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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.

Chapter Twelve
     
     
    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,