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 Three “Paddy’s Treehouse”

photo 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

‘What?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Here.’ Paddy had returned the bandanna.

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

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

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

3

Now, Paddy hears a voice.

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

‘You’ve got a visitor!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And here he is again.

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

‘I need to talk to you.’

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

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

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

‘Okay. Hang on.’

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

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

‘What’re you doing?’

‘Nothing.’

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

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

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

Paddy hopes so.

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

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

‘What is it?’ he asks Jesse now.

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

‘I tried to burn down the school.’

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

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

‘Oh.’ A few beats later… ‘Wow.’

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

‘That’s probably a good thing.’

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

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Who the hell are you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You’re fourteen.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What about me?’

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

‘Not creepy at all…’ Jesse mutters.

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

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

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

‘And what? Mayfield just let you go?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘She won’t be for long…’

Thanks for reading!

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

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 Four “Willow Watches”

The Trees Want To Come In…

Flash fiction

Originally published on Medium.

photo is mine

They didn’t used to be so close.

The trees.

Come with me, let me show you. Room to room. Window to window. Do you see? So close now, so close.

photo is mine

A long time ago I used to call it a wall of green. Back in the days when people were still a thing, and I’d do the gardening on sunny Sunday afternoons. Every now and then I’d stop and rest, rub the small of my back and grin at the trees.

‘Look at that wall of green,’ I’d say.

Because it was. Firs taller than the house, giant oaks, poplars, willows, sycamores and ash. So many trees. In the winter most of them shed their leaves and looked sorry for themselves. They looked barren and stark, nothing to offer but the impressive silhouettes they made against a silver moon.

But in the summer it was something… A wall of green I called it. From the huge trees lining the bridge across the road, to the endless rows of oaks, beech and hazel lined up along the lane, to the trees that edged our garden. Even the trees we added, the pear, and the apples, the plum, the cherry, the buddleia and the lilac, they grew so fast and were soon so tall they joined that great green wall.

And beyond that, sat us, surveying our huge green lawn, smiling smugly at the borders left to go wild, at the constant buzzing in the borage and the buddleia. Oh, we were smug, weren’t we? Thought we were doing our bit.

And oh, I did love those trees, that wall of green. We felt sheltered behind it, like nothing could ever touch us, like nothing could get through. And though a busy road ran past us, it didn’t feel like that in the garden, behind that ever growing wall of green.

We could hide there. Live there. Lie back on the grass and stare at the clouds. Listen to the robins and the blackbirds and the tits. Watch the crows see off the buzzards, and gasp in delight whenever a red kite hovered over us.

But things are different now. That life, that world, over. Only ourselves to blame, and all that. Of course. We always knew it was coming, always knew we were doomed. Why? Well, because people are mostly just awful that’s why.

Anyway. It doesn’t matter.

Things are different now, that’s all there is to say. That’s all I need to worry about. And the trees are closer. I know that. I feel it in my bones, in my blood. I suppose I could go out there with a tape measure, make an experiment out of it, prove myself wrong or right, but really, what would be the point?

I know.

photo is mine

The trees are closer now. They’ve crept in. Bit by bit. They’ve grown, multiplied, reached higher, spread wider. The green is startling, I can tell you that. It hurts my eyes. It makes my vision blur if I stare too hard. I start to get lost in all that green. I think about opening the door and letting it in. Or wandering out to join them. I think I can see faces in the trees — maybe people who felt that same longing, people who opened their doors.

They didn’t use to be this close, filling every single window. I can’t escape them now. Every window is covered. They stand like sentries, turning my home into a prison. And I am not free. I cannot simply leave.

Every window, I tell you, every single window. The green fills the space and there is no room for anything else. The green taps its fingers against the windows, asking to come in. The green scratches and scrapes, prods and pokes. The green is only pretending to be shy.

The green is terrible and beautiful and it is only what we deserve, after all, we slaughtered them, hacked off their limbs, uprooted them, burnt them. The green just wants to say hello. And oh, I am tempted to open the doors, open the windows. Let it touch me. Wander barefoot and mad into it’s inevitable embrace.

photo is mine

I tell myself to hold on. To wait. To try to live. I might be the only one left…

I tell myself to be brave, to try to survive.

I tell myself the green is patient and wise, but maybe it doesn’t mean to hurt me.

But I also tell myself that perhaps the green is the better option, the kinder end, because something darker and uglier and thicker and gnarlier roars and rumbles to life under the very house I stand in.

The roots are awake.

The roots are closer now.

The roots want to come in.

Thanks for reading! This was written in response to the prompt ‘from a window’ on The Wild Writers Club. Initially I wanted to take a photo from every window in my house showing the close trees, bushes and greenery and writing a non-fic piece about how much I love it. However, I started to get an idea for a creepy story instead so that’s what I went with…