Happy Valley brings crime drama to life in Calder Valley, West Yorkshire. It centers on Catherine Cawood, a police sergeant tackling local crime. Gritty realism shines through. Storylines grip you tight. You won’t want to miss it.

Meet the characters from Happy Valley

Tommy Lee Royce

Oh man, Tommy is the kind of character you love to hate — volatile, dangerous, and somehow magnetic in the worst way. He’s a walking crisis, full of spite and aching, awful history, and you just feel like you can’t look away (also he has this weird knack for knowing exactly the right thing to say to rile people up). He’s brutal but oddly private at times, like he could cry in the rain and then be back to menace five minutes later — yes, that makes zero sense, but that’s Tommy. He’s chaos with a face and a plan, and honestly you can’t separate the menace from the tragedy, which is probably the point.

Clare Cartwright

Clare is the soft-spoken linchpin who somehow holds a million tiny catastrophes together — warm, sharp, and as real as it gets. She’s a recovering addict turned unofficial life-coach for anyone dumb enough to let her, fiercely loyal and funny in a low-key, sarcastic way (she’ll roast you lovingly and then make you tea). She’s messy in a human way, brilliant at practical things like finding lost hope and fixing broken cabinets — and also kind of a homebody who can suddenly go off like a rocket, which you wouldn’t expect. There’s this steady kindness to her that sneaks up on you; she’s the friend who remembers your birthday and your childhood trauma and still brings cake.

Catherine Cawood

Catherine is this relentless, no-nonsense force — a police sergeant who’s been carved out by grief and hard work, and she wears it like armor (but sometimes the armor squeaks). She’s blunt, stubborn, impossibly brave and ferociously maternal, which makes her both infuriating and deeply, deeply admirable; she’ll shout at you for your own good and then apologize later, maybe. There’s a dry humor in her that surfaces at the weirdest moments, and she loves routine — tea, a cigarette maybe once upon a time, and standing on the moors glaring into the distance like a lighthouse. She’s complicated, painfully loyal, and sometimes soft enough to ruin you if you’ve got the nerve to be close.

Ryan Cawood

Ryan is the quiet, tense one who carries a lot and doesn’t always know how to set it down; broody, protective, and frustratingly stubborn. He’s got this simmering anger but also moments of real tenderness — like he’ll defend someone to the death and then go home and stare at the ceiling for ages, thinking about nothing and everything. He’s often underestimated (which he likes) and has weird little habits — always chewing the end of a biro, or keeping receipts from places he hates but misses — and yes, he’s messy about feelings but weirdly meticulous about other stuff. He’s a classic “don’t ask, don’t tell” type until you do, and then he’ll rivet you with something he says that makes you blink.

Ann Gallagher

Ann is shockingly resilient — smart, brave, and quietly fierce in a way that creeps up on you; she smiles and then hits you with a look that says she’s already three steps ahead. She’s practical, cerebral, and stubborn in an admirable way (also likes lists, which is oddly endearing), with a backbone of steel beneath a very normal exterior — she bakes, she reads, she keeps a plant alive against all odds. There’s trauma in her story but not a single shred of self-pity; instead she channels it into purpose and this focused calm that’s both unnerving and inspiring. She’s tender when she wants to be, coolly strategic when necessary, and occasionally really bad at small talk — which is somehow perfect.