Pandora (6 page)

“You know Reverend Cope,” said Mabel, doing the introductions. “He is the secretary to the committee. This is Miss Hill, the school headmistress and our deputy chairwoman, and this is Mr Toy, the village undertaker, who is our treasurer. Oh, and Mr Jackson, of course.”

“And what do you do as a preservation committee?” asked Mrs Laskaris.

“We are concerned with keeping the character of our village intact against the likes of Councillor Sampson,” rasped Miss Hill, a tall, angular woman who spoke in a hard, unpleasant voice.

“Who?” asked Mr Laskaris.

“Councillor Sampson forced through the legislation to build the business development park, as well as the associated housing development outside the village,” explained Reverend Cope.

The faces of the committee members twisted in disdain at the mention of the councillor and the development.

“With no regard for our values, our way of life,” said Mr Toy in a dry, exact voice, which seemed to be drained of all life and fun.

“And with no regard for the trouble the influx of people will bring to our village,” added Miss Hill wrathfully. Her unfriendly gaze took in the three girls, and Pandora guessed that Miss Hill didn’t like having to find room for new pupils in her school. “Hence, it falls to us to ensure that standards are maintained in all aspects of village life.”

“Standards? That sounds more like a moral attitude than preservation,” said Mr Laskaris.

“The one naturally leads to the other,” said the Reverend Cope, flaring his nostrils and looking in dislike at Pandora.

“Indeed, our work on the Environmental Committee demonstrates this clearly,” observed Mr Toy. “Littering, for example, shows the moral vacuum inherent in the individual.”

“Yes,” said Mr Jackson, as though trying to impose his presence on the room. His voice was rather colourless, as was his personality. The rest of the committee seemed oblivious to him. He looked at the twins while fiddling with a large pair of binoculars that hung from his neck.

Pandora was aware of an aroma of stale sweat that came from his green jumper and shirt, while his thick-corded trousers could have done with a wash. Or being burnt.

“Have we met?” asked Pandora, looking at him more closely. He seemed somehow familiar.

“I don’t believe so,” replied Mr Jackson, looking somewhat flustered. “After all, you are new, so how could you have seen me anywhere?”

“You just look familiar,” said Pandora, wondering why he seemed so tetchy over a simple question.

“And the Village Hall Committee also takes a stand against degeneracy,” interrupted Miss Hill. “We must maintain vigilance in who we allow to rent the hall.”

“Even our work on the Flowers and Borders Committee takes on a moral aspect when one considers the duty we have to show the true face of Willowcombe Clatford,” said Cope.

“Hear, hear,” murmured Mr Toy in what was almost animation. “Very well phrased.”

“Indeed, I must make that the centre piece of the next magazine,” nodded Miss Hill. “I print the village magazine,” she explained in a condescending manner.

“And no doubt serve on the Editorial Committee,” murmured Mr Laskaris.

“We all serve on the Editorial Committee,” said Mabel sharply. “It is a position of great responsibility.”

“Gosh, you sound ever so busy,” burbled Mrs Laskaris, looking at the committed committee members rather like a spaniel hoping for a biscuit. “However do you find time to do everything?”

“There are many more members,” explained Mr Jackson.

“The rank and file, so to speak,” said Mr Toy. “They implement and follow the policies we decide upon.” His attitude made it clear that the rank and file were not on the same level as the policy makers.

“And what do you do for fun?” asked Mr Laskaris, a faint hint of mockery in his voice.

“I find that the work is its own reward,” snapped Miss Hill with the energy of the zealot.

Pandora suddenly wondered how empty Miss Hill’s life was, if she had to fill it with village concerns.

“That would make a fine editorial in the next village magazine,” nodded Mr Toy. “I see our next issue will be the best yet.”

“Indeed, but our work will not be done if we do not do our work,” said Cope, looking as though he were revealing some great inner truth.

“Yes, I must get home and begin drafting the editorial and front page,” said Miss Hill with something approaching enthusiasm. “I will see you, Mrs Laskaris, in my office at school tomorrow morning. Eight forty-five, sharp.”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” said Mrs Laskaris, who had forgotten about the appointment.

“And I look forward to seeing you at our Wednesday church service,” said Reverend Cope. “Of course, I realise you may not be able to attend both Sunday services...” He raised an enquiring eyebrow, as though challenging the family to dare to miss any of his sermons.

“Oh, not at all,” gushed Mrs Laskaris. “We’ll be there!”

Pandora opened her eyes in despair. Her mother had never shown any interest in going to church before, and certainly not twice in one day. Wasn’t Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?

“Excellent, I shall see you all at six o’clock,” said Cope, picking up his hat and nodding to the group. “Ladies, gentlemen.”

The committee gave a protracted series of goodbyes to everyone in the room as they left until finally only Pandora and her family remained, seated in Mabel’s uncomfortable chairs, looking at Great Aunt Mabel herself as she settled herself in a rocking chair after showing her guests out, a look of satisfaction on her thin lips.

“Such a devoted group, concerned with the wellbeing of all,” said Mabel, picking up a ball of wool and two knitting needles. She began to rock in her chair while her needles clicked together, establishing a tempo of creaking wood and clacking needle that slowly induced nausea in anyone sitting too close.

“We’ve only really met the Reverend Cope, of course,” said Mrs Laskaris, making it sound like an apology and a promise to do better.

“A fine man of the cloth. I’m sure the girls will learn much from his church services,” continued Aunt Mabel serenely. “And they will learn even more from Sunday School.”

“Sunday School?” repeated Pandora incredulously. “There’s an actual school on Sundays? And we’re going to it?”

“Yes, dear, it will be for your own good,” smiled Mabel.

“How will it be for my own good?”

A flash of anger at being questioned appeared in Mabel’s eyes, but it disappeared almost instantly, leaving Pandora wondering if she had imagined it.

“By giving you a thorough education in the Bible.”

“Why will that do me good?” asked Pandora in puzzlement.

“The Bible is the source of all our morality, our knowledge of right and wrong,” clucked Mabel, never missing a stitch in her knitting.

“What, like saying in Isaiah that children should be slaughtered for their father’s crimes, even though in another part of the Bible it says you shouldn’t suffer for the sins of the father?” asked Pandora as Mabel stared in surprise.

“See, I already know about the Bible,” continued Pandora. “I learnt it all from Dad years ago when we studied the Greek Testament. So I don’t need to go to Sunday School.”

Mabel shot a venomous look at Mr Laskaris, who was smiling proudly at his daughter’s knowledge, though his smile was tinged with sadness–he and Pandora had spent a lot of time together when she was younger, sharing their interests, before she hit her teenage years and developed her own separate life.

“I see that your Bible knowledge is rather incomplete and one sided,” said the old woman after a pause of several seconds in which she groped for a reply. “Sunday School will no doubt repair the damage of your misunderstandings.”

“How can I have misunderstood? Isn’t it god’s word?”

“Those with insufficient knowledge can twist the words to suit their own purposes,” snapped Mabel, dropping a stitch. “Now look what you’ve made me do!”

“How do you know your interpretation is better than Dad’s?” demanded Pandora, her temper now rising. “Are you saying you’re better than him?”

“I see there is a lot of work to be done,” snapped Mabel, her face revealing that she did indeed think she was better, though she quickly smothered the expression under a guise of long-suffering martyrdom. “How fortunate that you have moved here, before it is too late.”

“You’re the one who needs to learn, if you think you’re better than someone else just because of your Bible interpretation,” snorted Pandora in anger. “Go online and you’ll see hundreds of views on what the Bible means.”

“Fortunately for education and decency, there is no Internet connection in the village,” snarled Mabel, delighted to have found one area where her word was definite and the victory hers. “No company can get a signal out to us, so we are spared the filth and degradation that the Internet imports into people’s homes.”

“What?” exclaimed Pandora. “But you can get dongles that pick up the signal and—”

“There is no connection to the village,” Mabel repeated with a maddening satisfaction. It was clear that, in Mabel’s mind, this closed the discussion. “Now, what did you two girls get up to yesterday?” asked Mabel of the twins, pointedly ignoring the seething Pandora.

“We went to the quarry,” said Sarah.

Mabel started in anger. “You should keep away from the quarry. It’s dangerous,” she snapped.

“In what way?” asked Anne with genuine interest.

“Dangerous,” replied the old woman assertively. “How did you find out about it?”

“We were invited.”

“By whom?” demanded Mabel sharply.

“Teddy Rawlins,” replied Sarah, happily ignorant of the fresh surge of anger in the old woman’s eyes.

“Teddy Rawlins should know better than to encourage other children to imitate him,” said Mabel. “He is a naughty child. More must be done about him and the other children on the estate. And what nasty thing happened at the quarry?”

“Nothing,” said Anne in surprise. “We played in the old car left there, and some of the others had a swim in the pool and there was a lovely little dog there called Patch.”

Mabel sharply drew her breath in. “They were lucky they weren’t drowned and that dog is out of control.”

Pandora realised with a feeling of unease that, in Mabel’s view, she had spoken, and therefore it was so. Like Pandora’s mother, Mabel’s beliefs overrode mere facts.

“He was nice,” said Sarah. “Can we have a dog, Mum?”

“No, and don’t contradict your Great Aunt,” said their mother sharply.

“And what is that on your knee, dear?” asked Mabel with a sly smile.

“Oh, that,” said Sarah after looking down at a small scab. “I fell over on the rocks and cut myself.”

“And yet you told me nothing bad happened at the quarry!” replied Mabel with smug satisfaction. Her tongue moistened her lips, lizard-like, as though delighted to have caught out the girls in a lie.

Pandora knew then that she hated the old woman.

“Nothing bad did happen,” said Anne in puzzlement, which earned another reprimand from their mother for arguing with their elders. The twins stared.

“I know where I’ve seen Mr Jackson before,” interrupted Pandora without thinking, the talk of the quarry giving her a sudden flash of recognition. “He was the man watching us from up on top of the quarry ledge when everyone went for a swim.”

“Rubbish!” retorted Mabel.

“What?” asked Pandora, taken aback at the venom in the old woman’s voice.

“The idea that Mr Jackson would be at the quarry! It’s a disgraceful thing to make up.”

“I’m not making it up,” snapped Pandora in anger. “I swear it was him. It was his build and height, and he had those binoculars hanging round his neck. That’s what I saw glinting in the sun.”

“Why on earth shouldn’t Mr Jackson be at the quarry?” demanded Mabel. “He’s a keen birdwatcher, a most innocent and admirable hobby.”

“Really?” asked Pandora, wondering at the sudden shift from flat-out denial that Mr Jackson was at the quarry to defending his presence there. “Then why did he run away when he saw me approaching him?”

“If he was there at all, he was bird watching,” said Mabel, her thin lips clamping together. “And something will have to be done about that dog and that Rawlins’ boy,” she added, the motion of her knitting needles and the rocking of her chair increasing with each word. “They are a menace and have been since the day they moved here. They should try and be more like Mr Jackson’s daughter, Tara. Such a polite, quiet, thoughtful girl. A credit to her parents. And a reflection on them,” she added, glaring significantly at Pandora.

“Well, maybe the Rawlins family will move out again,” replied Pandora, her tone making it clear that she wished she could.

“Oh no,” replied Mabel with a malicious look in her eyes that made Pandora shiver. “Nobody ever leaves the village.”

Monday morning dawned as bright and cheerful as the weekend had done. Mrs Laskaris roused Pandora and the twins early to get ready for their first day at their new school. She couldn’t wait to see her daughters dressed in their new uniforms.

“It itches,” complained Pandora. The heavy green skirt was especially uncomfortable.

“Oh, stop complaining,” replied her mother. “You all look lovely. Now, make sure you stand up straight, don’t slouch and try to speak clearly and properly.”

“Yes, Mother,” replied Pandora, glancing at the twins and rolling her eyes. Surprisingly, they didn’t giggle as they usually did but just smiled quietly. Pandora hoped they weren’t upset about anything.

“I’ve only got your best interest at heart,” snapped Mrs Laskaris, her face flushing a deep red colour. “Not that I expect any thanks for it.”

Pandora lowered her head and concentrated on her cereal. When their mother was in a mood, it was best just to let her get on with it. Probably, she was concerned that her daughters would let her down and that this would reflect badly upon her. Her mother placed great emphasis on public appearances.

Pandora continued to squirm as she buttered her toast. The new skirt was finding all sorts of embarrassing places to irritate. Did the manufacturer deliberately make it to be so uncomfortable against the skin? She resolved that before she left the house, she would slip a pair of shorts underneath the itchy green fabric.