Abomination (3 page)

‘Oh, I was wondering, that’s all. I’ll see you later, OK?’

I’d stood with her longer than I’d meant to. I moved on and she called after me, ‘Yes, Scott. Later.’ I didn’t look back.

9. Martha

‘You’re looking happy, Martha. Have you had a good day at school?’

‘Yes, Father.’ It’s half past six. We’re eating dinner. It’s liver but for once I don’t mind.

‘Did you win a House Point?’ asks Mother. ‘No.’

‘Then what?’

‘The new boy. Scott. He talked to me. Asked me things.’

‘What sort of things, Martha?’ Father’s tone is sharp.

‘Oh – things about me. He saw us yesterday in Wentworth Road and waved. I didn’t see him.’

‘What did he ask you, child?’

‘I don’t remember exactly. If you were my folks. Where we were going. If I had sisters or brothers.’

‘And how did you answer that?’

‘I said there was only me.’

‘Good. Now listen to me, Martha.’ He sets down his knife and fork. He’s about to spoil it all. I know he is. ‘To have a friend is a pleasant thing. Mother and I want you to have lots of friends, but you must understand that we of the Righteous are different from other people – so different that they often find us strange. If you let yourself become too fond of this boy, you will be badly hurt when he finds he can’t relate to your way of life and drops you.’

A lump comes to my throat. Does my father think I’m not badly hurt already? Can’t he see I just want to be like everybody else? I shake my head. ‘I’m not fond of him, Father. He talked to me, that’s all. Please say I can be his friend if he’ll let me.’

He sighs, shaking his head. ‘I’m only trying to shield you from unhappiness, child. Be this boy’s friend if it pleases you, but be careful. Guard your tongue at all times, and don’t bring him home.’

Don’t bring him home. They don’t know how I hate my home: that if I had my way I wouldn’t bring
myself
home, never mind anyone else.

10. Scott

I blew it with Simon, Tuesday morning. Lost my first friend at Southcott Middle, and all because of Martha.

It was such a
little
thing, that’s what gets me. Old Wheelwright asked a question and Martha put her hand up and when he said, ‘Yes, Martha?’, Simon kicked her under the table so she went ‘Ow!’ ‘What on
earth’s
the matter?’ goes Wheelwright, and instead of splitting on Simon, Martha says, ‘Nothing sir,’ and Wheelwright says, ‘It didn’t
sound
like nothing, Martha,’ and lets somebody else answer. All I did was glare at Simon and growl, ‘Don’t you ever get fed-up, picking on the same person all the time?’ I don’t even know why I said it. Anyway, it didn’t go down too well. ‘Funny you should say that,’ purrs Simon, ‘because it
is
getting a bit boring. I reckon it’s time we had a fresh target, and you just volunteered.’

I thought nothing of it at the time. Took it as a joke, but when break rolled round he wouldn’t talk to me. ‘Shove off, Coxon,’ he snarled, and walked away.

Something worse happened at lunchtime. I was walking down the hall with my tray when Gordon Linfoot stuck his foot out. I sort of dived forward and my tray went up in the air. Everybody cheered as the two plates shattered on the floor, flinging gravy and custard far and wide. Chocky jumped up from the teachers’ table and came hurrying towards me as I staggered to my feet.

‘What the blazes were you playing at, boy?’

‘Sir . . .’ I nodded towards Linfoot. ‘He tripped me up, sir.’

‘I didn’t, sir – look!’ Gordon pointed to my shoe. ‘His lace is undone.’

It was. Just my luck. Chocky made me fetch a mop and bucket and stood over me while I picked everything up and swabbed the parquet with practically the whole school watching. I was blushing so much it felt like my cheeks were on fire. When I’d finished, Chocky sent me to stand outside his door till afternoon lessons began. No dinner, and no chance to pulverize Linfoot in the yard, which is what I felt like doing.
Never mind
, I thought,
it’ll wait till hometime
. I’d no way of knowing things were about to get far worse.

11. Scott

Half three. Linfoot must’ve known I’d be after him, because by the time I got to the cloakroom he’d gone. I grabbed my jacket and ran outside and there they were in a half-circle round the door, waiting for me. Simon, Tracy, two lads called Gerry Latimer and Paul Mawson who always chase Martha, and Gordon himself. I pulled up and stood looking at them, wondering what they meant to do.

Simon smiled. ‘Looking for someone, were you, Coxon?’

‘Yes, him.’ I nodded towards Linfoot.

‘Gordon? Why – what’s he done?’

‘He knows.’

Simon looked at Linfoot. ‘What you done to Coxon, Gor?’

Linfoot shrugged. ‘Nothing, Simon. Not that I know of.’

Simon turned to me. ‘Says he didn’t do anything to you, Coxon.’

‘He’s a liar.’

‘Hear that, Gor? Coxon here reckons you’re a liar.’

‘Naw. It’s
him
who’s the liar, Simon. Telling Chocky I tripped him.’

‘Oooh!’ Simon shook his head. ‘Lied to
Chocky
, did he? That’s serious. That reflects on the whole class, as Wheely might say. I don’t know about you guys, but I reckon he deserves to be punished for that.’

‘Yeah,’ nodded Gordon, ‘I think you’re right.’

‘Absolutely,’ murmured Tracy. The others indicated agreement. Simon gazed at me, smiling and frowning at the same time. ‘Question is, how?’

‘I know.’ This from Tracy.

Simon looked at her. ‘What d’you suggest, Tracy?’

‘I suggest he deserves his own song, same as Raggedy-Ann.’

‘Hmm – got anything in mind, have you?’

‘I might have.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Well, how about,
Snotty Scotty, Snotty Scotty, brain is dead and clothes are grotty
?’

A chorus of enthusiastic noises greeted Tracy’s suggestion, and it was then I realized the whole thing must’ve been thought up and rehearsed at lunchtime. I mean, it wasn’t a brilliant song, but it was too good for Tracy Stamper to have made up right there and then. Anyway, before I knew what was happening Simon darted forward and pulled me into the middle of them and they were dancing round me, kicking and punching and singing the song. I swung my bag, trying to break out of the ring, but somebody grabbed it and jerked and I went sprawling and shoe leather started coming from all directions, thudding into me. I thought,
this is it, they’re gonna kick me to death
, but then I heard a shout and the kids scattered and next thing I knew Killer Kilroy was squatting next to me and Martha looking over his shoulder. Turned out she saw them laying into me and ran to get a teacher. Didn’t boost her popularity I can tell you. Or mine.

12. Martha

I only saw because I’d decided to hang back. I thought, I’ll wait till everybody’s gone, then walk home for once instead of running, so I locked myself in the toilet and waited. After ten minutes it was dead quiet so I came out. I was tiptoeing across the porch, listening, when some kids started chanting. I could hear thuds and cries as well, and I knew somebody was getting beaten up.

I nearly went back to the toilets. I don’t know why I didn’t. Something stopped me, that’s all I know. I crept to the doorway and peeped out and it was Scott, surrounded by all these kids. As I watched, he fell down and they started kicking him, and I knew it was my fault. He’d spoken up for me when Simon Pritchard kicked me in class, so they’d turned on him.

I didn’t know what to do. If I was brave, I’d have charged at them, punching and kicking to rescue my friend, but I’m not so I turned and ran back, heading for the staffroom. As I crossed the hall, Mr Kilroy came out of the PE store and yelled, ‘
Walk
, girl, don’t run!’

‘Please sir,’ I gasped, ‘there’s a gang beating a kid up in the yard.’

I don’t like Mr Kilroy because he’s sarky to kids who’re useless at PE but give him his due – he didn’t hang about. ‘Show me,’ he rapped, so I ran and he followed. When the kids saw him coming they ran like rabbits. Scott was lying on the ground. Mr Kilroy knelt beside him and talked to him and sort of examined him and I wouldn’t have believed it, he was so gentle. All I could do was stand like a lemon, watching. When he’d made sure nothing was broken he helped Scott to his feet and steered him inside. I trailed after. They went in the First-Aid room where Killer used cotton wool and antiseptic to clean the cuts and grazes on Scott’s face and hands. I stood in the doorway. Scott knew I was there but he wouldn’t look at me. I wondered if I should leave. I was about to when Mr Kilroy turned.

‘Do you two live in the same direction?’

‘Yes,’ I said, though we don’t. Scott frowned but didn’t contradict me.

‘Good,’ smiled Killer, ‘then you can walk the patient home, Martha. It
is
Martha, isn’t it?’

I nodded. If you’re no good at games, Killer doesn’t know you.

‘Splendid. Off you go then. Oh . . .’ He looked at Scott. ‘I shall want the names of your attackers, lad. First thing in the morning, OK?’

‘Yessir.’

‘Where d’you live?’ I asked, when we’d walked side by side across the yard without speaking.

‘Dinsdale Rise,’ he murmured. ‘Why did you tell Killer we lived in the same direction?’

‘Because . . . I knew he hoped we did. And because it’s my fault they set on you.’

‘
Your
fault? How d’you make that out?’

‘Well – they did it because of what you said to Simon, didn’t they?’

‘Maybe, but I chose to say it so you’re not to blame.’

‘I
feel
responsible.’

‘Well, you’re not.’ He stopped. ‘Look, you don’t have to walk me home, Martha. I’m fine, honestly. It’s miles out of your way.’

‘I don’t mind. I
want
to walk you home.’

‘Won’t your folks wonder why you’re late?’

‘No.’ They would, but I didn’t care. Not at that moment.

‘Well . . . if you’re sure.’ He gave me a shy smile. ‘Thanks for rescuing me, by the way.’

I shook my head. ‘Killer rescued you. I wish it
had
been me.’ I shouldn’t have said that. I know I shouldn’t. It just slipped out.

He laughed. ‘Why d’you wish that?’

‘Well, because . . . I like you, I suppose.’

He nodded. ‘I like you, too.’ His expression grew serious. ‘You know they’ll give us a hard time tomorrow, don’t you? You for bringing Killer, me because they hadn’t finished kicking me.’

I shrugged. ‘They give me a hard time
every
day, Scott. I’m used to it.’ I grinned briefly. ‘I know it’s a funny thing to say, but it’ll be nice not to be the only one.’

He chuckled. ‘I know what you mean. Anyway here we are – Dinsdale Rise. I live at number eight. Fancy coming in for a Coke or something?’

I fancied it all right. I’d have loved to have seen the inside of his home, but I shook my head. ‘Better not. Mother’ll be worried. Thanks anyway.’

He pulled a face. ‘No prob. See you tomorrow. Oh – and thanks for walking me.’

‘I enjoyed it.’

I watched till he closed the door, then set off back. I knew there’d be trouble when I got home, but I was glad I’d walked with Scott.

13. Unlucky for Some

‘What on earth’s happened to your face, Scott love?’ She’s a worrier, my mum.

‘It’s nothing, Mum. We were having a game. Got a bit carried away, I guess.’

‘You certainly did. And who’s the girl?’

‘Girl?’

‘The one you were with just now.’

‘Oh.’ That’s another thing about my mum. Eyes like a hawk. ‘Just someone from school. We walked on together.’

‘Ah – so
that’s
why you’re late, is it?’ She twinkled. ‘Bit of courting, eh?’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No way. I don’t even like her.’

‘Didn’t look as though you were saying goodbye to someone you
hate
, Scott. What’s her name?’

‘Martha.’

‘What an old-fashioned name. Haven’t come across a Martha for years.’

I nodded. ‘She’s an old-fashioned girl.’

‘Nice name, though. I like it. You should’ve invited her in, Scott.’

‘I did, but she wouldn’t.’

Mum chuckled. ‘I thought you said you didn’t like her.’

‘Yeah, well . . .’ I left the kitchen to hang up my jacket so she wouldn’t see me blushing. Why do parents have to bang on about
courting
every time they happen to see you within fifty metres of a girl? It’s embarrassing.

*

‘What time do you call
this
, Martha?’ There they sit, the pair of them, gazing at me across the table. They’ve waited dinner for me. Animal noises from below tell me Abomination’s had to wait too. I look at my watch. ‘It’s ten to five, Father.’

He nods. ‘Ten to five. Your mother had dinner ready at four-fifteen as usual. We’ve been sitting here for thirty-five minutes listening to that racket from the cellar, and now the food is spoiled. What have you to say to us?’

‘I’m sorry, Father. Sorry, Mother. Somebody needed my help. At school. I had to give it.’

‘Who, Martha? Who needed this help?’

‘Scott. The boy I told you about.’

‘Ah. I see. And this help – what form did it take?’

‘He was being beaten. By a gang. I ran for a teacher.’

‘And this took thirty-five minutes?’

‘No. The teacher – Mr Kilroy – gave first aid. I watched.’

‘Why?’

‘Because . . . it was my fault Scott got hurt. He stuck up for me.’

‘I see. And
after
the first aid?’

‘The teacher asked me to walk Scott home.’

‘The teacher
asked
you? Why, Martha.’

‘I suppose he thought Scott might have delayed concussion or something, Father.’

‘And
did
he?’

‘No, Father.’

‘No.’ Father shakes his head. ‘Scott did
not
have delayed concussion, but your family had delayed dinner.’