this world, there were no poor people. No working class, except those on the development. No coloured people, except Zoe and her family...
Her hands shaking, Pandora fumbled her phone from her pocket and tried to dial Zoe’s number. Eventually, she made the connection and paced back and forth as the phone rang, feeling helpless and uncertain. She now understood why Mabel had always been so insistent on knowing who Pandora was friends with and why she constantly alluded to only being friends with desirable people. It was straightforward racism.
Finally, the phone was answered and Zoe’s voice said, “Pan?”
“Zoe? You’re in danger! You’ve got to listen. There isn’t anything here that isn’t allowed,” gabbled Pandora, fear almost making her incoherent. She had never felt so helpless. “There are no single mothers because single mums aren’t allowed! There are no naughty children because naughty children aren’t allowed. If anyone asks awkward questions or disagrees with them, they disappear!”
“Hold on,” said Zoe, trying to stem the flow of words. “Disagrees with whom?”
“Miss Hill, my aunt, Mr Toy, all the people who run this place. It was them all along.”
“You’re saying anyone who annoys them disappears?”
“Exactly! Or anyone who doesn’t fit in, anyone with different ideas—”
“But why should that concern me?” asked Zoe, fear pulling at her voice. “I mean, I’ve never disagreed with any of them or caused any trouble.”
“No, but you’re black. How many other black people are there here?” A dead silence filled the air for several seconds.
“Oh god, Pan,” breathed Zoe, the sob audible in her voice. “They couldn’t, they wouldn’t, not just for that? Would they?”
“You’ve got to get out. Whatever it is they can do, whatever the power is, it’s growing, they said themselves they can do what they want. You have to get out, run, take your mum and go. Zoe? Zoe?” Pandora almost screamed her friend’s name as the distorted sound of a mighty wind echoed down the phone. “Zoe?”
“Oh god!” cried Zoe’s voice. “It’s here! It’s the tornado! It’s here, Pan! It’s everywhere! Mum! Mummy!”
The phone died.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pandora stared at her phone. The call had disconnected. As she watched, Zoe’s name and number faded from the screen. She desperately accessed the stored numbers and ran down to the bottom, but Zoe’s name had gone, wiped from the phone, wiped from existence. For several seconds she stood rooted to the spot, scarcely able to comprehend what had happened. Then she ran. She had to get to Zoe’s.
The village was as it had always been, with one exception. The new road to the development was gone. In its place was a dirt track leading to the outer boundary of Clatford Woods.
Pandora heard someone walking behind her and spun round to see Mrs Harris, returning home from picking up Helen from school.
“Hello, Pandora,” cried Mrs Harris cheerfully. “How are you today? My, you look flushed. Have you been running?”
“The road,” gasped Pandora, breathing heavily. “Where’s the road gone?”
“What road, dear?”
“Sampson Road. You must remember? Named after Councillor Sampson, who pushed the development through?”
“Councillor Sampson?” frowned Mrs Harris. “Your Aunt Mabel and her friends are the only councillors we’ve had round here for a long time.”
Pandora gaped. Not only had the village committee changed the present, they were now able to rewrite the past. “It led to the development, the new development of houses,” said Pandora, pleading with Mrs Harris to remember. Mrs Harris looked doubtful.
“There was talk long ago to sell the land over there for development. Some felt it would be good for the village, an influx of fresh money and new people, but it was voted down. The village committee felt it would ruin the charm of the village.”
Pandora looked at Mrs Harris and Helen
Her hands shaking, Pandora fumbled her phone from her pocket and tried to dial Zoe’s number. Eventually, she made the connection and paced back and forth as the phone rang, feeling helpless and uncertain. She now understood why Mabel had always been so insistent on knowing who Pandora was friends with and why she constantly alluded to only being friends with desirable people. It was straightforward racism.
Finally, the phone was answered and Zoe’s voice said, “Pan?”
“Zoe? You’re in danger! You’ve got to listen. There isn’t anything here that isn’t allowed,” gabbled Pandora, fear almost making her incoherent. She had never felt so helpless. “There are no single mothers because single mums aren’t allowed! There are no naughty children because naughty children aren’t allowed. If anyone asks awkward questions or disagrees with them, they disappear!”
“Hold on,” said Zoe, trying to stem the flow of words. “Disagrees with whom?”
“Miss Hill, my aunt, Mr Toy, all the people who run this place. It was them all along.”
“You’re saying anyone who annoys them disappears?”
“Exactly! Or anyone who doesn’t fit in, anyone with different ideas—”
“But why should that concern me?” asked Zoe, fear pulling at her voice. “I mean, I’ve never disagreed with any of them or caused any trouble.”
“No, but you’re black. How many other black people are there here?” A dead silence filled the air for several seconds.
“Oh god, Pan,” breathed Zoe, the sob audible in her voice. “They couldn’t, they wouldn’t, not just for that? Would they?”
“You’ve got to get out. Whatever it is they can do, whatever the power is, it’s growing, they said themselves they can do what they want. You have to get out, run, take your mum and go. Zoe? Zoe?” Pandora almost screamed her friend’s name as the distorted sound of a mighty wind echoed down the phone. “Zoe?”
“Oh god!” cried Zoe’s voice. “It’s here! It’s the tornado! It’s here, Pan! It’s everywhere! Mum! Mummy!”
The phone died.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pandora stared at her phone. The call had disconnected. As she watched, Zoe’s name and number faded from the screen. She desperately accessed the stored numbers and ran down to the bottom, but Zoe’s name had gone, wiped from the phone, wiped from existence. For several seconds she stood rooted to the spot, scarcely able to comprehend what had happened. Then she ran. She had to get to Zoe’s.
The village was as it had always been, with one exception. The new road to the development was gone. In its place was a dirt track leading to the outer boundary of Clatford Woods.
Pandora heard someone walking behind her and spun round to see Mrs Harris, returning home from picking up Helen from school.
“Hello, Pandora,” cried Mrs Harris cheerfully. “How are you today? My, you look flushed. Have you been running?”
“The road,” gasped Pandora, breathing heavily. “Where’s the road gone?”
“What road, dear?”
“Sampson Road. You must remember? Named after Councillor Sampson, who pushed the development through?”
“Councillor Sampson?” frowned Mrs Harris. “Your Aunt Mabel and her friends are the only councillors we’ve had round here for a long time.”
Pandora gaped. Not only had the village committee changed the present, they were now able to rewrite the past. “It led to the development, the new development of houses,” said Pandora, pleading with Mrs Harris to remember. Mrs Harris looked doubtful.
“There was talk long ago to sell the land over there for development. Some felt it would be good for the village, an influx of fresh money and new people, but it was voted down. The village committee felt it would ruin the charm of the village.”
Pandora looked at Mrs Harris and Helen
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