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1
Ralph wakes up in a daze. He feels overtired, jittery and on edge. He goes through the motions of getting dressed and making breakfast but his hands won’t stop shaking the entire time, and he slops half of his cereal down his t-shirt.
He tries not to think about what’s ahead. He tries to focus on the here and now. Breakfast. Homework. Chores. Then getting the chainsaw, collecting some logs to take home to his mother, before hiding the saw out by the tree Willow showed them. He pictures the tree in his head – the footholds he will need to scale it, the low branches he can climb to. And he pictures the thick power line between two branches. He hopes if he saws through half of the biggest bough, it will crack and drop, making it look like more of a natural break if anyone investigates it. Otherwise he is going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to his mother at some point.
Ralph’s stomach twists and knots, and his breathing won’t slow down. He closes his eyes for a moment and runs his hands through his unruly curls, trying to figure out what Mulder and Scully would do.
They wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf, that’s for sure. They’d probably be excited, he thinks. Mulder would already be convinced it was some sort of mystical beast and Scully would be giving him that look and trying to prove it isn’t. They’d be gearing up, he thinks, opening his eyes, they wouldn’t hesitate. They wouldn’t freak out. Not ever.
Ralph breathes out, nodding, palms flat on the table. He’ll be like Mulder and Scully. He’ll be cool. He doesn’t even have the most dangerous bit. He won’t be breaking into Sergent Mayfield’s house.
He’s finally feeling a bit calmer when the caravan door is wrenched open making him jump and scream out loud. He turns around to see his mother’s quizzical face. ‘Ralph?’
‘Oh god, sorry Mum. I was daydreaming.’
‘Watching too many horror movies,’ she sighs. ‘Hey, do you want to earn a few quid?’
‘I guess. How?’
‘Mayor Sumner needs an extra pair of hands right now. I came back to get you. Come on!’
Ralph pushes the remnants of his soggy cereal away, his stomach suddenly queasy again. ‘Yeah, okay Mum.’
He grabs his coat, follows Charlotte outside and slips on his wellington boots. She is already cycling away so he locks up the caravan and grabs his own bike. He hangs back for a while. She’s always so fast, and he suddenly has no energy or desire to catch up with her. He can’t quite bear the idea of her looking at him too closely; fearful that his mother will be able to see right away that something is very wrong.
When they reach Hill Fort Farm, Mayor Sumner greets them on the driveway. She’s wearing a dark green wax jacket, a navy-blue silk scarf, mustard coloured jodhpurs and brown leather riding boots. A helmet swings from one hand and her faithful but overweight Labrador Horatio stands dopily at her feet, slobbering over a tennis ball.
‘Ah, Ralph! I can’t thank you enough.’
Ralph smiles and lets his mother take his bike with hers. ‘That’s okay, Mayor Sumner,’ he says, his mouth suddenly impossibly dry. ‘I’m happy to help. What can I do?’
‘It’s the pheasant pen again,’ she says, slipping a stiff arm around his shoulders and leading him towards the large house. ‘You’ve done it before when the gamekeeper was away on holiday. They just need a thorough cleaning out.’
He nods, smiling, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. ‘No problem.’
They walk around the back of the house until they have reached the immaculate rose garden Mayor Sumner keeps beyond her lounge and the open French doors. They keep walking down the gentle slope of the vast green lawn beyond towards the woods that make up a large section of her land.
‘How is everything, Ralph?’ she asks him as the pheasant woods come into view. ‘I hear you’re enjoying school so far this year and you’ve made friends with the new girl in town, Jaime?’
‘Yeah, I have, she’s really nice.’
‘Oh yes, I know. Her mother is an absolute dear. We’re lucky to have them both, aren’t we?’
‘Definitely.’
Mayor Sumner lets her arm drop from his shoulder and stops walking. ‘Well Ralph, I’ll let you go from here. I’m about to take my new mare Cassie for a quick ride. Come up to the house when you’re done though. I’ll make sure you get something to eat and drink.’
‘Thank you.’
She smiles and turns away. Ralph watches her for a moment, noting her straight back and swift, purposeful strides. The chubby Labrador struggles to keep up and Ralph imagines he won’t be joining her for the horse ride.
Ralph glances down the hill and starts walking towards the woods. It’s a fairly large area, at least a few acres of Douglas Firs, Scots Pines and spindly Silver Birch. The pheasant pen sits in the middle. A large wooden shed surrounded by a wire mesh pen. As Ralph approaches, the birds inside strut about, making a lot of nervous noises. He ignores them and opens the shed from the side.
He quietly closes the other door so that the pheasants are shut in the pen and he gets to work, feeling a little calmer now that the mayor has gone. As he rakes out the mucky straw and wood shavings, Ralph talks himself into a calmer state. She might not have anything to do with what Mayfield is up to, or with Paddy going missing. She could even be a victim herself. Ralph nods to himself as he cleans out the pen. Mayor Sumner has always been good to him and his mother. She’s always done the best thing for the town. Just because they know Mayfield is up to something sinister, it doesn’t mean all the committee members are too.
When Ralph finishes, he’s hot and sweaty and coughing from the dust of the fresh bedding. He ties up the bags of muck and carries them slowly back up to the house.
‘Would you leave them outside the vegetable garden, please Ralph?’ Mayor Sumner is at the French doors, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. ‘My gardener does wonders with it all. Good boy.’
Ralph does as she’s asked, then returns sheepishly to the house. She’s still waiting at the doors and smiles at him fondly. ‘You’ll be wanting to wash those hands, young man.’
‘Yes, please.’
He follows her from the lounge into the big wood-panelled hallway and then left into the kitchen. It’s a large, airy room with a stone floor and a huge old oak table taking up the centre space. An array of old fashioned dressers and sideboards and shelves provide storage.
Ralph is always surprised to see the modest way the mayor lives. Yes, the house is large and grand on the outside and she has various staff at her beck and call, yet she never seems to update or refurbish the interior.
There is a large range oven roasting logs, and Horatio is spread out in front of it on a tattered green rug. He opens one eye when Ralph walks in, thumps his tail twice then returns to his gentle snoring.
Ralph washes his hands thoroughly in the sink then uses a tea towel with Labradors on it to dry them.
‘Here, Ralph. Have a break.’
He turns around to see the mayor has laid out two tall glasses of cloudy lemonade on the table next to a plate of sliced fruit cake and a selection of expensive looking chocolate biscuits. He sits down, smiling gratefully.
‘Brilliant! Thank you.’
‘No, thank you, Ralph.’ The mayor does not sit down. She leans against the nearest counter, sipping her lemonade with her eyes on Ralph. ‘Coming up here unexpectedly on a Saturday morning. Most teenagers would rather be in bed or hanging out with their friends.’
He looks up, hastily swallowing the guilty lump stuck in his throat. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
She’s still smiling although he wonders if he can detect a level of scrutiny he had not noticed in her eyes before. She sips her drink and he picks up a biscuit.
‘Your mum says you’ve been hanging around with the Archer boy, Ralph.’
He pauses mid-chew, looks away and nods. There’s no point denying it. He wonders why anyone cares, but of course they do in a small town like this. Everyone cares about everyone else’s business. It’s just the way it is.
‘Well,’ says the mayor, ‘you’ll no doubt get some people telling you to avoid that boy but personally I agree with your mother.’
Ralph swallows again. ‘You do?’
‘Yes. I think it’s very good of you, very kind. Your mother has brought you up to be a kind and considerate young man, Ralph. It’s admirable to give people second chances.’
His head bobs up and down in obvious relief and he takes another biscuit from the plate.
‘And,’ she continues, watching him, ‘if anyone needs a second chance, it’s that boy. He hasn’t had an easy life. It’s no wonder he’s become such a troublemaker really. What example did anyone set him?’
Ralph nods in agreement with her. He can’t say what he’s really thinking, which is that Jesse Archer, to him at least, is possibly the bravest and most selfless person he has ever met. He truly hopes that even after all of this, they will always be friends.
Mayor Sumner changes the subject then. She lowers her head a little, scans the room and even checks the hallway. Then she pulls out a chair and sits next to Ralph, hands cupped around her glass.
‘Ralph, quickly, while your mother is not close by. I need to ask your advice about something.’
Ralph tries his best to hide it, but feels instantly cautious. He’s never been asked for advice before from an adult, and she suddenly seems very intense, frown lines on her forehead, her teeth pulling at her lower lip as if she is nervous. Mayor Sumner is never nervous, not about anything.
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, I had a thought you see.’ She shakes back her neat hair and straightens out her posture as if getting down to business. ‘About your mother and how I could repay her for how utterly wonderful and reliable she is. And I know she’s been saving for a bigger place for a long time now. A cottage.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Ralph thinks of his mum’s early starts and late finishes, her cut and calloused hands and the dirt under her nails. No one works harder than his mother but there is only one her – one wage to cover everything.
‘Well now.’ Mayor Sumner leans close to him. ‘One of my cottages is coming up, you see. The old lady that rented it has recently passed away and once we’ve given it a spring clean and a lick of paint, it will be available again.’
Ralph blinks at her. ‘Oh. But I don’t think she has enough saved yet.’
‘Well no, but that’s where my thought came in. My idea. How do you think she would feel if I waived the deposit usually required and just let her move right in? I can lower the rent a bit too. Just don’t tell her that bit, please. I don’t want to offend her.’
‘Oh!’ Ralph sees what she means now. He’s surprised, overwhelmed and slightly baffled. And she wants to know how his mother will feel? He knows she will feel at least a little bit ashamed if someone helps her. He knows she will feel like she cheated. But he also knows that she won’t turn it down – because of him.
‘What do you think?’ the mayor presses him. ‘I don’t want to offend her. That’s the last thing I’d want. I know she is a proud woman and I admire it. But I don’t know when another cottage will come up, you see. She’ll miss out, Ralph.’
‘Oh…’ And now he sees the dilemma Mayor Sumner has. He thinks for a second and then decides to be truthful with her. It has always worked in the past. ‘I think that’s really kind and generous of you, Mayor Sumner and I think my mum will definitely say yes, and she’ll be ever so happy and excited and grateful but I know she will feel a bit awkward about it. Like she’s had a favour.’
‘I’ll talk to her then,’ Mayor Sumner says with a smile. ‘I’ll just bring it up and mention it and see where it goes. I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an agreement. Thank you, Ralph, for your honesty. You’re such a mature young man and the man of the house, of course, which is why I wanted to run it by you first.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome, my dear.’ She gives his arm a little pat and pushes back her chair. ‘I’m happy to help. That’s how this town works, you see. That’s what makes us special. We reward people, Ralph. We look out for the good ones like your mother. It’s always been that way and I think that’s why people very rarely leave this place… Now, you must excuse me while I go and check on Hilda. She wants to sit outside today now it’s getting warm enough. Summer will soon be here, Ralph.’
‘Oh yes,’ he agrees. ‘Do you need me for anything else?’
‘No, no. You go on home, dear. Oh. Hold on, I almost forgot.’ She slides her hand into her pocket and pulls out a flat brown wallet. Ralph stands awkwardly while she counts out two £5 notes and hands them to him. It seems far too generous but he takes them anyway.
‘Thank you, Mayor Sumner!’
‘You earned it, young man. Now, off you go.’ She smiles as he heads to the hallway. ‘Enjoy the rest of the day and don’t get up to any mischief!’
His own smile feels more like a grimace as he turns to leave. Next on the agenda, cutting down some wood so he isn’t lying to his mother about needing the chainsaw, and then hiding it out at the targeted tree as arranged. He swallows his guilt, holds his head up and leaves.
2
Jaime lies on her bed, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the books and notes she has spread out around her. Her door is locked as it almost always is lately and her mother and Mark have accepted her explanation of simply needing more privacy now that she is a teenager.
Because Jaime has never given her mother a reason to distrust her, it has been reluctantly accepted. She feels guilty but she also feels undeniably heroic. Risking family harmony to help save a boy she has only met once. Paddy was kind to her though, welcoming, and she can’t help feeling that they would be friends if he was still around.
At night, it eats away at her and keeps her restless. What has happened to him, where he is, if he is lost, scared or hurt. Like the others, Jaime feels strongly that he is still alive. She likes to believe she can feel his presence everywhere and in everything they do.
She has made several notes on local folklore. There is a lot of familiar stuff: witches, fairies and the like. The May Day celebration she missed out on, for example, involved marking the first day of summer with dancing, singing and eating. The town park still has a traditional May-Pole erected in the centre of the green and according to Mark, the children still dress up and dance around it once a year. She can’t help feeling he is a little disappointed with her for not joining in.
Within the books, Jaime finds reference to hares being caught prior to May Day only to be released as part of the festivities. Jaime thinks of her brief sighting of what must have been an extremely rare wild animal and marvels at how the same incredible creature could appear so nonchalantly and casually to Jesse.
She finds a solitary black and white photograph dated May 1903 in which three brown hares can be seen tearing free from a small wire cage. A crowd surrounds them and the May Pole can be seen towering behind them.
There is also an old photograph of the fire-jumping custom – where townsfolk would line up to take turns jumping over a line of fire across one of the local fields. The narrative explains that the custom was thought to protect the towns livestock from fairies.
She reads with fascination, about the ancient tradition of giving a ‘May basket’, something the book claims still continues in modern times. Small, handwoven baskets are left anonymously on neighbour’s doorsteps, containing small gifts to eat, or spring flowers.
In the more recent photos, Jaime pores over photos of the May Queen being crowned in the park before dancing joyfully around the Maypole in swirling ribbons. The folklore mostly seems to revolve around hares, witches and fairies. Jaime reads about myths and legends dating back centuries. Depending on who is writing, it seems that hares have been deemed as both good and bad luck.
She is just about to start reading ‘The Witch of The Valley’ when a knock at the door startles her.
Her head snaps up. ‘Who is it?’
‘Willow! Your mum let me up.’
‘Oh!’ Jaime leaps off the bed and rushes to let her in.
Willow slips inside and tugs a book free from under her arm as Jaime closes and locks the door again.
‘I brought this one from our shop.’ She hands it to Jaime. ‘Thought you might find it interesting.’
Jaime sits back on the bed, examining the book. Its cover is beautiful – navy-blue with golden typography and silhouettes of hares running around the edges. ‘Mystic and Magic – Animal Folklore Through The Ages. Sounds good!’
Willow sits beside her, nodding. ‘I remembered it when you and Jesse said about the white hare. There’s loads in there – a whole section about hares.’
‘There’s stuff in here too,’ says Jaime, passing her the local traditions book. ‘They used to release hares in the park on May Day.’
‘Oh, they still do. I think it’s cruel. One of the reasons I don’t go.’
‘I’m starting to feel sorry I missed it. It might have been interesting. I was just about to start this one.’ She passes her The Witch of The Valley. ‘Ever heard stories about witches here?’
Willow wrinkles her nose. ‘Nah, not really. Though, of course, kids joke about Iris Cotton being one. But that’s horribly predictable, isn’t it? Any old woman living alone who’s a bit of a recluse is obviously a witch, right? And you haven’t been here long enough to hear what they say about me.’
Jaime sighs. ‘There must have be a bigger story once. Do you recognise the author?’
Willow peers at the book. ‘J. Simmons, nope. Not a name in town I recognise. Miss Spires is the one to ask. She’s so nosy about people’s families and ancestors, she knows everything. I’ll start reading it if you want to look at that one.’
‘Yeah, good plan. Hey, I’m glad you dropped by.’
Willow drops back on the bed, lying on her back with the book held over her face. ‘No problem. I was going crazy on my own, thinking about… you know.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’
Jaime opens the book to the section on hares and reads quietly for a while. Every now and then she makes a note in her notepad.
‘Similar to the other stuff I found,’ she reports. ‘Hares are associated with spring, with fertility, birth and resurrection and in some cultures, with madness.’
‘The Mad March Hare,’ grins Willow. ‘Though really it’s just the females fighting off the males in breeding season.’
‘Do you see a lot of hares here, Willow? Brown ones, I mean?’
‘Not often, no,’ Willow replies. ‘They’re elusive. Shy. And super-fast. I did see some boxing once though. I was with Paddy actually, about a year ago.’
Jaime smiles at her warmly, encouraging her to go on. ‘Where was this?’
‘It was up near the ruins. I’ll never forget how big they were. They really are much bigger than rabbits, I mean, there’s no way you could mistake them. We watched them for ages and for some reason, we started making funny stories up about them.’
‘Really?’
Willow looks away shyly. ‘Paddy has great ideas, that’s something I really like about him, because you’re never bored when he’s around. He’ll always think of something to do and I guess it was like that with the hares. He couldn’t just watch them, he had to make up lives and adventures for them. We carried it on, we wrote it down and everything.’
‘That’s so nice, and so cool. I’ve never had a friend like that. You must miss him so much, Willow.’
‘I do.’ Willow’s smile falls away. ‘That’s why we have to do this. We can’t give up on him. He would not give up on any of us, I promise you.’
Jaime nods and looks back at the book. ‘Some cultures see hares as bad luck, it says. And associate them with witches and witchcraft. There’s mention of a witch trial in Somerset in 1663, where a local woman is believed to have been chased by dogs as a hare, then shocked everyone by turning into a woman.’
‘Burned at the stake after that, I bet!’ says Willow grimly, sitting back up. ‘So, it says here there were witch trials in Black Hare Valley in the 1600s. They suspected a lot of women, by the sounds of it…’
Jaime makes a quick note of this. ‘Any names?’
‘Nothing familiar,’ Willow replies. ‘But it does say a woman named Agnes Salter was stoned to death and her house was burned down. Oh. Wow.’
Jaime sits forward. ‘What?’
Willow lowers the book and points to the words, Black Hare Cottage.
Jaime gapes. ‘Iris Cotton’s house!’
‘Well, a much older version of it maybe.’ Willow gently places the book on the bed between them. Her hands dangle between her knees.
Jaime sits, open-mouthed. Then she shakes herself. ‘Willow, let’s not get spooked or carried away. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. This is folklore we’re talking about.’ She lays her hands on her knees and turns up her palms. ‘We have to focus on the facts. The stuff we do know.’ Willow turns her head slowly to look at her. Jaime pulls down a finger. ‘One, Paddy vanished without a trace. No forensic evidence, no clues, no note. But!’ She holds up a finger. ‘We can’t rule out that he left the house of his own accord. His fingerprints were everywhere anyway, so they can’t say for sure.’ She pulls another finger down. ‘Two, Sergeant Mayfield is definitely crooked. We know he’s been blackmailing Jesse to help him spy on people, but we don’t know why.’ A third finger goes down. ‘Three, we know Paddy found a strange book in the treehouse and looked at it alone. It’s missing and Sergeant Mayfield knew it was there because of his camera, and because he sent those boys to get it for him, so either he or Paddy must have it. That’s everything.’
She clasps her hands together and stares away. ‘We’ll know more after tonight. Then we can talk again about all this stuff. What do you think?’
She stares at Willow, hoping she will agree. She doesn’t want to think about anything but the known, hard facts. She wants to cling desperately to there being a sound and rational explanation and if they just look long enough and hard enough, they will find it. Jaime suddenly wants to collect up all the books and throw them out of the window. She doesn’t want them in her head.
Willow exhales slowly. ‘Okay,’ she shrugs but the look she gives Jaime suggests biting her lip is costing her dearly.
Jaime smiles in thanks. ‘Let’s go over the plan again.’
3
Jesse is woken mid-morning by the sound of his father crashing through the front door. He jerks awake, then freezes, listening to the door slamming followed by shaky footsteps moving sluggishly through to the lounge. The creak of springs followed by a loud burp lets Jesse know that his father has passed out on the sofa. Still, Jesse stays in bed just in case.
Wyatt is not in bed but Billy is. One eye is open as he lies on his side on the bottom bunk where the walls are covered in pictures of women he has torn out of magazines. A seductive shot of Pamela Anderson from Baywatch stands above the female cast of Friends, while Cindy Crawford fights for wall space with Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell.
‘Billy?’
‘What?’
‘Can I ask you a favour?’
Billy opens the other eye, sighs, then props himself up on one elbow. ‘Depends what it is.’
Jesse sits up, ruffles his hair and lowers his feet to the floor. ‘Are you going to the pub tonight?’
Billy frowns. ‘Wasn’t planning to, why?’
‘They have a band playing.’
‘So?’
Jesse shrugs. ‘Can I ask you to go? At 8 o’clock? As a favour?’
Now Billy’s eyes light up in interest. ‘What’s this about, Jesse?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah, I can’t say. Will you do it?’
‘Go to the pub at 8 o’clock. For how long?’
‘For as long as Sergeant Mayfield is there too.’
Now Billy’s face darkens and his eyes narrow. ‘What’s this got to do with Mayfield? What are you up to?’
‘Told you, I can’t say. All you have to do is go to the pub with Wyatt, have a good time, watch the band…’
‘And keep an eye on Mayfield?’
Jesse nods reluctantly. ‘If he seems like he’s leaving I need you and Wyatt to start a fight.’
Billy drops his head into his hands and rakes his fingers back through his short dark hair. ‘I mean, sounds like fun, but…’
‘Thanks, Billy. I’ll owe you.’
‘Yeah. You will,’ he looks up, nodding. ‘Soon as I think of something.’
‘There’s something else.’
Billy mutters under his breath. ‘What?’
‘I need a favour from Hairy Dave again – any chance you have another dirty tape I can bribe him with?’
Billy rolls his eyes before reaching under the bed and tugging out a grubby backpack. ‘Few in here. I guess you can help yourself, little brother.’
‘Thanks Billy. I mean it.’
Jesse feels his brother watching him for a while. He can feel his questions hanging in the air between them and as usual his own questions begin to fill his head and he wonders if there will ever be a right time to ask them.
Billy and Wyatt are still angry with their mother. They tend to view mental illness as some sort of deliberate weakness, some clever ploy that lazy, needy people use to get others to look after them. They’ve said before that they’re all better off without their mother and they’ve consistently refused to talk about her.
But Jesse wonders now… She disappeared too. She ran away. Like Paddy, but not like Paddy – she packed a bag and left a note. Jesse sees the words in his head. ‘This town is bad for me. I won’t be back.’
Selfish, they called her, crazy, depressed, unhinged. Better off without her. Jesse feels his stomach clenching and his scalp crawling with fear as the reality of tonight’s break-in hits him. There’s no turning back now.
4
Willow walks home after sharing a quiet lunch of pub-cooked chips with Jaime. Jaime’s mother, blooming with pregnancy, seemed exceptionally pleased that her daughter and Willow are friends and insisted on bringing up bowls of freshly cooked chips doused in salt and vinegar. Willow tried her best but picked at them listlessly; her mind on the mission and her stomach tight with the fear of what failure could mean.
When she returns to the shop, it’s busy with Saturday afternoon gift-buyers and her mother is at the till carefully wrapping a photo frame in lilac tissue paper. Her slim fingers work deftly and carefully as the customer, a middle-aged lady in denim dungarees, waits patiently. ‘Missing’ by Everything But The Girl is playing on the radio.
‘Need any help?’ Willow asks, slipping behind the counter. It’s then that she notices the polaroid camera sat next to the till. Her eyes light up. This would be much quicker than asking Hairy Dave to photocopy pages for them…
‘There’s some new stock in the back room needs unpacking,’ her mother replies and Willow nods, backing away with her eyes still on the camera.
It would be safer too, she thinks; they wouldn’t have to rely on Dave again, and photos would be easier to hide. Sure, Jaime has a whole notebook full of notes now hidden in her room but the book is different. Far more dangerous. But if they can take photos of the pages of the book they could sneak the whole thing back… Sergeant Mayfield might never know they were there.
5
Ralph has told his mother more lies in one day than he has in his entire life. He hates it. He hates the secrecy and sneakiness and wishes more than anything that he could just open up to her, just tell her the truth about everything.
He imagines it for a moment; telling her that the town policeman is a blackmailing spy, who probably has something to do with Paddy vanishing…and, oh by the way, Mum, don’t you feel like they gave up searching for Paddy pretty quickly? Don’t you think it feels like people are forgetting him already?
Would she agree? Or is she too much a part of it all? Ralph isn’t even sure what he means – he just knows somehow that he can’t tell her anything, not yet. They have very little evidence. Jesse Archer is a known troublemaker and Charlotte Maxwell loves this town.
He pictures her face earlier when she came back from work. She was grubby and flushed with bits of hay clinging to her hair but she couldn’t control or hide the excitement in her voice or face.
‘Margaret has made me an amazing offer, Ralphie. I just can’t believe it!’
He pretended he didn’t already know. He faked excitement and gratitude at Mayor Sumner’s generosity – yet more lies between he and his mother.
‘We can go and see it next weekend,’ she told him, biting her nails with nervous excitement. ‘They’re clearing it out at the moment. A few things need updating and so on. Ralph, can you believe it? Finally, a proper house! You’ll have a proper bricks and mortar bedroom! And a garden!’
He didn’t tell her that he likes the caravan just fine – that he has always liked it. It was his home. He remembers his mother telling him that it was his dad, Frankie, who bought them the caravan when he found out she was expecting Ralph. He’d used his savings and got out a loan to cover the rest of it. Ralph wonders if it is insulting his father’s memory to move out now, but he doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t know much about his father, or who he was, what he liked or didn’t like, because his mother has never liked talking about it.
As he arrives at The Hound and Hare he thinks about that word, home. Will a new house, one owned by the mayor, feel like home? Will Black Hare Valley still feel like home if they turn on it?
He goes through the front entrance and is met by the thick warmth of fire, noise and people, and it envelopes him tightly as he makes his way towards the bar. He spots Jesse’s older brothers lurking in the corner, the younger one looking bored and tired while the oldest one looks sharp and awake. The band are setting up their equipment and Jaime is sitting next to one of the front windows on a cosy cushion-covered bench with a book open on the table in front of her.
Ralph smiles in relief and makes his way over to her. The pub is full. People gather around tables and benches, drinks in hands. Jaime smiles weakly as he sits down opposite her. She pushes the book towards him and he glances down at him.
‘The Witch of The Valley? Our valley?’
‘Yep.’ Her gaze skirts quickly over the crowd. ‘It’s about witch trials here in the 1600s and a woman they killed called Agnes Salter.’
He frowns. ‘Don’t think I’ve heard that name.’
‘They burned her house down too,’ Jaime leans forward. ‘It was Black Hare Cottage.’
‘What? Really?’ Ralph feels a shiver twist down his spine.
‘Not the same one obviously. Someone must have rebuilt it and kept the name. I’d love to ask Iris Cotton about it, wouldn’t you?’
Ralph nods silently. He takes a nervous look around and swallows. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this, can you?’
‘No. Did you hide the saw?’
‘Yeah, it’s there. Ready.’ His gaze shifts to the older Archer boys in the corner. ‘Looks like Jesse arranged the back-up distraction.’
Suddenly, Jaime straightens up. ‘Take the book, Ralph.’
‘Huh? Why?’ She is staring over his head. He doesn’t have to look to know that Sergeant Mayfield has just walked into the pub. He can tell by the barely contained horror on Jaime’s face.
‘Do I go now?’
‘No, not yet. Take the book and look at it for a bit. Act casual. Chat to me a bit, then go.’
Ralph nods rather stiffly and starts flicking through the book. ‘Shit, Jaime.’
‘I know, I know. It’s okay, you can do it.’
‘But the rest of it…’ He’s feeling genuine fear now; thinking ahead to the walk to the tree and the sound of the chainsaw. He feels sick and shaky and wants to ask Jaime to come with him but he knows he can’t because that’s not part of the plan. It will look too suspicious.
He turns the pages of the book slowly, nodding his head and raising his eyebrows in mock interest.
‘I feel bad you know,’ whispers Jaime. ‘It’s Willow and Jesse who have got the worst bit.’
Ralph was just having the exact same thought. If he gets caught cutting the branches, he can explain it away. It’ll look odd, for sure, and he might get in trouble but he doesn’t think anyone will connect it to Paddy. Jaime gives him a firm nod. He rises, taking the book with him. He tucks it under one arm and tries to give a natural nod of thanks to Jaime.
‘How will we know?’ Jaime asks, staring up at him, her eyes just a little too wide. ‘If they’ve found it?’
‘I don’t know,’ he exhales hoarsely. ‘Maybe they’ll give a signal.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. But we’re all meeting at the ruins in the morning anyway. We’ll hear everything then.’
Her gaze darts away then she nods firmly. The band are all set up and Mayfield has his back to them, pint glass in hand.
Ralph mutters, ‘Wish me luck.’
‘You won’t need it. Night, Ralph.’
‘Night, Jaime.’
Ralph inhales, turns away and walks briskly with eyes fixed ahead to the doors, and out of the pub.
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 Thirteen “The Break-In”
The Glorious Outsiders 