Pandora (5 page)

Pandora sprinted after him, but she knew it was no good. She was too far away. By the time she reached the trees, the man was long gone. She stood, panting, and looked down on the quarry. From here, she had a perfect view of the children playing below. Feeling uncertain and worried, Pandora made her way back down.

The next day, their first Sunday in the village, the family was awoken by the church bells pealing out at seven in the morning.

“Gawd,” groaned Pandora groggily as the din pulled her from a strange dream. Something like a woman, but with snakes instead of hair, had chased Pandora through a dungeon filled with statues. As she ran, a blue light had permeated the area, almost blinding her, while behind the monstrous woman had been screaming that Pandora had to release them all.

Pandora raised her head from her pillow and looked out through her dark, tangled hair. The door burst open and her mother stormed in.

“Time to get up, you’re late,” she said.

“Wha’?” mumbled Pandora, trying to grab at reality with her fragmented, half-asleep brain. The dream faded.

“Don’t just lie there,” snapped her mother, as though Pandora was being deliberately obstructive.

“Whazzamatter?” asked Pandora, trying to get her tongue to wrap itself around the words. “Is there a fire?”

“We’re going to be late for church.”

A pause followed the statement as the words filtered down through Pandora’s drowsy mind until they hit the bottom. There they sank, leaving just one word sitting in the centre of her brain.

“
Church?
Since when do we go to church?”

“Since now,” said Mrs Laskaris crossly. “So get up or you won’t have time for breakfast, and it will be your lookout.” On which enigmatic note, Mrs Laskaris strode from the room but not before pulling the curtains back and flooding the area with early morning sunshine.

“Greargh!” moaned Pandora. Church? On a
Sunday
? They really did do things differently here. As she shuffled downstairs, she could hear her father protesting, though for a different reason.

“I’m Greek Orthodox,” he exclaimed. “Why do you expect me to go to a Church of England service at St Marks?”

“And when did you ever attend a Greek church?” demanded Mrs Laskaris as she thrust a light jumper over Sarah’s head, despite the girl’s muffled protest that it was too warm. “Stop complaining, you look very smart in it.”

“How could I?” replied Mr Laskaris testily. “Lowell didn’t have one. Why do you think I kept in touch with the Greek Church in Oldgate through their spiritual correspondence course? Why do you think I tried to meditate with the Bible at least once a week?”

“Then, it will do you good,” replied his wife, employing her special brand of illogic logic. “This family needs more religion.”

“The point is I already have my own religion,” snapped Mr Laskaris.

“Now we’re in Willowcombe Clatford, we’ll do as the rest of the village does,” shrieked Mrs Laskaris. “Do you want to be pointed at for being different?”

“It’s never bothered me, so can I go back to bed?” asked Pandora without much hope.

The family walked through the graveyard toward the church in resentful silence. Mr Laskaris’ face was locked in a scowl, while his wife was dragging the twins along with scant regard for their shorter legs. She really lost her temper when the two girls suddenly pulled back, their faces white and strained.

“Get a move on!” she screamed at them as quietly as she could. They were almost in earshot of the rest of the congregation, who were being guided into the church by the vicar, and Mrs Laskaris didn’t want to be embarrassed by her family.

“They don’t like the graves,” said Pandora in irritation at her mother’s lack of observation and kindness. Immediately, the scowl on their father’s face disappeared and a look of concern, tinged with guilt, replaced it.

“Come on, girls,” said Mr Laskaris, putting a protective hand on each of their shoulders. “The dead can’t hurt you, you know.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sarah, clutching at her father’s hand.

“Yes. The dead stay dead.”

Sarah and Anne smiled, feeling a little more reassured, and their father swung them both along, making them giggle.

Pandora smiled, glad that at least her dad was concerned for his children rather than himself. Her smile dwindled as their mother thrust them through the church door and into a rear pew. They were a little late and everyone was now inside, but the service hadn’t started, so once again, her mother was overreacting to the situation.

Once they were settled, Pandora took the opportunity to look around the draughty church at the rest of the villagers. Adults and children alike were all smartly dressed and standing rigidly upright as they waited for the service to begin, all eyes fixed at the front of the church, row after row of expectant faces waiting patiently.

“Let us pray,” said a voice, startling Pandora, who had been gazing about her. She looked to the front of the church and saw the vicar was now in the pulpit. “Our Father,” he began, and Pandora lost interest.

Pandora was rather uncertain on the whole issue of god. She didn’t consider herself an unbeliever, as such. She was just reserving judgement until she had more to go on. For one thing, why were there so many religions to choose from? Why didn’t god appear in the sky and let everyone know exactly which god he was and how people should behave? After all, Christians, Muslims and Jews all sincerely believed that their version of god was right, so at least two religions had to be wrong, possibly all three, which wasn’t fair on devout believers who were born into the wrong religion. It didn’t make any sense.

Pandora’s thoughts were so absorbing, she failed to see her family leaning forward, their faces rapt in attention, and a strange blue light tracing around them, which pulsed in time with the vicar’s voice, filling the pew and keeping their attention fixed on the vicar’s every word.

“There, wasn’t that good?” exclaimed Mrs Laskaris as they left the church and joined the line to shake hands with the vicar, the Reverend Aubrey Cope.

Pandora rubbed her eyes, wondering why there seemed to be a blue tint to the air. She decided it was probably just the dazzle of the bright sunshine after the gloomy church.

“Now, we mustn’t be late for Aunt Mabel,” continued Mrs Laskaris in a loud voice so people could overhear. “Thank you, Reverend, that was a lovely sermon.”

“I sincerely hope you all took something from it,” replied Reverend Cope with a rather private and unpleasant smile. He looked sharply at Mr Laskaris, who smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes, much food for thought, my goodness me, yes,” he said.

Pandora looked at her father and wondered why he was talking in broken sentences. Another unpleasant surprise followed immediately.

“Thank you, sir,” chorused the twins, standing straight and holding their hands in front of their pretty pink dresses. Pandora almost choked at the twins’ demure posture and grave faces.

Reverend Cope nodded, a smile of satisfaction on his lips, which faded as he looked at Pandora.

“Have you nothing to say?” he asked.

Pandora shrugged. She didn’t care for the look of hunger in his eyes. She suspected he wanted them at the church simply as numbers for his flock rather than as individuals to be welcomed. She thought for a few moments before asking, “How do you know you’re right, given that other religions exist? I mean, how can you be really certain?”

“Pandora!” gasped her mother in outrage as the Reverend Cope’s mouth dropped open in shock. “How dare you ask such a thing of the vicar?”

“How else am I going to find things out?” asked Pandora in bafflement at her mother’s attitude.

“Do not worry, Mrs Laskaris,” smiled Reverend Cope, though his smile was rather tight, as though screwed into place, and more resembled a snarl. “Children have much to learn, and it is a delight to hear a child asking their unformed questions.”

“Then what’s the answer?” challenged Pandora, feeling her temper rise at the vicar’s condescending tone and her mother’s behaviour.

“This is hardly the place for such a conversation,” snapped the vicar, who seemed to be strangely rattled at being questioned. “Suffice to say that a close study of scripture reveals all.”

“Really? Then why are there so many disagreements about religion?”

“I do not have the time to discuss the mysterious ways of god on your level,” said the Reverend Cope sharply. “I have never known such behaviour and poor manners.”

“Poor manners?” repeated Pandora in annoyance. “All I did was ask a question, which you should be able to answer, so why haven’t you?”

“I have answered it. If you do not understand the answer, that is not my concern.”

“Pandora! You apologise to Reverend Cope immediately,” squawked her mother. She had been imagining the reaction she would get when the villagers knew she was the niece of Mabel Whitemarsh, but her wretched, selfish daughter had spoiled it all.

“I only asked a question, what’s wrong with that?” Abruptly, the blue sheen that Pandora had been barely conscious of disappeared. The sounds of birds singing and people walking on the gravel path flooded into her ears, while the smells of the freshly mown grass and the musty church assaulted her. It was as though a bubble had just popped.

“Yes, what is wrong...” asked Sarah, taking hold of Pandora’s hand.

“With asking questions,” finished Anne, taking the other hand.

“I see there is much to do with this family,” said Reverend Cope in a low, enigmatic tone before stamping away to talk to some other parishioners. Pandora could hear him moaning about the youth of today and how they had no respect, while his sympathetic parishioners agreed that it had all been so much better back in the old days.

The children of the congregation, who were standing quietly in front of their parents, looked disapprovingly at Pandora and her family.

“Did you hear that, Father?” asked one boy who looked as though a bad smell had wafted under his nose. “She was rude to the vicar!”

“I heard, Archibald,” replied his father grimly, holding his son as though fearing moral contaminant. “She needs to learn some manners. And respect!”

“I am ashamed of you,” hissed Mrs Laskaris in fury. “Saying such things to a man of the cloth!”

“The man of the cloth said some pretty nasty things to me, but you don’t seem to care about that,” retorted Pandora. She glanced at her father, ignoring her mother. “And what’s with you and that broken English, all that
goodness, yes, yes,
stuff? You speak English perfectly.”

“I don’t know,” said her father, who seemed to have regained his vocal ability. “I must have had a senior moment. It happens as you get older.”

“Pandora Laskaris, don’t you think this is the end of the matter,” hooted her mother in suppressed wrath. “If we didn’t have to get to Aunt Mabel's house, I’d give you a piece of my mind. From now on, everyone is going to be on their best behaviour. Is–that–clear?”

Pandora would have argued further, but she felt her father’s restraining hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off with irritation, hurting his feelings, but at that moment she just didn’t care. She sometimes felt her father sacrificed what was right just for the sake of a quiet life.

Mrs Laskaris spent the entire walk to her aunt’s house scalding her family, pausing only when they passed someone in the street to give a cheerfully false, “Good afternoon!” It was a relief to reach Aunt Mabel’s home. Mrs Laskaris straightened her awful, cheap hat, which only ever came out on special occasions, and rapped on the heavy brass doorknocker.

After a slight pause, the door opened and Pandora saw her aunt for the first time.

Aunt Mabel, or rather Great Aunt Mabel, was a tall, thin woman, wearing expensive, sombre clothes. She wore no jewellery other than a pearl necklace, which hung low on her old-fashioned cardigan. Her hair was grey and ruthlessly set in a conservative style. Behind her glasses, her dark, beady eyes swung over the family with a penetrating look.

Pandora felt that the smile on the old woman’s face owed more to polite convention than warm greeting.

“Hello, Penny, my dear,” said Mabel to Mrs Laskaris. She offered her cheek to be kissed but didn’t permit her niece’s lips to make contact with the dry, rouged skin.

“Hello, Aunt Mabel!” exclaimed Mrs Laskaris. “Well, here we are.”

“Evidently,” said the old woman, smothering the tart comment with another false smile. “These must be your daughters.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Laskaris, thrusting the girls forward as though eager for approval. “The twins, Sarah and Anne, and Pandora, the eldest. Say hello to your aunt, girls.”

“Hello,” said the twins in unison, while Pandora mumbled, “All right?” She was already embarrassed by her mother’s eagerness to please her aunt.

“You should call me Great Aunt Mabel,” said the old woman, her tone more instructional than inviting.

“And you remember Georges, of course?” continued Mrs Laskaris, taking her husband’s arm in a wifely manner, much to his surprise.

“Of course,” replied Mabel. “How are you, George?” She seemed to emphasise the anglicising of his Greek name.

Mr Laskaris replied, in a level tone. “Very well, thank you for asking, Aunt Mabel.” The slight inflection of
aunt
told Pandora there was little love between her father and his wife’s aunt.

“Do come through,” said Mabel. “We’re in the dining room. The committee have just popped by for a coffee.”

“The committee?” asked her mother in her false, bright tone.

“The Village Preservation Committee, to be exact” clarified Mabel. “I am the chairwoman.” She opened a door and ushered her guests in. The four people in the room rose from their seats.

Pandora was surprised to see the Reverend Cope. He must have run to overtake them and get to Mabel’s house first. He did look somewhat flushed in the face, but maybe that was because he was still upset about the morning.