Pandora (8 page)

“Sounds good to me,” murmured Pandora to herself. It certainly seemed more interesting than
Harriet the Hippo Gets Stuck in the Bath (a fable for young readers)
. She signed the book out in the huge ledger and walked to the exit. As she did, a strange grinding noise came from behind her. She looked back over her shoulder but couldn’t see anything. Just the two sections of the library. Except... it looked as though the approved section, with its white, ordered shelving, had somehow grown bigger and had extended just a little way further toward the old section, making the untamed tangle of books and lopsided shelves just a little bit smaller.

Shaking her head at her imagination, Pandora walked out.

Pandora found herself spending more time in the company of Zoe than anyone else in the days that followed. She didn’t know if it was simply because they were the two newest pupils which brought them together or if there was something more, but Pandora didn’t care. She was even beginning to admit that Willowcombe Clatford did seem to be a nice place to live. It was, therefore, something of a shock to be reminded of what she had left behind in Lowell.

It happened as Pandora and Zoe emerged after eating their healthy school lunch of salad and cheese. As usual, Pandora was wistfully thinking that a bag of chips would have been preferable, but this was a minor grumble. At that moment, all seemed good in the world. In the schoolyard, some of the younger girls had brought out skipping ropes, while others were playing hopscotch. Most of the boys stood in groups, though the younger ones ran round, chasing each other and playing tag games. It was this that caught everyone’s attention as one young boy, as he ran after a friend, was deliberately and viciously kicked by another pupil.

Pandora stared in shock, as did many others in the schoolyard. The culprit was a teenage boy, aged about fifteen, who roared in laughter with his friend at the small boy who lay on the floor, clutching his ankle and crying in pain.

Pandora looked at the guffawing teenagers and recognised the type from Lowell. The grimy bodies under the grimy clothes, the cheap, chunky jewellery and the unhealthy skin that looked as though it had never heard of fresh vegetables or fruit. Their cold, dead eyes revealed that they were uncaring of anyone or anything except their own gratification.

“Who are they?” asked Pandora.

Zoe rolled her eyes.

“Craig Mitchell and Wayne Jones. They only started about two weeks ago, but they’ve already got a reputation for doing things like that.”

“I take it Craig is the one with the big letter ‘K’ hanging from his neck?”

“Yes. I don’t know if he thinks it’s cool to spell it that way or if he’s just too thick to spell it properly. They shouldn’t be wearing jewellery anyway. It’s against school policy.”

“Looks like the school is finally catching up with them,” observed Pandora.

Zoe looked round and saw a teacher was bearing down on the scene. “That’s Miss Saunders, I think. She teaches the little kids.”

“What is going on here?” demanded Miss Saunders, looking at the crying boy on the ground and the rings and necklaces worn by the two boys. If anything, it was these which seemed to infuriate the teacher more than the crying boy. “Rings and other jewellery are strictly against the school uniform policy.”

The two boys looked at the female teacher with contempt.

“So what?” demanded Jones.

“So what?” repeated Miss Saunders in shock.

“Yeah, so what?” sneered Mitchell. “What you gonna do about it?”

“Kindly remove them at once,” snapped Mrs Saunders.

“Fuckin’ make us,” snapped Jones.

Miss Saunders mouth literally fell open. “I, I have never been spoken to in such a way, you ought to be ashamed,” she spluttered.

“Fuck you,” laughed Jones, delighted to have got such a reaction from the teacher.

“Report to Miss Hill’s office immediately!” shouted Miss Saunders. It was clear she felt that this was the ultimate sanction, which no one could defy.

“Make us,” snarled Jones.

“Yeah, make us,” snapped Mitchell. “Come on, make us! You touch me, I’ll get my dad down here and he knows a top lawyer and he’ll do you for assault.”

Miss Saunders swayed and looked as though she would fall.

“Blimey,” whispered Pandora. “She looks as though she’s never been spoken to like that before.”

“She probably hasn’t,” murmured Zoe. “You’re still new, so you might not have noticed, but this place is... weird. None of the kids ever argue with the teachers or answer back or go where they’re not supposed to.”

“It will be interesting to see how they deal with those two idiots,” replied Pandora as Miss Saunders finally found her voice.

“Go to Miss Hill’s office! Now!” she shouted in anger.

“Screw you,” crowed Jones, brushing his hand through his hair and grinning at the girls who were watching.

Pandora noticed that the native Willowcombe pupils seemed to be as horrified as Miss Saunders, who was clearly at a loss in dealing with the situation.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” she cried.

“Back off, bitch,” sneered Mitchell, snapping his fingers in the shocked teacher’s face, a move and catchphrase copied from a comedian on television.

“How dare you?” cried Miss Saunders in horror as she turned and blundered away, unable to comprehend what she had just heard.

“That is going to cause trouble,” said Zoe, as they watched the distressed teacher run indoors.

“I don’t know, it happened all the time at the old school, but the teachers could never do anything about it, so they never even tried.”

“Like I said, things are different here.”

Mitchell and Jones walked away, deciding–in spite of their bravado–to move from the scene of their crime, leaving behind a small crowd of students made up of both the new and village-born pupils. This was one of the few times the two groups had ever come together.

“I can’t believe the way they just acted,” said Grace Gideon in horror. “My parents will never believe me when I tell them!”

“I hope you turn that to your advantage,” said Kylie Withers, one of the new pupils from the development. “Whenever my mum doesn’t believe me, I make sure she pays for it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Grace in confusion.

Kylie rubbed the tip of her thumb across her fingers and smiled unpleasantly. “Make them pay,” she said, greedily. “The last time my mum didn’t believe something I told her, I did the sob stuff and I got some wicked nail extensions out of it.”

“What will happen to them? Craig and Wayne?” asked Pandora, noticing that the Willowcombe-born children were all looking in horror at Kylie and her false nails.

“I have no idea,” said Duncan Tyler primly, another native of the village. “I suppose they’ll be dealt with by Miss Hill.”

“I wonder what she’ll do with them?” said Grace. “I’d hate to be in their shoes right now. Miss Hill really scares me when she gives me that look of hers.” A nod went round the local children, drawing baffled looks from the half dozen or so who had only recently moved to the village.

“Why are you afraid of her?” asked Kylie scornfully. “Teachers can’t touch you. It’s assault if they do. Everyone knows that.”

“It’s Miss Hill,” said Grace in disbelief. “She’s
in
charge
.”

“So what?” demanded Darren Bright, another of the new children at the school. “She’s just a teacher. Why are you scared of her at all?”

Pandora looked at the anxiety on the faces of the Willowcombe children and the scorn or indifference on the faces of those who had only recently moved to the village. She rubbed her head, feeling she almost had hold of something important. It wasn’t just the difference in behavior; it was the way they viewed the world, the way they experienced it.

“It’s Miss Hill,” said Grace again, as though stating the obvious. “She’s the headmistress. You may as well say you don’t want to do well in your exams!”

“Exams?” said Darren in confusion. “Who cares about exams? As soon as I’m out of school, I’m going back to Nottingham. There’s always plenty of bar work in the clubs and pubs. So you get paid
and
you get free booze!”

“Sod that, it’s the dole for me,” said Kylie cheerfully. “Have a kid, get a house, all paid for, that will do me nicely.”

“Is that all you want from life?” demanded Grace in a horrified of tone. “Working in pubs and the dole?”

“What else is there?” asked Kylie.

“I’m going to be a doctor,” said Duncan.

“I’m going to be a solicitor,” said Grace.

“Why?” asked Pandora suddenly.

“What?”

“Why are you going to be a doctor?”

“Well,” said Duncan slowly, looking puzzled. “I just am. It’s what I’ve always wanted. What my parents want.”

“It’s a good job, a respectable position with a good future,” said Grace in a superior voice.

“And that’s why you want to be a solicitor?”

“Yes. Until I get married and have children, of course.”

“What, then you’ll just leave your career and be a mother?” asked Zoe.

“Of course,” said Grace in confusion at the question.

“Why are you going to live off the dole?” asked Pandora of Kylie.

“Everyone does it,” said Kylie in the same confused manner as Grace. “It’s what you do. Except my dad, he works as a security guard and got transferred out here, but he says he’ll only do another year, then he’s going on the sick.”

“The sick?” asked Duncan.

“Sick pay. He’ll say he’ll get stress as soon as he’s done his full term, and he’ll be sorted.”

“You should concentrate on what does matter,” said Grace in horror. “Like a proper career and winning a scroll at the annual award ceremony.”

At the mention of the ceremony, Duncan’s eyes glowed. “Yes, that’s right,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s only a few weeks away, you know. Imagine how humiliating it would be if you didn’t win anything? If you went through the whole school year without distinguishing yourself and getting good marks?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Zoe in confusion.

“Oh, of course, being new, you don’t know about it,” said Grace with disdain. “Given that you’re outsiders.”

“The end-of-year award ceremony is where we’re given scrolls and certificates for our hard work, good behaviour and good results,” explained Duncan enthusiastically. “Mother was very disappointed that I didn’t win top marks in English literature last year, and I’m determined to get it this time. I only needed another two per cent and I would have won last time. I was so angry at myself for not working harder.”

“In fact, I don’t know why we’re standing around here having this silly conversation when we could be doing some extra work,” exclaimed Grace. “Come on, everyone, let’s get going!” The group of Willowcombe children eagerly set off, leaving the new arrivals looking at each other in bafflement.

“They are really weird,” said Darren. “I mean, who gets that excited about extra work?”

“And all that stuff about doing well in your exams,” said Kylie. “It’s not as if we need them. Like I said, I’m just going to live on the dole.”

The bell went, signalling that that the pupils should use the remaining half hour of lunch to do some extra studying. Strangely, the group immediately moved toward the library, all conversation stopping dead. Even Zoe went with them, leaving Pandora alone. She had no interest in using her free time to do yet more schoolwork, despite the unusual feeling of guilt this caused her. Shaking her head, Pandora decided that she wanted to find out what was happening to Mitchell and Jones.

Pandora thought the best place to start was the headmistress’s office. To get there, she would either have to walk past the unfriendly school receptionist who would demand to know why Pandora was wandering the corridors, or else she could go the opposite way round the school and approach from the other end.

Pandora went the long way round, which took her past the library. She paused by the open doors in puzzlement. The library appeared to be very bright, with lots of white shelving and colourful books filling the room. The dark haphazard shelving, filled with a variety of older, more interesting works, was still there, but it seemed to Pandora, as she walked in, that it didn’t quite fill the space it had once done.

She could only suppose that Miss Winters had been ordered by Miss Hill to reduce the number of non-authorised books. Pandora doubted the headmistress had much sympathy for anything that wasn’t officially approved. Even so, it was odd that Miss Winters should have given in as she had clearly favoured the old section of eclectic books over the newer, officially sanctioned dross.

Unfortunately, the dross seemed to be on the ascendency. On idly looking over each title, Pandora found text after text dealing with novels of temperance and obedience, stories from the Bible–all reworked to take out the sex, violence and arbitrary smiting by an angry god–and books which seemed to revolve around a lifestyle in which women were the homemakers and men the wage earners.

It was all very odd. Pandora wondered if Miss Winters had actually resigned. It was very unusual to find her absent from the library. As she turned, Pandora noticed a figure was hunched over in one corner of the room. She recognised the girl as the daughter of Mr Jackson, ineffectual committee member and eager birdwatcher.

“Hello,” said Pandora, wondering why the girl was sitting alone. She looked pale and thin, which was unusual in St Hilda’s. “Are you all right?”

The girl flinched and then nodded quickly.

“Are you sure?” asked Pandora helplessly. The girl looked as though she were frightened of being noticed. “It’s Tara, isn’t it?”

The girl nodded again.

After several seconds, it became clear that Tara wasn’t going to say anything more. Pandora looked in bafflement at the young girl. She knew that being related to a council member made you popular amongst the Willowcombe children, yet Tara was always quiet, withdrawn and didn’t talk to anyone. It was almost as though she were hiding in plain sight.