Abomination (6 page)

Possible snags. What if Father phoned home for some reason and got no reply? I’d never known him phone, but there’s always a first time. Well – I could say I was in my room. You can’t hear the phone from my room. And the same excuse would do if someone knocked on the door and got no answer. But suppose someone
did
knock, and Abomination was kicking up a fuss? There was nothing I could do about that, except check the creature was asleep before I left and hope if a caller heard anything he’d think it was a puppy or something.

OK – suppose Mother was taken ill at work and sent home? That happens, though it never has to Mother. That’d be the end of me for sure, but how likely is it?

Or what if one of the neighbours saw me go out and mentioned it later? Not much chance of that. None of the neighbours talk to my parents, who go out of their way to discourage neighbourliness.

What if the house caught fire? Well, if everybody thought about
that
before going out, nobody’d ever go anywhere, would they? People take chances all the time. They have to, so why not me?

Don’t think I wasn’t scared. When Mother came in I was sure she’d know I’d been out but she didn’t seem to, and neither did Father half an hour later. I hugged myself, giggling, in the privacy of my room. When I was little, Father used to say that if I did something bad, even when he wasn’t there he’d know, and I believed him. It was amazing the things he
did
find out about, but of course I realize now it had more to do with the thousand eyes of the Righteous than
his
all-seeing eye, or even God’s.
They’re just people
, I told myself.
They don’t know everything
.

Lying in bed that night I asked myself why I hadn’t tried my experiment far sooner. What had I been waiting for? I already knew the answer of course, deep down. The one-word answer.

Scott.

23. Martha

A card came Tuesday morning, from Mary. I was in the cellar when the post arrived, but when I came up for breakfast it was by Father’s plate, torn in two. I pretended not to notice it, and when breakfast was over Mother picked it up and dropped it in the swingbin with the scraps.

I can never rescue a card in the morning, because I leave the house before my parents. What I do is, I wait till evening when I have the place to myself. By then, the card might have porridge on it, or fish-skin or gravy. It’s a messy job retrieving it, though not nearly as revolting as cleaning up after Abomination.

This one was from Wolverhampton. It was a picture of a church – St Wulfruna’s – and it was addressed to me. This is what it said:

Dearest Marfa
,

It seems ages since I wrote. No – I haven’t moved again, poppet. Wolverhampton is close to Birmingham, so Annette and I come here sometimes on Saturdays, for a change. Can I still call you poppet, by the way? You must be quite a big girl by now. I often wonder what’s happening to you, and to a certain other person, though I’ll never know about that. Are you happy, Marfa? It’s not easy to be happy
.

All my love
,

Mary

It’s not easy to be happy
. Does that mean Mary’s unhappy? I don’t see how it can. She’s free, and she’s got Annette. Like I’ve got Scott. If this card had come last week I’d have said,
No, Mary, I’m not happy
, but now the answer is
yes, yes, yes
. I lie on my bed, sending this joyful answer to my sister. She must be picking up my signals, or why would a card come just as I’m wishing I could tell her about Scott? I concentrate, sending
I’ve got a friend, I’ve got a friend
, over and over.

I don’t go out. When I finish transmitting I clean up Mary’s card, mend it with sellotape and put it under the floor with the others. I’ve got thirty-two now. It’ll be a bit sad if she keeps sending them after I’ve gone, won’t it?

24. Scott

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘You know that girl at school, Martha?’

‘Ye-es.’ She says it like I’m about to say we’re getting married. It’s Tuesday night. Dad’s out. I’ve been dreading talking to Mum about Martha, but there’s stuff I need to know and I can’t wait any longer.

‘Her dad beats her.’

Mum looks up from the
Radio Times
. ‘Beats her? How do you know, Scott?’

‘She told me. And she’s not allowed out at night, and she daren’t bring anyone home.’

‘Hmm.’ Mum pulls a face. ‘I must say she looked a bit like that when I saw her through the window last week.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Downcast, I suppose. Thin and pale, and those clothes . . .’

I nodded. ‘They pick on her at school, Mum, because of her clothes. She belongs to this church – the Righteous. She has a rotten time.’ I looked at her. ‘It’s against the law, isn’t it, beating someone?’

Mum nodded. ‘Yes, Scott, I believe it is.’

‘So can’t we
do
something, Mum? Tell someone? I feel really sorry for her.’

Mum nodded. ‘I can tell you do, darling, but it’s difficult . . . I mean, you can’t go barging into other people’s lives just because they’re different from yours.’ She sighed. ‘You see, Martha may be exaggerating, Scott. Dramatizing herself. Girls do, sometimes. If her parents belong to a strict religious sect, her life
will
be different from most kids’ lives and she may be unhappy about that, but this beating business isn’t bound to be true. It could be a story she tells to get sympathy.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No it’s not, Mum, I can tell. I’ve seen her folks – we drove past them on Wentworth Road. They’re seriously weird. They chucked her sister out of the house years ago, for practically nothing. Isn’t there
anything
you and Dad could do?’

Mum looked at me. ‘Those scratches you came home with the other day. It wasn’t a game at all, was it? You got them defending Martha, didn’t you?’

I nodded, staring at the carpet, feeling myself go red. How do parents
know
stuff like that? ‘Yes.’

She sighed. ‘Well it was very brave of you, Scott, and I’m glad you’ve befriended this poor girl, but I don’t see how your dad and I can interfere. I mean – it might help if we could meet her. If you were to bring her home so we could talk to her. Get to know her a bit.’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t, Mum. I told you – she doesn’t get out. And anyway she wouldn’t talk. She’s scared. Her dad doesn’t like her talking to people.’

‘How sad. Well.’ Mum shrugged. ‘You must go on being kind to her, Scott, and hope things sort themselves out.’ She smiled. ‘They usually do, you know, in the end.’

Thanks, Mum. Thanks a bunch.

25. Martha

The kids weren’t bothering me as much now that Mr Kilroy was looking out for bullies, but there was one place he couldn’t go and that’s where they got me.

The girls’ toilet, Wednesday afternoon. I was sitting in one of the cubicles, giving Scott time to walk past Killer without me when I heard whispering, then the sound of a tap running. Somebody counted softly:
one, two, three
, then
GO
! and water came flying over the door and under it at the same time. I couldn’t dodge. One lot landed in my lap, the other drenched my socks and shoes. My gasp was followed by whoops of laughter and somebody started hammering on the door while several voices chanted,
Raggedy-Ann, Raggedy-Ann, wet her knickers in the can!
I leapt up and tried to dash the water off my skirt but it was no use. I was soaked. ‘Come on out, Ma,’ yelled Tracy Stamper, ‘unless you want another shower.’

I had no choice. I slid back the catch and came out and they jeered and pointed and shoved me around. There were four of them. Stamper of course, and Thelma Rigsby and Gemma Horton and Felicity Wardle.
Raggedy-Ann, Raggedy-Ann, wet her knickers in the can!
A few stragglers had stopped and were looking at me, nudging one another and smirking. They hadn’t been there when the water was thrown. They thought it was true, what Stamper and them were chanting. ‘I didn’t!’ I cried. ‘It was them. They did it.’ I was nearly crying, but if anybody believed me they didn’t show it. They booed and guffawed and turned away, drifting out into the yard. Soon, only the bullies were left.

‘OK, Ma.’ Stamper grabbed the collar of my blouse and slammed me against the wall. ‘Say this after me. I’m a dirty little slut.’

I shook my head. ‘No.’

She tightened her grip till I was nearly choking. ‘Say it.’

‘No.’

She turned her head. ‘Fliss – more water.’ Felicity Wardle filled a paper cup and brought it towards me, grinning. I struggled, but I couldn’t get free. Felicity slotted the cup into Stamper’s free hand and she stretched up and emptied it over my head. The water ran through my hair, down my face and into my blouse. Stamper let go my collar, stepped back and drove her fist as hard as she could into my stomach. It was like being hit by a truck. Everything went grey. I doubled up and fell to the floor where I lay like a comma, gasping and moaning. ‘Come on,’ growled Stamper and they walked away, leaving me to manage the best way I could.

When I finally got up I had to be sick into one of the basins. I rinsed it round and trailed outside. The yard was deserted but Scott was waiting by the shelter. He stared.

‘What the heck’s happened, Martha? You’re wet through. Who . . .?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ My stomach still hurt like anything. ‘I’ve got to go. Listen.’

‘What?’

‘Meet me tonight, seven o’clock.’

‘Where? I thought . . .’

‘End of Dinsdale Rise. Can you make it?’

‘Sure, but you look awful. I think I should walk you home.’

‘No.’ I pushed him away. ‘I’ll be all right. See you at seven.’

I don’t know why I did it. Arrange to meet him I mean. Must’ve been a brainstorm. Or a message from Mary, carried on the wind. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Anyway I’d done it and that was that. I know it sounds like a lie, but I felt better straight away. The ache left my stomach, and by the time I’d walked up Taylor Hill my clothes were almost dry. I could hardly wait for dinner to be over and my parents to leave. Abomination seemed to be in a docile mood. I prayed it might continue.

26. Scott

I was there at ten to. I’d told my folks I was meeting someone, but didn’t say who. We were halfway through April and it was light till quite late. They weren’t worried.

She was five minutes early, and had on the same shapeless grey dress she’d worn to Asda. ‘Hi,’ she smiled. ‘What d’you want to do?’

I hadn’t really thought about it. Our meeting was her idea and I’d assumed she had something in mind. ‘Why don’t we just walk,’ I suggested, ‘and talk.’

‘What about?’

‘Well – you could start by telling me what happened at hometime.’

‘Oh, that.’ She pulled a face. ‘Stamper and her mates chucked water over me in the bog and I got a punch in the stomach. I threw up, but I’m OK now.’

‘That Stamper’s a total veg.’ I didn’t know what else to say. I turned into Old Grange Lane which is long and narrow with trees that meet overhead, like walking through a dim green tunnel. Couples like to park there after dark, but we had it to ourselves now.

‘I didn’t know this was here,’ she said. ‘It’s nice.’

I nodded. ‘Yeah. Discovered it the day after we moved here. Leaves weren’t out then.’

‘Oh.’

‘You . . . managed to get out, then?’

‘What? Oh, yes.’

‘Only you said you couldn’t. Ever.’

‘I know, and it was true. I’ll get in awful trouble if Father finds out, but I’m trying to be brave, like Mary.’ She smiled. ‘Mary sent a message, you see. Be brave.’

‘Didn’t your folks see it?’

She chuckled. ‘It wasn’t that sort of message, Scott. It came through the air, from Mary’s mind to mine.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘No, I mean it. I’ve been sending to her since I was six. Now she’s sending back.’

I shook my head. ‘You’re barmy, Martha, d’you know that?’

She shrugged with a dreamy smile. ‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Anyway I’ve decided to be more like my sister, if only to spite Father.’ She laughed. ‘Jezebel, he calls her.’

‘Why?’

‘After Jezebel in the Bible, of course.’

‘Why – what did
she
do?’

Martha glanced at me. ‘She was a fornicator, Scott. Surely you know the story?’

‘No. Never heard of her.’ I grinned. ‘I know what a fornicator is though. They come here by the million at night, in cars.’

‘How d’you know?’

‘Seen ’em. Lovers’ Lane, the locals call it. They’ll start rolling up in an hour.’

‘We better go, then.’

I nodded. ‘Why don’t I take you to my place, Martha? We could have a Coke and you’d meet my parents.’

She shook her head. ‘I daren’t. They’d think I was your girlfriend or something.’

‘Would they heck. And what if they did? I don’t care.’

‘I do though. I’d
die
.’

‘Rubbish. You’ll like Mum, she’s really nice, and I think Dad’ll be out.’ I smiled. ‘Not that Dad’s not nice too. I’m not saying that. So why don’t we, Martha, eh? Say yes.’ I really wanted her to agree, so Mum could start helping her.

We’d stopped. She stared out across a field that had cows in it. I waited. She was chewing her bottom lip. After a bit she nodded. ‘All right,’ she murmured, ‘I’ll come, but I mustn’t stay long. I want to be home by eight and it’s a fair way.’

‘Magic!’ We turned and began retracing our steps. Mostly I was glad, but I knew Mum and Dad would wind me up mercilessly afterwards for bringing a girl home. I tried not to think about it.

27. Martha

‘Mum, this is Martha.’

‘Oh . . . hello, Martha. You and Scott are on the same table at school, is that right?’