Pandora went red, aware that the whole class was watching her. “Um,” she said.
“Just um?” enquired Mr Gilchirst with an affable smile.
“I’m not even sure I’m allowed to speak,” said Pandora, shrugging her shoulders in irritation at the headmistress.
“Ah, you have been introduced to that school policy, have you?” said Mr Gilchirst with a sympathetic cluck. “Not to worry. In my classes, you are quite free to ask any sensible questions. Just remember, though, that as far as our esteemed headmistress is concerned, pupils wait for permission before having any original thoughts.” A giggle went round the class. Pandora smiled, feeling a little better as the giggle was not aimed at her.
“Now, let’s see, I believe young Zoe Bailey has a space next to her,” said Mr Gilchirst, indicating one of the old-fashioned desks which was occupied by a tall black girl. “Zoe is also new, having arrived just a few days ago. Also clustered in that area of the classroom are the other new pupils who we are squeezing in as best we can as Willowcombe Clatford expands.”
Pandora took the seat indicated. She and Zoe smiled shyly at each other. Pandora couldn’t help but notice that Zoe was a very attractive girl, and she felt her spirits lift a little.
Mr Gilchirst looked at a mass of papers spread randomly over his desk and frowned over his half-moon spectacles. “Drat, I know I have your schedule here somewhere from Miss Hill. Where did I put it?” He turned to an ancient leather bag, of the sort doctors used to carry, and began rummaging through it, disinterring more paperwork, several folders, some books, numerous pens and a lone shoe.
“I shall be with you shortly,” said Mr Gilchirst, plunging with fresh energy into the bag. Immediately, the new pupils at the back of the class began to talk quietly amongst themselves, while the native Willowcombe children began reading their textbooks, making notes as they went along.
“He’ll probably be a while,” whispered Zoe to Pandora. “He’s a great teacher, but he’s not very organised.”
“I’m surprised the head allows him to be so chaotic,” replied Pandora, looking in amazement as another shoe, but not the brother of the first, was lifted from the brown leather bag and placed on a table.
“Ah, got it!” exclaimed Mr Gilchirst in triumph, finding the schedule had been in his pocket all the time. He unfolded the paper, shook out some biscuit crumbs and peered at the timetable. Then he turned it on end and shook it, as though hopeful that some of the activities would fall off the page. “Hum,” he muttered, turning the paper around again. “Double maths, extra English, second geography, history revision, RE revision, craft and textile revision...”
Mr Gilchirst shuddered, carefully folded the timetable up and pushed it into the huge pile of papers he had taken from his bag. He then picked the papers up and dropped them into a small bin next to his desk, where they overflowed onto the floor.
“Given that it is your first day, I suspect it would be better to have some time to orientate yourself to your new surroundings,” said Mr Gilchirst to Pandora. “Go and explore the school, introduce yourself to some of the people. And do make sure you visit the most important room in the school, which is what, anybody?”
“The library,” chorused the class.
“And why?” beamed Mr Gilchirst.
“Because society is measured by its books,” said the class as one. This was clearly something they had learnt long ago from their eccentric form tutor.
“Excellent,” smiled Mr Gilchirst. “Of course, we must also explore the concept of what type of books society favours to truly understand the values of society, but that must wait as, sadly, I see by our schedule that today we are to finish our study of last year’s exam papers. There is little point in throwing you, Pandora, into such a scintillating area, especially as we start the brand new topic tomorrow of studying slightly older exam papers, so take the time to settle in. Get to know your way around, meet the librarian, Miss Winters, and then meet us in the hall at twelve sharp for lunch.”
He stood and beamed vaguely.
Pandora, slightly stunned by the flowing words, said, “Er, ok. Thanks,” and gratefully fled the classroom and the threat of old exams.
Chapter Eighteen
Pandora decided to take Mr Gilchirst’s suggestion of finding the school library. She walked the new, cheap, bland, disinfected corridors, all full of plastic signs telling students not to run or talk at any time for their own safety, to work hard for extra credit, to listen in order to learn and to volunteer for afterschool clubs for even more credit.
It was a surprise to reach the older part of the school and see that the fabric of the building seemed to be little changed from its original form, consisting as it did of old wooden panelling and brass fittings. Here, the plastic signs seemed alien to the atmosphere of solid learning and exploration.
The library stood behind an old set of wooden double doors. Pandora heaved one of the doors open and walked through. Inside was a huge room, divided into two distinct halves, separated by a large desk at which sat an upright woman with piercing blue eyes and thick, unruly, grey hair.
Pandora slouched to the desk and said, “Hello.”
The woman at the desk, who had been writing in a huge, tatty, leather-bound book, looked over the top of her glasses and focussed on Pandora. She saw a tall girl with a complexion that hinted strongly of the Mediterranean, smiling with a mixture of shyness and impudence.
“Hello,” replied the woman in a clear, powerful voice. The word seemed to ricochet around the room. “You must be Pandora.”
“I suppose I must,” agreed Pandora. “Are you Miss Winters?”
“I am. Welcome to the library. Do you read a lot?”
Pandora sensed that a great deal depended on her answer. Miss Winters was clearly an avid reader. Honesty, however, was generally Pandora’s way.
“Not much,” she said. “It’s hard to find anything interesting.”
“Hmm. What’s your favourite book?”
“I like Wuthering Heights. It’s dark, mysterious and you’re never sure how Heathcliffe or Cathy will react next.”
“Very true,” smiled Miss Winters. “Would you like a book to take home? I’m sure we will have something to suit your tastes.”
“OK,” said Pandora with a grin, sensing she had made a friend. “How do I go about choosing something?”
“I have divided the room into two,” explained Miss Winters. “On the one side are all the officially approved books.” She gestured at the front of the library, where the shelves were white, neat and symmetrical. All the books slotted perfectly into their allocated spaces. “The officially approved books have all been vetted by the school governors and can be found by referencing the computer catalogue. There, you will find such modern day pap as Tiny Tilda and the Hedgehog Tea Party. The Famous Three Explore the Apple Orchard. Mummy and Daddy Take Us to the Zoo.”
Miss Winter’s face wore an expression of barely restrained pain. “You will also find there The Expurgated and Approved Shakespeare. The Expurgated and Approved Dickens. The Expurgated and Approved Austen. Suitable for all ages and enjoyable for none. I could go on but I won’t.” The light shone down brightly on the approved books from a circular window set in the roof.
“The back of the library, part of the original building, will be of far more interest to someone of your tastes. There, you will find the books from the very first school library, as well as books donated by teachers, past and present, old pupils, authors, publishers and many that I have found and added myself.”
Pandora looked with interest at the old part of the library. The shelves were all crooked, made of dark wood and the books were piled wherever they would fit. The sunlight that got in to the back of the library didn’t so much illuminate the shelves as bathe them in shadow, creating dark nooks and niches.
“Unfortunately, this section is rarely visited by the pupils,” added Miss Winters sorrowfully.
“How do you know what’s there?” asked Pandora in wonder. There seemed to be a thousand books, at least.
“There is no catalogue as such for this section, but this is where I record them all.” Miss Winters gestured at the huge book she had been writing in. “I shall have to leave you, I’m afraid,” she added with a sigh. “I had hoped to do a little more on the catalogue this morning, but another meeting has been called by the headmistress. She wants to discuss the cross-referencing of the new B2 paperwork with the existing A5 records, and I am already late for it. Do please help yourself, simply record on the last page of the ledger which book you have taken. All loans are valid for one month.”
“Right, thanks, I will,” said Pandora as Miss Winters gathered up her coat and handbag. The librarian smiled and hurried out, leaving Pandora alone.
She spent a few minutes walking up and down the shelves, looking at the spines of each book. The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Phantom of the Opera. Dracula. Death in the Middle Ages. Romanticism Lost. The Steampunked Pirates. Pandora moved deeper into the stack, and her own name jumped out at her, stamped in faded gold on a crumbling book of red leather. She frowned and pulled the book out and saw the whole title. Pandora and Other Greek Myths.
Pandora glanced inside the book and found the frontispiece, which showed a young woman in a toga releasing what looked like ghosts or wraiths from a small wooden box. The description on the opposite page read, Explore the myths and legends of ancient Greece. Rich in colour and imagination, the ancient Greek culture informed–and still influences–much of today’s Western culture. Discover the story of the Minotaur, devouring victims in his labyrinth. Explore the Gods of Olympus and their petty squabbles and vindictive actions. Learn of the ten-year siege of Troy and the hundreds of dead warriors who fell during the onslaught. Read of Pandora ’s Box, which unleashed all the ills of the world...
“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.
Chapter Nineteen
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.”
Chapter Twenty
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!”
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