Abomination Page 9
I shook my head. ‘No, I won’t. He’s the only friend I’ve ever had because of you. Because of the Righteous. I won’t forget him because I won’t go and you can’t make me. If you try, I’ll tell about the kid. I’ll tell Mr Cadbury, the police, everyone. I’ll tell Pastor Fenwick. You’ll be cast out of the congregation as sinners and you’ll both go to jail and I’ll be GLAD.’ My voice had risen and I screamed the word glad. Mother started towards me. I spun round to make a dash for the door and cried out. In the doorway, with a face like thunder crouched Father, his arms spread wide to catch me.
51. Martha
He locked me in my room. I kicked and wriggled all the way upstairs. ‘You can’t keep me locked up,’ I gasped. ‘Who’ll look after the kid when you and Mother are at work?’
It turned out we weren’t leaving till Tuesday. Something about the Bank Holiday weekend, but Father was owed some leave. He wouldn’t work again till he started at Wharton.
‘School,’ I tried. ‘You already kept me off Wednesday. If I don’t show up tomorrow, they’ll wonder what’s happening.
‘No, Martha, they won’t.’ He shoved me into the room. ‘I spoke to Mr Cadbury on the phone. Told him I was being transferred at short notice. You’ve left Southcott Middle, young woman.’
So that was that. He turned the key in the lock and went downstairs. I sat on the bed, dazed by the speed of events. Twenty-five minutes ago I’d said goodnight to Scott believing we’d meet first thing tomorrow. He was going to check the Net. Might have news in the morning, but now I wouldn’t be there. I’d never see him again.
Oh, I didn’t give up just like that. I tried to think of a way out. I’d heard of people picking locks and I searched for something to use. Something made of wire. I found a coathanger in my wardrobe, opened it out, made a little kink in one end and shoved it in the keyhole, but no matter how I jiggled and twisted it nothing happened.
I considered the window. It’s a skylight – a grubby little thing in the slope of the roof but it opens. I stood on the chair, opened it and peered out. All I could see was a patch of sky, slippery tiles falling steeply away to the gutter, and the roofs of houses across the street. I’d pictured myself climbing out and reaching the ground by way of a fallpipe, but as soon as I saw that slope I knew I wouldn’t go out there even if the house was on fire.
I fantasized briefly about scrawling messages and throwing them out. Help. I’m locked in attic. Kid caged in cellar. Tell police. I’d have to use pages from my Bible or tear off bits of wallpaper because they’d taken my postcards and magazines. I actually ripped a flyleaf out of the Bible, but then realized I’d nothing to write with.
My one hope now was that Scott would succeed in finding Mary through the Internet before we vanished next Tuesday. It was a slender hope. So slender that I curled up on the bed and cried myself to sleep.
52. Scott
Friday morning I kept telling myself, There’s a million reasons people take a day off school. Sore throat. Sick in the night. Slept in. But at break Thelma Rigsby and Tracy Stamper came charging across the yard to tell me Mrs Fawthrop was clearing Martha’s locker.
‘She’s expelled,’ gasped Rigsby, ‘for scruffiness.’
‘Lying cow,’ growled Stamper. ‘She’s been sent to a special school for disturbed kids. I heard Chocky tell Wheely.’ You could see they were both really pleased.
I hurried to the office. After a minute Mrs Fawthrop appeared with a bulging bin-liner under her arm. She’s the school secretary. ‘Yes, Scott, what can I do for you?’
‘Miss, it’s about Martha Dewhurst. I was wondering . . .’
‘What were you wondering, Scott?’
‘Miss, some of the girls are saying she’s left. Tracy Stamper says she’s gone to a special school.’
‘Tracy Stamper is talking out of the back of her head as usual, but Martha won’t be coming back after the Bank Holiday. That much is true. Her father’s work is taking him elsewhere and the family is leaving Scratchley.’
‘Where, miss? Where are they going?’
Mrs Fawthrop dumped the bin-liner on a chair and sighed. ‘I don’t think that’s any concern of yours, Scott Coxon. If the Dewhursts had wanted you to know where they were going, they’d have told you. I can’t.’
‘But, miss, it’s really important. Martha and me . . .’ Should I tell? About the kid and everything? How would he ever be rescued if they vanished with him?
‘Martha and you?’ She twinkled like grownups do when they think they’ve discovered some kid’s romantic secret. ‘Don’t you think you’re a bit young for that sort of thing, Scott? Both of you, I mean. Anyway.’ She smiled. ‘She knows where you are, doesn’t she. I expect she’ll write if she wants to keep in touch.’
And that was it. Subject closed. Interview over. I felt so mad I decided there was no point trying to explain to her. She probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. I turned and walked away, and when I got outside Rigsby and Stamper were parading round the yard holding hands, singing:
Raggedy-Ann, Raggedy-Ann
Ran away with Desperate Dan
Dan’s not the only one who’s desperate, I thought.
53. Martha
They let me out Friday. They had to. The kid was playing up like never before – screeching and yelping and throwing himself at the bars. I reckon he knew something unusual was happening. They left me to cope with him while they got stuff ready for the move. I tried to divert him with talk and toys and grub but he wouldn’t settle. Everything I tried him with he chucked at me, and he kept trying to clamber out of the playpen. In the end Father came and screwed down his night-roof and we left him to it. Turned Classic FM to full volume and let him scream.
After that I had to empty my drawers and wardrobe and pack all my clothes in a big old suitcase. They didn’t lock my door, and when I’d finished I went down and helped Mother make a meal in the bare-looking kitchen. I was being really good, but it was just an act. What I wanted was a chance to slip outside if only for a minute, so I could leave a message for Scott.
I’d thought up this plan last night in bed. It was a desperate plan because it depended on three things. One, Scott had to have learned that I wasn’t coming to school any more. Two, he had to come up Taylor Hill to try to find out more. And three, I had to put a message somewhere he’d see it before he came up our path. I’d written the message in big letters with a red felt-tip on a sheet of wallpaper Mother had lined my drawers with. It said: SCOTT. DON’T KNOCK. PARENTS IN. WE LEAVE TUES. IF NO MARY BY MON, TELL YOUR FOLKS, TEACHERS, ETC. BUT WAIT TILL MON. LOVE, M. It was folded in my skirt pocket, which also held four drawing pins. All I needed was a couple of minutes outside.
It was agony waiting, especially after half-three. Suppose Scott came up straight from school? He wouldn’t knock because he’d assume my parents were home. Most likely he’d walk past a few times looking sidelong at the house, trying to see if anything was happening. Hoping to spot me through a window, maybe. He’d go away eventually and come back after seven, and this time he’d knock. I didn’t dare imagine what would happen after that. I had to pin up that message somehow. I had to.
My chance came at half six. Mother had gone to work her last shift. Father, who’d been watching me like a hawk all day, had to slip upstairs to answer a call of nature. He must have thought the front door was locked or that I’d abandoned thoughts of escape, but he was wrong. The instant he was out of sight I was through that door and down the path, pulling the crumpled notice from my pocket. The blast from the radio masked any sound I might have made, but I knew I only had a minute. I ran a few metres downhill and pinned my notice to next door’s fence, praying some busybody wouldn’t rip it down and that it wouldn’t rain. If it rained, my words would dissolve to a meaningless blur in seconds. I pushed home the fourth pin, turned and raced back to the house. By the time Father reappeared I was back in the kitchen, wiping the few dishes we’d left unpacked. I’d done my best. Now I could only wait.
What I wanted to do was shoot straight up to Martha’s after school. I nearly did, but then I realized there’d be no point. If they’d left already there’d just be an empty house, and if they hadn’t her folks would be there. I told myself they couldn’t have left today or Martha would’ve known about it yesterday. More likely they’d go over the weekend. I decided to go home, check my e-mail, grab a bite to eat and get up there around seven.
Oh, I didn’t feel as cool as that sounds. No way. And it wasn’t just worry about the kid. I mean I was worried, obviously – a day or two at the most and there’d be nothing useful I could tell Mary if she did get in touch – but mostly right then it was Martha. Me and Martha. Yes OK, I’m admitting it. I was crazy about her. In love, as Mum would probably say. Scott’s in love. Big joke. It was no joke though. You’ll know if it’s ever happened to you. It tore at me all the way home. She’s going away and I don’t know where. If I get to see her tonight she’ll tell me where, but what if it’s fifty miles away. A hundred. Two hundred. We’ll never meet again. Never. Will she write? Does she feel the same as I do or will she forget as soon as she’s in her new school, find some other guy ? I was nearly crying if you must know.
I went straight upstairs when I got in. Switched on, hooked up to AOL and selected e-mail. You’ve got post, goes Joanna Lumley. I swallowed, trying not to get excited. I’ve got five buddies who mail me. It was probably one of them. Only it wasn’t. It was Mary, e-mail address ABAXT 779@ AOL.COM.
The message read:
I’m Mary Dewhurst. What about the child? Is this a joke? If so you’re sick, sick, sick. If not write ASAP, above address.
I sat gobsmacked, staring at the screen while precious time ticked by. I couldn’t believe it. Such a long shot. The sender mentioned a joke. What if this was a joke? A flame? No way of knowing. I thought for a minute then wrote:
Mary this is Marfa. Come quick. M&F move to unknown location maybe today. Child has lived six years in cellar, answers to Abomination. Thanks for card of lady in fountain. Hope Annette well. Love Marfa.
That ought to do it. My misspelling of Martha’s name, plus references to Annette and the postcard would tell Mary the message had to be genuine. I just hoped ABAXT would check her e-mail tonight and pass it on straight away. I suspected the address was Annette’s, so I was hopeful. In fact I couldn’t wait to tell Martha. I bolted my meal and shot out the door like a scalded lop. Mum and Dad must’ve thought I was barmy. Or in love.
55. Scott
Number one, Mary’s message. She’ll be so surprised. So chuffed, but we mustn’t forget number two, the new address. I can e-mail that to ABAXT tonight in case the mad Dewhursts flit before Mary can get here. And when that’s sorted there’s number three. The big one. I’ll have to ask her straight out, won’t I, ’cause I won’t get another chance. D’you love me?
Oh come on Scotty – get real. There’s no way you’re gonna say that. Not face to face. No chance. What if she laughed? She doesn’t laugh much, old Marfa, but I bet she’d laugh at that. All right then, what about, will you write? Postcards will do, like Mary, only more often if you can manage it. That’s not too much to ask is it, after all I’ve done for you ?
No, I mustn’t say that. Wouldn’t be fair. She’s got to want to keep in touch. So, leave out the last bit and say will you write, ’cause I’ll write to you ? Yeah, that sounds OK. I can manage that face to face.
This was the conversation I was having with myself as I trogged up Taylor Hill, and it turned out to be all for nothing because just before Martha’s place I saw this notice pinned to a fence. At first I thought it was one of those signs sad creeps put up when it’s someone’s birthday. You know – HARRY SPACK IS FORTY TODAY – but it wasn’t. It was for me. I couldn’t believe it.
SCOTT. DON’T KNOCK. PARENTS IN. WE LEAVE TUES. IF NO MARY BY MON, TELL YOUR FOLKS, TEACHERS, ETC. BUT WAIT TILL MON. LOVE, M.
The word wait was bigger than the rest, but it was the word love that made my heart kick me in the ribs. Love, M. I stood gawping at this like a div instead of taking in the message. It was only when a Harley came roaring over the hill that I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and realized I couldn’t do it now. I got my brain in gear and tried to think.
Parents in, so I can’t tell Martha that Mary knows the situation and might show up anytime. Not unless I knock and tell whoever answers the door. They’d flit straight away then, and they wouldn’t leave a forwarding address.
The police? No. Wait till Mon. That’s clear enough, isn’t it? Trouble is, the situation’s changed since Martha left this notice. If no Mary. But there is and she’s coming, and Martha needs to know this without her folks finding out. How, though? How ?
One thing I could do was get rid of the notice before her mum or dad saw it. I tore it off the fence, folded it roughly and shoved it in my pocket. Luckily there were no nosy pedestrians about, just the odd car whooshing by. I crossed the road and walked past the house on the other side. Everything looked the same. Martha wasn’t at any of the windows. How the heck could I get word to her, tell her her sister was coming? Get her new address, ask her to write?
Suppose I hang around till Mary comes? There’s bound to be ructions, and maybe I’ll get a word with Martha in all the chaos. Slip her a note. Yeah, but she might not come till midnight, or tomorrow or even Sunday. Depends when ABAXT checks her e-mail. Can’t hang around till then, can I? Dad’ll have the police out.
There must be a way. Must be. I needed to think so why not do it here, in the shadow under this sycamore where I could keep an eye on the house? I could compose a note on a scrap torn from Martha’s notice, just in case. I leaned on the wall, pulled a biro out of my inside pocket and began with my favourite word. Martha.
56. Martha
Nine o’clock. Starting to get dark and no sign of Scott. One half of me was relieved – the half that said he’d wanted to see me but had spotted my message. The other half kept whispering that maybe he hadn’t come because he wasn’t all that bothered. That half was desperate.
Mother was due anytime now, and I was dead scared she’d see my message. She shouldn’t – the bus would drop her off at the top of the hill and she’d turn into our gateway without even glancing at next door’s fence, especially in the dusk. But what if she did? What if the whiteness of the paper drew her eye and she got curious?
The phone rang. Father picked it up. I couldn’t see him because I was in the kitchen and the phone’s in the hallway. He hung up straight away so it must’ve been a wrong number. I went on fixing supper. It rang again. Again I heard Father pick it up. A couple of seconds and it went down with a bang. Father came along the hallway muttering, and just as he reached the kitchen it rang for a third time. He went back, picked it up and shouted, ‘WHO IS THIS? WHAT D’YOU WANT? I’LL HAVE YOU TRACED IF YOU BOTHER ME AGAIN.’ Slam went the handset.
My heart was battering my ribs like the kid in his cage. Could it be Scott calling? Would he be that crazy? I swallowed, struggling to keep a hold on myself. When Father came in I said, ‘Who was that, Father?’ I hoped my voice sounded normal.
‘Never you mind,’ he growled. ‘Your mother will be here soon.’ Meaning get on with it. I lifted the kettle off the gas and poured boiling water into the teapot. My hand was shaking.
Mother came in carrying a bouquet which she flung on the worktop. ‘Can you believe it?’ she snorted. ‘Flowers, for someone who’s moving in three days. What do they think I’m going to do – pack them and take them with me?’ I bet she’d been a ray of sunshine at that factory, my mother. It’s a miracle they gave her anything. She obviously hadn’t seen my message though.
‘No brains,’ grunted Father. ‘Any of them. Like the idiot who phoned just now.’
‘What idiot?’ asked Mother, peeling off her cardigan.
‘Oh, some young yobbo with nothing better to do. Three times, he called. Three times. Bothering decent folk.’
‘Wha
t did he say?’
‘Nothing that made sense. Contact established. Mother ship approaching. Science fiction freak by the sound of it. Soon stopped when I threatened to have him traced, I can tell you. No brains and even less guts, that’s his type.’
I managed to act normal, I think, but I couldn’t eat much. As soon as Father had given thanks I excused myself and went to my room. Contact established. Mother ship approaching. It was Scott. Had to be. The calls were his way of letting me know he’d found Mary through the Internet and she was coming. So not science fiction, Father dear. Science fact.
Beam me up, Scotty.
57. Scott
Old Dewhurst, yelling down the phone like that. Very near shattered my eardrums. Only way I could think of to alert Martha, those three calls. I was pretty proud of it, to be honest. Contact established. Mother ship approaching. Not bad thinking for a stressed-out guy in a callbox at nine o’clock at night. Of course it might not work, I knew that. If he didn’t tell anybody, I’d have wasted my breath. That’s why I rang three times, so he’d remember the exact words and be mad enough to repeat them in Martha’s hearing. I didn’t doubt she’d know what they meant – she’s a sharp cookie, old Martha. So. I’d done all I could to tell her to expect Mary, but I hadn’t found out where her folks were taking her or if she’d write to me. It was nearly dark when I left the phonebox and I knew I had to go home. I wondered if she’d show up at Asda in the morning. It wasn’t likely, but I knew I’d be waiting there anyway.
I spent a long night picturing what might be happening up there on Taylor Hill. Mary descending on the family home like an avenging angel, battering good old Mum, throttling dear old Dad, snatching her kid and roaring away in a shiny red Porsche. Or maybe she’d do it a quieter way. Creep up the garden path, pick the lock with a credit card, tiptoe down the cellar steps. The Dewhursts wake in the morning to find the kid gone and no trace of how. I suppose I got some sleep but I didn’t feel as though I had.