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1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God, no.

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

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

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

Oh, Christ.

Won’t he ever give up?

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

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

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

‘I wasn’t worried.’

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you were, she thinks.

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

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

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

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

Go, please, just go.

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

Willow releases the tiniest of sighs.

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

She raises her eyebrows and waits.

‘The new people arrived.’

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

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

‘Yeah, the girl was out there earlier.’

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

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

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

He opens the door. ‘As you were.’

‘Goodbye, Vicar.’

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

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

‘Is he gone?’

‘He’s gone.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m going to Paddy’s.’

‘Thought so.’

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘They?’

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

‘Yes, Jesse came in again.’

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

‘Okay, thanks Mr Finnis.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Jaime.’

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

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

‘Everything happened at once!’ he tells her.

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

‘Yeah, I work there.’

‘Her parents own it,’ Paddy adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why all the questions?’ he mutters.

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

‘What?’ Jesse blinks at her.

‘You know what I’m talking about!’

‘No, I fucking don’t!’

‘Willow -’

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

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

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

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

Paddy smiles while Willow growls.

‘You’re his fucking bully! Bully!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘She wants to be…’ Jesse murmurs.

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

Willow elbows him. ‘You would.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Does seem kind of strange,’ admits Paddy.

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

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

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

‘He was in handcuffs.’

Jesse’s face burns.

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

Thanks for reading!

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

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

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