ROBERT
SWINDELLS
Abomination
CORGI
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Other titles by Robert Swindells
1. Martha
2. Scott
3. Martha
4. Scott
5. Martha
6. Scott
7. Martha
8. Scott
9. Martha
10. Scott
11. Scott
12. Martha
13. Unlucky for Some
14. Martha
15. Scott
16. Martha
17. Scott
18. Martha
19. Scott
20. Martha
21. Scott
22. Martha
23. Martha
24. Scott
25. Martha
26. Scott
27. Martha
28. Scott
29. Martha
30. Scott
31. Martha
32. Scott
33. Martha
34. Martha
35. Scott
36. Martha
37. Scott
38. Martha
39. Scott
40. Martha
41. Scott
42. Martha
43. Martha
44. Scott
45. Martha
46. Scott
47. Martha
48. Martha
49. Scott
50. Martha
51. Martha
52. Scott
53. Martha
54. Scott
55. Scott
56. Martha
57. Scott
58. Martha
59. Scott
60. Martha, Mary, Jim, Annette
About the Author
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781407098722
www.randomhouse.co.uk
ABOMINATION
A CORGI BOOK 9780552555883
First published in Great Britain by Doubleday,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
Doubleday edition published 1998
Corgi Yearling edition published 1999
This edition 2007
7 9 10 8 6
Copyright © Robert Swindells, 1998
The right of Robert Swindells to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire.
What I’d like most of all is somebody to talk to. About my life. About how things are at home. See – I know why kids hate me. I know I seem weird to them, but it’s not me. It’s not. Inside I’m just like them. I like pop music and TV and clothes but I can’t have them. They’re forbidden. I’d like to have a party, invite everybody on my table, but I can’t even bring a friend home. I mean, there are kids at church. Righteous kids. They see one another, play together, but not me. I can’t bring anybody to the house in case they find out about Abomination. I can go to their homes – I used to – but I can never invite them back so they stopped bothering with me and you can’t blame them, but if there was just one person who understood, one person who knew, I think I could stand it. . .
Martha
www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk
Other titles by Robert Swindells:
ROOM 13/INSIDE THE WORM OMNIBUS
NIGHTMARE STAIRS
ABOMINATION
A WISH FOR WINGS
BLITZED
RUBY TANYA
IN THE NICK OF TIME
TIMESNATCH
1. Martha
They chased me home again today and the new boy, Scott, joined in. When he smiled at me yesterday I hoped he was going to be my friend, but he’s not. He was yelling Raggedy-Ann just like everybody else as I ran up Taylor Hill.
When I got in Mother said, ‘You’ve been running.’ I’ve never told her the kids chase me and she doesn’t like me to run. I said, ‘Yes, Mother, I’m sorry.’ She shook her head like she does, tutting. ‘There’s a time, Martha,’ she says. ‘A time to every purpose under heaven.’
I hate my name. Martha. It’s in the Bible but the kids think it’s a stupid name. They call me Arthur or Ma, and that’s when I’m lucky. Mostly it’s Raggedy-Ann, because of my clothes. Mother makes my clothes and I wish she didn’t. They’re good clothes and I know she sews them because she loves me, but they’re different. I mean they’re not rags or anything – that’s not why they call me Raggedy-Ann. Mother would die before she let me wear rags, but they don’t look right. You can see they’re home-made. I mentioned it once, how all the kids have Nike trainers and jogging bottoms and stuff like that, but Mother just said, ‘All is vanity.’ There’s a saying for everything in the Bible.
The kids don’t know the Bible. Mother says they’re raised in darkness like the heathen, but I don’t know. I mean, I know the Bible’s the word of God and God never lies, but it says the meek shall inherit the earth and I’m meek and the kids are not, and it seems to me they’ve inherited this little bit of the earth – the bit with me in it.
Anyway, today’s Tuesday so it’s lamb cutlets with green beans and mashed potatoes. Father says plain food’s best. Good plain food, he calls it. We never have pizza or curry or fish and chips. We have cakes or biscuits sometimes, but they’re home-made like my clothes. Father says shop ones are for idle people.
I never get to eat straight away, because one of my jobs is to feed Abomination. It’s my worst thing. Worse than hair-pulling or name-calling or being chased. I hate the cellar, but that’s where Abomination lives and so I have to go down there every single day. If the kids knew, maybe they’d leave me alone but they don’t, because it’s a secret. Nobody knows except Father and Mother and me. And God, I suppose. You can’t keep secrets from God.
2. Scott
I think it’s going to be all right, Southcott Middle. I’m in Mr Wheelwright’s class. He’s OK. Looks like Rolf Harris but likes computers and supports Man United so can’t be all bad. The kids’re OK too, apart from a snob or two and a few veg, but you always get those. There’s a terrific playing-field, and at lunchtime after your meal you can play on the c
omputers in the library. You’ve got to be quick, mind – there’re only ten computers and it’s first come first served, but that’s fair. A great white shark can’t wreck a dinner quicker than me.
Oh, I nearly forgot. There’s this really weird girl, Martha Dewhurst. The kids laughed yesterday because Wheelwright put me on her table. I didn’t know why they were laughing till morning break, when this guy called Simon came up to me and said, ‘Keep your head away from Raggedy-Ann’s if you don’t want nits.’ That’s her nickname – Raggedy-Ann. I don’t think she has nits, but there’s like a gap between her and everybody else on our table, and nobody’ll lend her their rubber. She has these funny clothes. I mean, they’re uniform – maroon sweater, grey skirt – but they’re not like everyone else’s. I think her mum must’ve made them. Or her gran.
There’s this game after school, Chase Raggedy-Ann. Some kid’ll start chanting – chase Raggedy-Ann, chase Raggedy-Ann – like that. A few others join in, and when there’s about ten they set off after her. I didn’t go yesterday – felt a bit sorry for her if you must know – but I did today because Simon started it and he’s my friend. She looks really funny, running. She’s got these very thin, long legs that splay out sort of sideways as she runs, and her arms are all over the place too. I doubt she’ll ever run for England. The kids don’t try to catch her – it’d be over straight away if they did – so they hang back, running about fifty metres behind her, chanting Raggedy-Ann, Raggedy-Ann, we’ll all scrag you if we can. She doesn’t seem to know they’re not trying to catch her. You can tell she’s going full belt. She lives up this very steep slope called Taylor Hill. Her house is near the top, and she’s near collapsing by the time she reaches the gate. We pull up and watch her stagger up the path like a shot bandit, then we walk back down the hill, laughing and joking and taking turns with a ciggy.
I reckon I’ll be fine at my new school.
3. Martha
My favourite time is after dinner when I have the place to myself. Father’s an agent for an insurance company. He does his round at night because that’s when people are in, and Mother works the evening shift at a soft toy factory.
I have the washing-up to do and Abomination’s mess to see to, but after that I’m free till ten, except in winter when it’s nine thirty. We don’t have TV. I sometimes listen to Radio One, but I’ve got to remember not to leave the set tuned to that station when I switch off, because the Righteous believe the devil reaches young people through pop music. The Righteous is our church. One night last year I forgot, and when Father switched on for the morning news he got Madonna and I got the rod. It’s a cane really, but Father calls it the rod. His favourite text is Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Notice it says he, not she. It’s not about girls, but Father seems not to have spotted that and I daren’t point it out.
They’re administered really carefully by the way, my beatings. Oh, yes. Wouldn’t do for some busybody to spot the marks on me. They’re always on my bum, so they’re covered in PE and even when I swim. I could show somebody of course, but then Father would get into trouble and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for that. He thinks he’s doing the best thing, you see: that it’s for my own good.
Anyway, after twirling round the kitchen to a few of the devil’s tunes, I usually go up to my room and look at Mary’s postcards. Mary’s my big sister. Father sent her away when I was six. She’s grown up and has a really interesting life if the cards are anything to go by. They’re from all over: London, Liverpool, Birmingham. There’s even one from Amsterdam. Some are addressed to Mother and Father and some are to me. I’m not supposed to have any of them. Father tears them up unread and throws them in the bin, but I rescue them and stick them back together with sellotape. I’ve been doing this since I was six. I couldn’t read then, but I knew who they were from and the pictures were nice. I’ve got thirty-one now, in a shoe-box under the floor, with my Blur poster, four Point Horror books and a few other things my parents wouldn’t like.
Mother says we’re special because we’re Righteous, but that doesn’t make me feel better. I’d rather not be special if it means having to hide things.
If I can’t have friends round.
If I can’t have friends.
4. Scott
Saturday morning I’d arranged to meet Simon down town so he could show me round, but I nearly didn’t get to keep the appointment. We lived near Birmingham before, and my folks never let me go into the city by myself. Twelve’s too young they’d say, though some of my friends did it every weekend. When I mentioned it Friday night, there was a row. You’d no business making arrangements like that without asking, they said. We don’t know this boy. This Simon. You better phone him and say you won’t be there.
I talked ’em round, but only because I didn’t have Simon’s number. Dad said to look it up in the book, but I pretended I didn’t know his surname. I do of course – it’s Pritchard – but he wasn’t to know that. In the end him and Mum decided that because Scratchley’s a small place it would probably be OK. I was really chuffed – like they’d finally noticed I’m not a little kid any more. I felt like dancing round the room, thumping the air and going Yes !, but I didn’t. I acted dead cool.
Lying in bed that night I started thinking about Martha. Don’t ask me why. I’d helped chase her home Wednesday and Thursday, but I hadn’t joined in today and neither had Simon. We’d been too busy making our arrangements. Others had gone after her though. I don’t think she ever gets to just walk home like everybody else. I feel sorry for her in a way but she makes me angry too. I know that sounds strange, but it’s a fact. It irritates me the way she puts up with everything. I mean, if she told someone – Mr Wheelwright or one of the other teachers – they’d do something, wouldn’t they? They’d put a stop to it, or try to. At the very least there’d be an Assembly about bullying. And in class, she pretends not to notice the space round her chair, or that nobody speaks to her. She doesn’t ask to borrow anything or try to start a conversation. She sits with her eyes down, concentrating on her work, and if Wheelwright asks her a question she ignores the sniggers and answers quietly, and it’s usually the right answer. It’s as if nothing can push her over the edge. She’s like some helpless little animal. Never cries.
Anyway I lay a long time thinking about her and had a restless night, so that when I met Simon in the shopping centre it felt more like ten at night than ten in the morning. I wondered what he’d say if I told him I was being bugged by Raggedy-Ann. Not that I would. When you’ve only one friend, you want to keep him.
5. Martha
Scott lent me his ruler today. I’d used mine at home and forgotten to put it back in my bag. I didn’t ask him. He saw me rummaging and said, ‘Lost something?’ ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘My ruler.’ I expected him to snigger and say tough or something like that, but he didn’t. He just pushed his ruler towards me. I looked up to see if he meant to snatch it away when I went to pick it up, but he was writing. I underlined my heading and slid the ruler back across the table. ‘Thanks.’ ‘’S’OK.’ He didn’t look up. Tracy Stamper snorted. ‘I’d burn that now if I were you. It’s contaminated.’ Scott ignored her.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, So what? Why’s she banging on about someone lending her their ruler? Well, I know it’s no big deal to you. Kids borrow one another’s stuff all the time, but not me. Nobody ever lent me anything till today, or borrowed anything of mine. So although it only happened that one time, and though Scott didn’t speak or even look at me again, it mattered. It made my day. I didn’t even mind when they chased me home. In fact I was glad, because Scott wasn’t with them. If you’ve never been ignored it’ll just sound daft to you.
What I’d like most of all is somebody to talk to. About my life. About how things are at home. See – I know why the kids hate me. I know I seem weird to them, but it’s not me. It’s not. Inside I’m just like them. I like pop music and TV an
d clothes but I can’t have them. They’re forbidden. I’d like to have a party, invite everybody on my table, but I can’t even bring a friend home. I mean, there are kids at church. Righteous kids. They see one another, play together, but not me. I can’t bring anybody to the house in case they find out about Abomination. I can go to their homes – I used to – but I never invited them back so they stopped bothering with me and you can’t blame them, but if there was just one person who understood, one person who knew, I think I could stand it.
So. It’s seven o’clock, my parents are out and I’m lying on my bed constructing a fantasy. I do this a lot. It’s my way of escaping for a while. This particular fantasy is different from most because it’s based on fact – the fact that Scott lent me his ruler. In my fantasy, I go up to him at break and thank him, and we get talking and it turns out he fancies me. Wants to take me out. We go to a live Blur concert. My parents think I’m at Bible class. From then on we’re inseparable, Scott and me. One day he finds Gordon Linfoot giving me an Indian burn behind the bike sheds and beats him up. Another time it’s a maths exam and he’s completely stuck and I slip him all the answers on a bit of paper. We come joint top, and to celebrate we take a train to London, staying in a posh hotel and buying all the latest fashions on Oxford Street. Mother and Father know nothing about it – they’re in comas after a car crash.
Amazing what it can lead to, borrowing someone’s ruler.
6. Scott
It was good in town. Simon got there about a minute after me, and we checked out this games shop and a few other places in the Centre before he showed me the town. There’s not a lot in Scratchley. All the good shops are in the Centre. The best bit apart from that is the park. A river runs through town and the park’s on both banks, with a footbridge connecting the two halves. It’s got a bike track, a place for skateboards and a café with tables inside and outside where they do burgers and Coke and stuff. Kids go there Saturdays. We saw Tracy Stamper and another girl from school. Tracy said to me, ‘If you’re waiting for Raggedy-Ann, you’re wasting your time. She never comes here.’ What a spack. I suppose she said it because I lent Martha my ruler. ‘I’m not waiting for anybody,’ I told her, ‘and if I was it wouldn’t be you.’
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