunk as fuck.’

‘Why haven’t they let him go yet?’

‘Dunno. Probably letting him sleep it off. Hey, Don’s downstairs with his dogs. You want to come coursing with us?’ Billy finds what he is looking for: a huge lamp, the type used to locate and confuse hares so the running dogs have a head start in chasing them down.

Jesse shakes his head. He can’t stand the sight of blood, or the pitiful screams of the hares when the dogs catch them.

‘You two are gonna hang around though?’ he asks his brother. ‘Mayfield was threatening me with foster care again.’

Billy laughs. ‘Yeah, yeah, we’re around, chill out. You sure you don’t want in? Make some money. I got fifty quid on that leggy yellow freak of his.’

‘I’m sure. Billy?’

‘What?’

‘Is there a way to check this camera and see what’s on it?’ Jesse holds out the device for Billy to see. Billy plucks it curiously from his hands.

‘Hey, that’s tiny. Never seen one so small. You steal it?’

‘Sort of. Can we see what’s on it?’

‘Take it to Hairy Dave in the hardware shop.’ Billy turns it over in his hands. ‘Tell him I sent you. He’ll hook it up to his computer and leave you alone with it for a price.’ Billy winks at Jesse.

‘It’s nothing like that.’

‘No, no. Course not.’ A smile spreads across Billys’ face.

Jesse rolls his eyes. ‘What price? What will he want?’

Billy turns to the cardboard boxes and rummages again. He moves DVD’s to one side then finally pulls out two and shoves them at Jesse.

‘That should do it.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

Jesse doesn’t want to know what’s on the DVD’s to placate pervy Hairy Dave, but he really, badly needs to know what’s on Mayfield’s camera.

6

The Hare and Hound is warm and welcoming. Mark has lit a fire in the main lounge and the old folks are gathered around it as the evening draws in. Mark is a popular figure, never without a smile, as he strolls around the pub he was raised in, with a checked bar cloth thrown over one shoulder. Jaime likes coming home to the pub after school. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement and she’s breathless with hope and belonging as she rushes in through the front door and makes her way over to the bar.

Mark welcomes her home with a hug and fires quick questions at her as he simultaneously puts a drink order together for an elderly couple.

‘Sounds great!’ he exclaims when Jaime checks if it’s okay if Willow and Ralph come over after dinner. His expression changes when she adds the bit about Paddy being missing and he reaches out and pats her shoulder in a comforting manner. ‘Ah, I know, love. It’s all over town about the Finnis boy but they’ll find him, I’m sure. Teenagers do run off from time to time, you know.’

Jaime doesn’t like to point out that Paddy really didn’t seem the type, so she just smiles and nods and agrees that of course he will be found.

‘And it’s great you’ve made some pals already,’ Mark adds with genuine warmth in his eyes. ‘Your mum will be pleased. Didn’t I tell you this was a great little town?’

Despite the missing boy and the undeniably dodgy Sergeant Mayfield, Jaime has to agree. So far, Black Hare Valley has welcomed and intrigued her; it’s both terrifying and exciting and the perfect training ground for her future career. And now the roll of film has been handed in to the chemist, she feels they’re one step closer to lining up the clues. She’s excited to show Ralph and Willow the photo of Jesse Archer being marched to the police car in handcuffs and then released again after that strange exchange of gifts. None of it adds up. They have to wait a few days for the photos and in the meantime they need to make a plan and they need to talk to Jesse…

She bumps into her mum in the hallway, zipping an anorak up over her bump. ‘Oh, hi love! How did it go?’

‘Brilliant! I’ve got two friends coming over after dinner. Mark said it’d be okay?’

Catherine’s face fills with pure relief and she reaches out to excitedly squeeze Jaime’s plump cheeks.

‘Oh, baby, that’s great news! I’m so proud of you. Listen, I’ve cooked a cottage pie already. You and Mark help yourselves whenever you like. Meals are going to be grab when you can until we get all the rotas sorted out. Is that okay?’

‘Yeah course, where are you going?’

Catherine picks up her handbag and slings it over one shoulder. She gives Jaime a sardonic look. ‘I only got myself roped into this Neighbourhood Watch thing they have here, didn’t I? Well, I thought why not? It’s a good way to get to know people and it could be fun.’

Jaime grins and heads up the stairs. ‘Sounds good, Mum. See you later then.’

7

Sergeant Mayfield is met on the driveway by an exuberant and slobbery yellow Labrador.

‘Behave yourself, Horatio.’ A voice cuts through the darkness of the fields to the left and Mayfield looks up to see Mayor Sumner striding towards him with a rifle in hand.

‘Bit late for pheasant shooting,’ he remarks, letting the Labrador lick his hand.

Mayor Sumner holds two up by their necks. ‘Not really.’

He nods, impressed. ‘Never one to sit still are you, Margaret?’

She sniffs, her nostrils flared as she scans the dark perimeter of her land and listens out for the telltale signs of tires on gravel.

‘There were poachers down the bottom,’ she says, airily. ‘Same group I’ve seen before.’

‘You got names? I’ll bring them in.’

She waves a hand. ‘No, no leave them. You can’t eradicate criminality, Aaron. You can only control it. Besides, I have enough pheasants to go around.’

‘Still,’ he says, as they start to walk towards the house, ‘I’d like to have their names. I can deliver a warning, let them know I’ve got my eye on them.’

‘Blackmail them more like.’ Margaret looks at him sideways and smiles. He doesn’t smile back. She rolls her eyes. ‘Okay, have it your way. If you must know it was the older Archer boys and some of their cronies. Don’t worry, I saw them off. They won’t be back in a hurry.’

Mayfield’s lips twist. ‘That family…’

Margaret laughs at him. ‘You really ought to let it go, Aaron. They’re no threat, not one single one of them. Never have been. Now, come inside. No one else has arrived yet but you can bet the vicar and Sylvia will be early. They always are.’

Margaret opens the double doors to her home and they walk side by side into the vast hallway, their shoes clacking on the ancient stone floor. Margaret strips off her wax jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, then calmly peels off her shooting gloves. Mayfield waits, still and patient, watching her carefully as she kicks off her boots.

‘Oh, and the new woman is coming,’ Margaret reports, talking over her shoulder as she strides briskly into the hall. Margaret Sumner has a neat and athletic figure, one that belies her age. Like Mayfield, she has the fitness and strength of someone twenty years younger. She opens the door to her study, walks in and unlocks the gun cabinet.

Mayfield waits in the doorway, still bristling at the thought of poachers. ‘Oh, that’s good. I know you’re keen for newbies since Iris and Bob left us. I actually met her daughter today.’

‘Jaime. Yes, a lovely girl.’

Mayfield nods. ‘Yes, she was. Well, I look forward to meeting her mother. It will be nice to have fresh blood for a change. Any other offers of help?’

‘No, don’t be silly.’ Margaret locks the gun cabinet and Mayfield steps aside as she paces out of the study and closes the door behind her. ‘You know this lot, always full of excuses. Too busy, too tired. Quite happy to leave the hard work to the rest of us. You know how it is.’

He glances at the ceiling with a sigh. ‘I do.’

‘Come on then, let’s have a drink before they arrive.’

‘Is Hilda coming down?’

Margaret walks into the drawing room. It’s the largest room in the grand three storey house and boasts a large stone fireplace, as well as two huge sash windows on each wall. Just like her bedroom which is directly above, the room gives an almost 360 degree view of the long winding road into town. The walls are dressed in rich red and gold wallpaper. A closer inspection reveals a tiny repeated scene of a horseman, a hound and a hare.

In between the windows stand tall bookshelves of dark oak. They are filled with old books, framed photographs and riding trophies. Over the fireplace hangs a large gold-framed painting of a family dressed in 18th century attire, who are very clearly ancestors of Mayor Margaret Sumner.

She strides over to the drinks cabinet and fills two tumblers with ice before drizzling whisky on top.

‘No,’ she says, returning to the fire to hand Mayfield his drink. ‘She’s particularly tired today. Always better to leave her alone when she’s tired.’

‘Fair enough.’ Mayfield raises his drink. ‘To order.’

She raises hers. ‘Indeed.’

The fireplace is surrounded by a semi-circle of old, hard-backed chairs dressed in soft velour of various colours. They do not sit. There are dishes of snacks already laid out on the sideboard for the committee.

‘Anyway, I’m taking the youngest boy in for questioning tomorrow.’

Margaret does not try to hide her amusement. ‘Oh, are you now?’

‘Yes. Have to. The Harrison girl said he’d been bullying Paddy Finnis so it’s worth talking to him.’

‘You’re obsessed, Aaron. Just like with his father…’

He exhales. ‘It’s just… I’ve said it before, Margaret. That family are a stain on this good town and he’s no better. I caught him trying to blow up the school for crying out loud. How much more do we take? I ask you. Little shit needs a good hiding.’

Now Margaret laughs at him. ‘Oh, Aaron! Don’t be such a martyr and stop kidding yourself. It’s a gift to you and this town every time that boy gets in trouble. You wouldn’t have it any other way and you know it. You’d be bored without him.’

Mayfield winces before sipping his drink. ‘He’s the one who should be missing…’

She elbows him. ‘And what fun would you have then, eh? Don’t be so melodramatic, Aaron. Like I said already, you can’t eradicate criminality, but you can control it. And a town must be balanced. There’s no such thing as perfection and you know it.’

‘Well, anyway.’ Mayfield clears his throat and stares at the fire. ‘I assume I do have your permission to take him in?’

‘Do what you need to do, of course.’

He nods his head in thanks.

Margaret steps back from the flames. ‘I think I hear the gravel. Our guests have arrived, Aaron.’

8

Jaime sticks the first Post-It note on the wall above her bed. Written across the bright yellow square of paper is: approx. 12.30pm Jaime sees Jesse Archer in handcuffs with Mayfield.

Willow is standing at the window gazing out at the high street. Her top teeth pull constantly at her lower lip and every now and then she releases a solemn sigh. Ralph feels for her. He’s been looking for a decent sidekick his whole life. Willow’s is missing. He can only imagine how lost she feels.

‘Next week we’ll have a photo to go with it,’ Jaime says, her eyes sparkling. She scribbles on another note and slaps it on the wall next to the first. ‘I don’t know the exact times,’ she explains. ‘I wasn’t exactly looking at my watch at this point. But next, Jesse and Sergeant Mayfield get in the police car and after a few minutes, they drive off.’

Jaime is already scribbling on another note. ‘Next, I follow the car and it stops outside the bookshop. Zooming in with the lens I see the policeman take the cuffs off Jesse. Then…’ she slaps that note to the wall and starts a new one, ‘Jesse starts taking things out of his pockets and handing them over.’

‘Stuff he stole,’ Willow mutters from the window.

‘Presumably, but we’ll have to ask him at some point. Then, Sergeant Mayfield gave him something in return and he put it in his pocket.’

‘Did you see what it was?’ asks Ralph.

‘Nope.’ Jaime shakes her head. ‘I zoomed in a bit more and took more photos but I couldn’t make it out. Hopefully one of the photos will show it or Jesse will just tell us.’

‘So then what?’ Ralph presses.

‘Then…’ She starts writing again and slaps another note to the wall. ‘Jesse gets out and goes into the bookshop and the sergeant drives off.’

Willow turns to face them, her arms folded wearily. ‘So, at the very least we can assume that Sergeant Mayfield is as crooked as they come.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ Ralph breathes, shaking his head. ‘He comes into school all the time and does those talks. He’s a policeman!’

‘We don’t know anything for sure until we talk to Jesse,’ Jaime reminds them.

‘And that’s only if he tells the truth,’ adds Willow. ‘And he was definitely lying to us yesterday with all that bullshit about trespassing…’

‘Anyway, next up.’ Jaime is already scribbling on another sticky note. ‘I go around the back of the shop.’

‘Yeah, why did you do that?’ asks Willow. ‘Why not go through the shop?’

‘I didn’t want him to see me,’ Jaime replies with a shrug. ‘Through the window I saw Mr Finnis showing him out the back so I figured I couldn’t just barge on in behind him, could I? So I went around the back and found the gate and the treehouse.’

‘Not long after that, I arrived.’ Willow nods at Jaime. ‘Write that down.’

Jaime obeys and sticks the next note to the wall.

‘Then me,’ says Ralph. ‘Do we know how much time in between us all getting there?’ He looks at the girls. ‘Does it even matter?’

‘Probably not,’ replies Willow. ‘What matters more is what happened after we left.’

‘Jesse left first,’ relays Jaime, adding a new note. ‘Then me and Ralph together about ten minutes after? The rain had stopped. Or it wasn’t as bad.’

‘I walked you home,’ grins Ralph, shifting on the bed. ‘And we arranged to walk to school together the next day.’

Willow rolls her eyes. ‘I stayed another hour or so with Paddy. Again, I didn’t pay much attention to the time.’

‘And how did Paddy seem then? After we left?’ Jaime looks at her expectantly and already has a pen poised over an open notebook to record her answer.

Willow appears to consider this for a moment. Her head drops back to rest lightly on the window pane. Her arms remain folded as she stares at the wall of notes.

Finally, she lifts and drops her shoulders. ‘He was fine. Write that down, Jaime. He was normal, happy, Paddy. We argued a bit about Jesse. I said he was up to something and couldn’t be trusted and Paddy just laughed and told me not to be so cynical all the time. He said he and Jesse had been getting on fine. And then we just talked about this story we’ve been writing. You know, throwing ideas around.’

Jaime writes all this down and adds it to the wall. ‘What story?’

Willow shrugs irritably. ‘Just some stupid story. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Okay,’ says Jaime. ‘Now, what about the stuff we weren’t witness to? What do we know about what Paddy did after you left, Willow?’

She grasps her arms and rubs her hands up and down as if chilled. ‘I couldn’t get much sense out of his dad; you saw the state he was in and how useless Sergeant Mayfield was. But according to Mr Finnis nothing out of the ordinary happened. Paddy had dinner with him and got his stuff ready for school the next day. He had a bath. Went to bed. Read probably, knowing him.’

‘Then in the morning he was gone.’ Ralph speaks the words in a hushed tone, his eyes averted to the floor. ‘It’s just so weird…’

‘There’ll be more news soon,’ says Jaime firmly, sitting on the bed and crossing her legs. ‘They’ll search his room and the treehouse. They’ll look for fingerprints and stuff like that. I mean, it was wet, right? If he left for some reason, there’d be footprints.’

Willow nods, her face pale. ‘I’ll go over there tomorrow. I need to check on his dad. He has no one else.’

‘What happened to Paddy’s mum?’ Jaime asks softly.

‘Breast cancer,’ replies Willow, with a visible wince. ‘It was awful actually. We were only seven but I remember how horrible it was for Paddy and his dad. So yeah, I need to keep an eye on his dad. He’s always been good to me. Paddy would want me to check in on him.’

‘He might have turned up by then,’ Ralph shrugs and desperately wants it to be true. None of this makes sense, he thinks. Kids don’t just vanish without a trace. His mind jumps then to the strange footprint and the missing mould he tried to take of it. He almost mentions it but somehow it doesn’t feel like the right moment. Willow looks distraught; totally lost.

‘Tomorrow we speak to Jesse,’ she says then.

‘How?’ asks Jaime. ‘When?’

Willow thinks for a moment, then says, ‘Leave early, both of you. We’ll go to his block and meet him coming out. That way we can grill him on the way to school.’

Ralph and Jaime nod together. ‘Good plan,’ smiles Ralph,

‘He must know something,’ adds Willow, softly. ‘And we’ll find out what it is.’

9

Margaret Sumner never sits during the meetings. She’ll occasionally perch on the arm of a chair, but tonight the meeting is full and they have their brand new recruit. It’s far too exciting to sit. She holds court, standing almost in the middle of the semi-circle of chairs, all now gathered around the fireplace. She bobs up and down with plates of snacks. She pours drinks and hands them out and smiles her gracious smile at all times. She truly is glad to have them all here and there is a definite thrum of excitement in the room. She can feel it in the air, in the polished oak floorboards under her feet and in her very bones.

‘Before we even consult tonight’s official agenda, we must of course warmly welcome the newest resident to Black Hare Valley, Catherine Aster.’

Margaret bows her head slightly and a little smattering of polite applause goes around the half circle. Catherine looks comfortable: fresh, plump and warm in the comfiest chair with a glass of water in one hand and a plate of snacks balanced on her swollen belly. She’s caught mid-mouthful and can only giggle and flush and wave an embarrassed hand as she swallows the lump of cake.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she says finally, as the committee lean forward hungrily. ‘Thanks for making me feel so welcome here. And my daughter too. She’s had a lovely first day at school and she’s made some friends already.’

Margaret feels Aaron’s eyes fall briefly on her but doesn’t look back. She knows he will be desperate to warn the poor woman to keep her daughter away from the Archer boys.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Margaret beams at Catherine.

Mr Bishop nods, a cheese and cucumber sandwich in one hand, a whisky in the other. ‘That’s very good to hear,’ he says, speaking through his food. ‘We pride ourselves on being a friendly safe town and that extends to the school, of course. I’m the head of the secondary – I believe we spoke on the phone before you moved here?’

‘Oh yes, of course! So lovely to meet you in person!’

‘And let me introduce you to Neville Hewlett, the pastoral worker at the school. He does a lot of valuable youth work across both schools and of course with the church and at the community centre too.’

Catherine turns her head to smile politely at Neville Hewlett, who gives a little wave with one of his smooth, pudgy hands.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ he tells her. ‘We have a really good relationship with the kids in school and at the community centre we run a lot of activities. You must send your daughter along. There’s so much for them to do.’

‘Brilliant, I will do!’

‘We like to keep the young folk busy,’ Mr Bishop adds. ‘Keeps them out of trouble!’

‘Wonderful! I quite agree.’

‘And this is vicar Greg Roberts,’ Margaret gestures to the man on her left sat closest to the fire. The thin red-haired man immediately rearranges his ordinarily dour expression and smiles at Catherine.

‘Good to meet you, Catherine. Many congratulations to you and Mark!’

‘Thank you so much! It’s so good to meet you too.’

‘We always welcome new members to Saint Marks and we have a Sunday school and youth group as well. Oh, and there’s the choir!’

‘Sounds lovely!’ Catherine takes a quick bite of cake while the vicar lightly touches the arm of the small woman beside him. She’s young but dresses like someone at least ten years older. ‘This is Sylvia Gordan, my plucky assistant.’

‘Hello, nice to meet you.’ She leans forward with a small smile and a slight flick of her wrist which may have been a small wave. ‘I run the Sunday school and both the choirs, and I also teach piano at the secondary school.’

‘How wonderful!’ Catherine smiles back at her before her attention moves on to the grey-haired woman who is next in the semi-circle.

‘Eugenie Spires, librarian,’ the woman informs her in a firm, somewhat stern tone. She is not eating and holds a tiny teacup in one hand, its matching saucer in the other. She has grey hair worn in a low pony-tail with a severe middle parting. Her very dark eyes stare at Catherine from behind thick-lensed glasses. Margaret watches patiently; she doesn’t think she has ever seen Eugenie smile.

‘Well, that’s everyone,’ she tells Catherine. ‘And now seven become eight. Although of course, our ideal number is nine.’

Catherine leans forward. ‘Oh, really? Why’s that? Do neighbourhood watch groups have to have a certain amount of members?’

Margaret smiles sweetly and swaps a discreet glance with Aaron. ‘No, not specifically but there are of course many, many spiritual and numerical meanings attached to the number nine and we’ve always quite liked that, as a group. Not that we pertain to any particular faith or belief, of course! Our role is exactly what you would expect from a neighbourhood watch group. We want this town to be the best it can be for everyone in it. Do you have any questions, Catherine? Is there anything we can help you with at all before we get down to business?’

‘Oh no.’ Catherine’s eyes widen and she touches her chin. She seems like a people-pleaser, Margaret decides, like her daughter. ‘I don’t think so. Just thank you so much for making us feel so welcome here. My daughter, Jaimie, was bullied badly at her last school and it really knocked her confidence, so it’s wonderful to see how quickly she is settling here already. She even has new friends around at ours right now!’

Margaret can see how delighted and surprised by this Catherine feels. She eyes Aaron and gives him a small nod. Might as well let him get it over with.

‘That’s great,’ he says to Catherine. ‘Who’s she hooked up with so far then?’

To Catherine this must seem an innocent question but Margaret knows it is anything but.

‘Oh, a boy called Ralph,’ replies Catherine and everyone responds with noises of approval. Aaron smiles in relief.

‘Ralph Maxwell,’ says Margaret with an edge of pride to her voice. ‘He’s a lovely boy, Catherine. Your daughter will be just fine with him. His mother, Charlotte, works for me here on the farm and she’s an absolute god-send.’

‘She’s an angel,’ Neville Hewlett agrees. ‘She’s got a lot of community spirit, that one.’

‘She had Ralph quite young,’ Margaret goes on. ‘And then she was sadly widowed when he was just a toddler, but nothing gets in her way. She’s invaluable to me here, and Ralph is a great kid. Very well behaved and very outdoorsy, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Mr Bishop chimes in next. ‘And he’s a wonderful lad. No trouble at all at school.’

‘That’s so good to know,’ Catherine grins around at them all. ‘Oh and Willow is the other one.’

‘Willow Harrison,’ Margaret nods and can’t resist shooting a look at Vicar Roberts. His eyes narrow slightly and his chin wobbles before he can compose himself. He gives a little chuckle.

‘No trouble at school either,’ Mr Bishop feels the need to point out, but there are no further remarks from the committee and a sort of hush falls over them. Margaret examines Catherine and sees the woman’s forehead wrinkle in concern as her eyes lower and she bites at her lip.

‘Willow of course must be extremely worried about Paddy Finnis,’ Margaret speaks up for them all. They all drop their eyes and nod solemnly.

‘Has anyone heard anything?’ Catherine asks. ‘My Jaime met Paddy yesterday and he welcomed her in, let her go up in his treehouse, she said. That’s how she met Ralph and Willow, oh, and another boy, Jesse Archer I think she said?’

An instant grumble goes around the room and Catherine looks confused, wondering if she has said or done something wrong. Aaron shifts in his chair.

‘I’d probably advise her to stay away from the Archer boy.’

‘Oh?’

Aaron looks grim. ‘Nothing but trouble, the whole family. In fact, I’m taking him in for questioning first thing tomorrow. It would appear he was bullying Paddy Finnis over the summer.’

‘Oh no!’ Catherine’s face crumples.

‘Oh well, that explains it all then!’ Bishop sighs angrily, his hands dangling between his spread legs. The others nod in agreement.

‘Ran off for a bit then,’ Sylvia Gordon agrees.

Everyone nods and mumbles. Margaret knows she has to distract them.

‘Obviously, number one on tonight’s agenda is helping the Finnis family in any way we possibly can.’ She raises her eyebrows at Sylvia who starts scratching a black biro across the pages of a small notebook. ‘I’ll go over in the morning and I do hope you can all drop by at some point and offer what you can. I hear there’s going to be a search tomorrow, Sergeant, is that correct?’

‘From 12pm,’ he nods. ‘We’ll need as many spare hands as possible for that too, so spread the word, folks. There’s got to be some sign of him somewhere.’

‘Of course,’ agrees Margaret. ‘Now Catherine, before we move on I must reassure you that this is a very rare occurrence. We are a particularly safe town with an extremely low crime rate.’

‘Oh, I can see that,’ Catherine nods happily. ‘And I’m sure he’ll be found quickly. Like you said, he probably just went off to escape his bully.’

They all nod. ‘I’m glad you see it that way,’ says Margaret. ‘And we really are very grateful to have you on board, Catherine. Of course, we understand that you’ll be busier once the baby arrives. At that point, any help at all will be appreciated, not expected.’

Catherine smiles gratefully and wraps her hands around her belly.

‘When are is you due, dear?’ asks Sylvia.

‘January the first!’

‘New Years Day,’ Sylvia grins back. ‘How lovely that would be! A brand new life for a brand new year!’

‘There’ll be plenty of babysitters lined up to help you,’ Vicar Roberts says. ‘We’re a real community here, Catherine and we all look out for each other.’

‘And you know what they say,’ purrs Margaret. She catches Aaron’s eye and winks. ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’

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 Eight “Paddy Finnis”

Black Hare Valley Chapter Six: “School Days

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© 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

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?

2

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.’

3

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.

4

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.

5

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.

6

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.’

7

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”

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.

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.

1

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.

2

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.

3

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…

4

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?

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 Six: “School Days”

Black Hare Valley: Chapter Four “Willow Watches”

Rough sketch of Willow – 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.

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.

1

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.’

2

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.

3

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?

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 Five “Ralph – Monster Hunter”