Abomination by Robert Swindells Page B

imagine – brought up here, like me. We don’t even have TV. I can’t see Mary with a modem.’
    ‘It needn’t be Mary herself, Martha. Someone she knows would do. Someone who knows her. They’d pass on a message, I’m sure. Shall we give it a whirl?’
    ‘I dunno, Scott. It’s such a big thing. I can’t think. Not now. Look, it’s coming up to nine. You’d better go. I’ll have a think and let you know in the morning. Is that all right?’
    ‘Yes, I suppose. I mean, the kid’s lived like that all his life, one more night won’t make much difference. But we’ll have to do something, Martha, and pretty quick too.’
    It was five to nine before I got him out of the house. When he’d gone I ran upstairs and threw up, I was so tense. I went to bed so I needn’t see my parents, but I didn’t sleep. I was sending messages all night. Your baby’s here, Mary, waiting for you. Such a long wait. Come in, Mary. Over . . .

43. Martha
     
    ‘Where did you go yesterday evening, Martha?’ Father, at the breakfast table. What a jolt. Somebody must have seen me so there’d be no use denying it. ‘Old Grange Lane, Father. It’s green and quiet.’ I was praying I’d been spotted alone and not with Scott.
    ‘Green and quiet.’ I was amazed by the softness of his tone. A year ago he’d have been round the table with the rod in his hand. As it was, he remained in his place and there was no sign of any cane. Mother was ladling porridge into three bowls. She didn’t speak, or even look at me. I nodded. ‘I had to get outside, Father. A walk. Sometimes this house . . . does my head in.’ It wasn’t an expression I’d normally use. His eyebrows went up. ‘Well, I’m sorry the home your mother and I work hard to provide is not to your liking, Martha. We do the best that we can, with the Lord’s help. Did you by any chance . . . meet somebody in Old Grange Lane?’
    ‘No, Father.’ It wasn’t a lie. Not quite. I’d bumped into Scott on Taylor Hill.
    ‘So this house doesn’t do your head in to where you can’t help discussing family business with outsiders. That’s good.’ He leant forward, hands clasped on the table. ‘Nevertheless you will not repeat last night’s excursion or leave the house for any reason while your mother and I are absent. Is that clear?’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    ‘Good.’ He sat back as Mother placed a steaming bowl in front of him. ‘Abomination seems more than ordinarily restless lately and needs constant attention.’
    ‘Perhaps he needs his mother.’ God knows what made me say it. I shouldn’t have, because it was probably that which made Mother drop the bowl she was carrying. It smashed on the tiles, spattering globs of porridge all over the kitchen.
    Father froze, the spoon halfway to his lips. ‘He has no mother, Martha. She died a long time ago.’
    I forced myself to meet his gaze. ‘No, Father, she did not. Her name is Mary, she’s my sister and she sends postcards. And if she knew we’d kept her baby in our cellar for six years I don’t know what she’d do.’

44. Scott
     
    ‘Is anything the matter, Scott?’ Mum over cornflakes, looking concerned. Dad was gazing at me too.
    I shook my head. ‘No, why?’
    ‘You were making funny noises in the night, dear. Shouting things. It was obviously a nightmare so I came and woke you. Don’t you remember?’
    ‘No.’
    She chuckled. ‘You spoke to me, but you must still have been asleep.’
    ‘What did I say?’
    ‘You won’t believe me if I tell you.’
    ‘Tell me.’
    ‘All right. You sat up, gave me a really earnest look and said, It explains the Pampers though, doesn’t it?’
    ‘Did I?’
    ‘You certainly did. Goodness knows what you were dreaming about.’
    ‘Did I say anything else?’
    ‘Not another word. I said, Yes, dear, I suppose it does , and you sank back into your pillow, fast asleep.’
    ‘Huh.’ I gazed into my bowl. ‘Funny things, dreams. I don’t remember anything about