Abomination (5 page)

‘Oh, yes. She was braver than me. She used to stay out, see boys. I don’t remember much about it really. Father sent her away when I was six.’

‘And that’s what you meant by Mary’s way – getting out?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why don’t you do it?’

‘Because I’m only twelve, Scott. Where would I go? How would I eat?’

Scott shrugged. ‘Isn’t there a granny or an auntie or someone who’d take you in, if you told ’em what was going on?’

‘No, Scott, there isn’t. I mean, I’ve got two grannies and three aunties, but they’re all in our church. They know what’s
going on
, as you put it, and think it’s perfectly normal.’

‘So you’re stuck with it till you’re about sixteen?’

‘Yes.’

‘Glad I’m not you.’ He looked at me. ‘Can you . . . do they let you out Saturdays?’

‘Sometimes. Depends what there is to do at home. Mother sends me to Asda – the supermarket – most Saturdays.’

‘You don’t go in the car?’

‘No. Father’s an insurance man. He’s out on his round, Saturdays.’

‘So you have to lug everything home?’

I nodded. ‘It’s not bad, Scott. We don’t shop like other people. There’s only two bags most weeks.’

‘Can I meet you?’ He grinned. ‘I could carry one of the bags. Part of the way at least.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know, Scott. I mean, it’d be great, but if somebody saw us . . .’

‘Martha.’ He reached out and took hold of both my hands. I felt like somebody in a film. ‘Listen. You can’t leave like your sister, but you could do some of the things she did. Stay out. See boys.’ He smiled. ‘This boy, anyway. It’s
your
life.’

I shook my head again. ‘I told you – Mary was brave; I’m not. They’d lock me up. Starve me. It’s best to do what they want till I’m old enough to leave.’

‘No it’s not. Anyway, tell you what I’ll do. I’ll hang around Asda, Saturday morning. If I see you, we’ll take it from there. How’s that?’

I looked at him. ‘You’re crazy. You could wait hours.’

‘I will, if I have to.’

‘D’you mean that, Scott? Seriously, even though I might ignore you?’

‘I’ll be there, you’ll see.’

‘Yes, all right.’ I smiled. ‘It’s usually around half nine.’

‘Right. And we’ll talk some more tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’

‘See you, Martha.’

‘See you, Scott.’

19. Scott

Friday lunchtime we walked on the field. Kids’re always in a good mood, Fridays. Nobody bothered us. I’d been thinking about Martha’s sister.

‘How old’s Mary?’ I asked.

‘Twenty-one or twenty two, I think.’

‘Was she at this school?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she get the hassle you get?’

‘I suppose so. I was only a baby so I don’t really know.’

‘How old was she when she left home?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Why’d they kick her out?’

‘Because . . . she was disobedient. Father couldn’t control her.’

‘Oh.’

Killer was in the cloakroom. He stopped me. ‘Remembered any of those names yet, Scott?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Had any more trouble?’

‘Not really, sir.’

‘Good. Keep thinking, lad.’

‘Yessir.’

At afternoon break I said to Martha, ‘I think we should leave separately at hometime. Don’t want Killer thinking we’re going out together or something.’

‘He might not be there.’

‘No, but he might be. I’ll go first, wait for you by the bus shelter.’

‘OK.’

‘So it’s on for tomorrow?’ I asked, when she joined me. Killer had been by the gate, so I was glad we hadn’t walked past him like a couple. The shelter was full of rowdy kids whose weekend had just begun. We walked on a bit.

Martha pulled a face. ‘Mother might not send me, Scott. She doesn’t always.’

‘No, but if she does?’

‘If she does I’ll see you. I don’t know what we’ll do though.’

‘I told you. I’ll walk you partway home, carry a bag.’

‘Seems a lot of trouble for you, just for that.’

‘It’s no trouble. I like you. I want to see you.’

‘I’m glad. I should go now.’

I looked at her. ‘What d’you
do
, evenings? I mean, don’t you ever get out?’

She shook her head. ‘Both my parents work. Father has his round, Mother works the evening shift at the toy factory.’

‘So you’ve got the house to yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why can’t you go out? Is it full of treasure or something?’

‘I’ve got jobs to do.’

‘Me too, Martha, but
all
the time?’

She nodded. ‘All the time. I’m off now.’

‘I could phone you. Or you me. That’d be OK, wouldn’t it?’

‘No, Scott, it wouldn’t. I’m not allowed to use the phone, and anyway there’s a lock on it.’

‘Doesn’t stop
incoming
calls.’

‘No, but you mustn’t. They’d know.’

‘It’s not fair.’

She sighed. ‘No it’s not, but it’s the way things are. See you.’

The way things are. I didn’t half wish I could change the way things are. For her, I mean. I fantasized about it, dawdling home. She was a prisoner in a dark castle. Rapunzel, maybe. I was a handsome knight. On a white horse, naturally. It was dark and wild, with lightning and thunder. Black, twisted trees thrashed their bare branches against the sky. I rode up to the castle. The drawbridge was up, the portcullis down. Light glimmered through window-slits. The Righteous lurked on the battlements with crossbows and boiling pitch but I fought my way in, threw her across my saddle and galloped away through a squall of arrows.

Not a lot of that going on in Scratchley in 1998.

20. Martha

It was a beautiful morning. Sun shining. Birds singing. I love April. I hummed one of Satan’s latest tunes as I walked down Taylor Hill, swung left on Rickelrath Way and headed for Asda, swinging my plastic bag. Rickelrath is Scratchley’s Twin Town in Germany.

My brain was nagging me and I couldn’t quite drown it out with the humming.
Will he be there
? it nattered.
Will he be there
?
Will he be there
? ‘I don’t flipping know, do I?’ I said aloud. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’ I tried telling myself it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t but it doesn’t work, lying to yourself.

Anyway, he was. I saw him straight away at the car park entrance, leaning on the attendant’s kiosk. He saw me at the same time and straightened up, grinning. ‘They let you loose, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cleaning your cage out, I expect.’

‘Cage?’ My heart lurched. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘Hey!’ He thumped me lightly on the arm. ‘
Joke
, Martha. Lighten up – it’s spring.’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry. I’m glad you came.’

He nodded. ‘I’m glad
you
came. Let’s get in before the crowd.’

We got a trolley and went up and down the aisles, him pushing, me crossing stuff off the list. I never knew shopping could be such fun. Scott swerved the trolley about, pretending to ram other shoppers, making screeching brake noises so that people turned to look at us. When I went to skip the sweets and biscuits aisle he yelled, ‘Best bit coming up!’, grabbed my arm and steered me and the trolley into it. ‘I can’t buy any of this stuff,’ I protested. ‘It’s not on Mother’s list.’

‘Stuff Mother’s list.’ He plucked Mars and Rolos from the shelves and dropped them in the trolley. I shook my head. ‘I’ve no money for sweets, Scott.’

‘I have. I’ve got more dosh than Camelot, so come on.’

He swerved, screeching, into the next aisle, tossed a couple of Cokes in the basket and strode on. I followed, trying to keep up and read the list at the same time. If I missed something out, Mother would go mad. Scott was fifteen metres in front of me, grabbing bags of salt and vinegar crisps. I was horrified and happy. I started to giggle. He waited for me and we charged on together, me laughing so much I could hardly see for tears. My stupid brain kept nattering on about someone from church seeing us, but I wasn’t listening. I think this was the most fun I’d ever had. At the checkout he shoved a ten-pound note in my hand. I gasped. ‘Where’d you
get
this, Scott?’

‘Made it myself,’ he grinned. ‘I’m a forger.’

‘You’re a madman.’

‘That too.’

Outside he said, ‘You don’t have to go straight away, do you?’

I’d cooled down a bit. Mopped my eyes. I looked at him. ‘I do, usually.’

‘Yeah, but there aren’t Cokes and crisps and choc bars to see to, usually.’

‘What d’you mean,
see to
?’

‘Scoff, of course. I didn’t get ’em to look at.’

‘We can’t eat all this.’

“Course we can. Can’t take it home, can you?’

‘No, but you could.’ I didn’t want him to, though. I wanted to feast, just for once. Mother says feasting’s for pagans, who can’t control themselves.

Scott shook his head. ‘I came a long way, Martha. Hung about. Splashed out on this stuff. You can’t just walk off.’ He smiled. ‘I know a place where we can sit and scoff the lot. Say you’ll come.’

I gazed at him. ‘You know what you are, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, a madman. You told me.’

‘You’re a pagan.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘A mad pagan forger. Maybe you better run before I get one of my funny turns.’

I shook my head. ‘I think I’ll take a chance, Scott. Just this once.’

21. Scott

I took her to the café in the park. I knew kids from school might be there and I didn’t care. Anyway, as it happened there was just some old guy with a racing paper and a mug of tea. He’d tied his dog to a table-leg.

‘Is he a Righteous?’ I joked.

She was worried about being seen by someone who knew her folks. She chuckled. ‘Oh, yes. You can always tell ’em by their dogs and dirty raincoats.’

She was trying. She really was.

I got us Cokes. We had our own, but you can’t sit at somebody’s table and not buy anything. We unpacked our stuff and started in on the crisps. ‘What will you tell your mum?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I’ll say Asda was packed or a till went down or something. It always varies, the time I get back.’

‘Great. We could do this every Saturday if you want.’

She shook her head. ‘I told you – I don’t always come. Sometimes Father shops Friday afternoon, sometimes Mother does it herself.’

‘Well, what about us getting together other times, then? Evenings, maybe.’

‘My parents work, remember? I don’t get out.’

‘I could come to you.’

‘No.’ She gazed at me. ‘You must never do that, Scott. Promise.’

I chuckled. ‘OK, I promise, but remember I’m a pagan, and a pagan’s promise isn’t worth much.’

‘Don’t joke. I really mean it. Don’t come to the house. Ever.’

I sighed. ‘OK, OK. Have some more crisps.’ I shoved the bag across. ‘And lighten up, Martha – this is supposed to be fun, remember?’

We were on to the Rolos when Gerry Latimer showed up. He was looking for someone and we weren’t it, but he came across anyway. ‘Hi. Seen anyone . . . Paul, Simon?’

I shook my head. ‘No, just us.’

He looked at the stuff on the table. ‘Someone’s birthday?’

‘No. Have a Rolo, unless you think it’s contaminated.’

He struggled with his conscience for one point five seconds before grabbing a sweet. ‘What you two doing here, then?’

‘We just got married. At Asda. Two quid, and they throw in all this stuff.’

‘Yeah?’ His mouth fell open. Not the world’s brightest guy, old Gerry.

‘Oh, yes. You could drag Tracy Stamper down there but you better hurry – it’s for two weeks only.’

He was taking it all in. I reckon he might have fallen for it if Martha hadn’t cracked up laughing. He looked from her to me and from me to her, and a slow grin spread across his big dumb clock. ‘You’re winding me up, right?’

I nodded and stood up. ‘Me and Martha have to go now, Gerry. Why don’t you sit down and polish this lot off?’

He goggled. ‘All this? D’you mean it, Scott?’

‘Sure. Come on, Martha.’

I took the bags and we strolled back, over the footbridge and out on to Rickelrath Way. Martha puffed out her cheeks and blew. ‘I’m totally pogged, Scott. I’ve never eaten so many goodies in my life.’

I grinned. ‘Do you good. Something to remember tomorrow, in church.’

She giggled. ‘The Righteous’d have a synchronized fit if they knew.’

Halfway up Taylor Hill she put a hand on my arm. ‘Better not come any further. Someone might see.’ She took the bags. ‘I’ve really enjoyed myself this morning, Scott. Thanks for coming.’

‘I enjoyed it too, Martha. See you Monday.’

‘Roll on,’ she murmured, starting uphill, and that was the best bit of all. You don’t hear a lot of kids saying roll on Monday.

22. Martha

Sunday I was on edge till after morning church. If I’d been seen with Scott the day before, church is where Father would find out about it. When nothing was said on the way home or over the stew, I knew I could relax. Though it was the usual dreary Sabbath, it felt really different because of Scott. At last somebody actually liked me, enough to put himself out to be with me. It felt so good I wanted to tell someone. I wished more than ever I had Mary’s address. She often mentions her friends, and I longed to tell her about mine. Still, it was no less real just because I had to keep it secret.

Monday felt different too. It’s amazing, the power of friendship. The kids jeered and shoved me around just the same as always, but somehow I didn’t mind. They chanted at Scott too, at lunchtime, because he brought sandwiches and sat with me instead of having a proper meal. ‘Your mum making
you
a pretend uniform is she, Snotty,’ sneered Simon, ‘so you’ll match that bag-lady you hang out with?’ We ignored them, and they didn’t dare actually attack because Killer was on the lookout for bullies and everybody knew it.

I left the house that evening, as an experiment. I didn’t
go
anywhere. I just walked about to see what would happen and nothing did. I was out an hour and a half and when I got back everything was the same. I thought,
If I can take an hour and a half, why not two hours, or two and a half
? I was thinking about Scott. Seeing him. Maybe going to his place. Not that night of course, but some other.