Free Abomination by Robert Swindells

shadows on the wall. It smelled of damp.
    ‘This is it.’ I’m not kidding, the door squealed as she pushed it open. I saw a threadbare carpet and a grimy little window in the slope of the roof. The heavy furniture was fastened to the wall.
    ‘Cosy,’ I said. Well, what can you say?
    ‘Yeah, right.’ She indicated a wooden chair. ‘Sit down if you like.’ She sat on the bed and stared at the carpet.
    There was an awkward silence, which I broke by saying, ‘You don’t have posters or anything, then?’
    She shook her head. ‘Not allowed, unless you count that.’ I looked where she nodded. It was a framed text done in needlework. Thou, Lord, seest me .
    ‘Did you sew it yourself?’ I asked, for something to say.
    ‘No, my gran did, when she was a little girl.’
    ‘Oh.’
    I didn’t know how to keep the conversation going. Martha was ashamed of her home. I’d have felt the same if it were mine. I couldn’t comfort her.
    After a minute she brightened a bit and said, ‘I know – I’ll show you my secret stuff.’
    I frowned. ‘Secret stuff?’
    ‘Ah-ha.’ She got up and crossed to a corner of the room, where she knelt down and turned back the thin carpet. There was a loose floorboard. She lifted it, set it aside and started pulling stuff out of the hole. Four books. Some magazines. A rolled-up poster with a rubber band round it. A wad of postcards. She held up the postcards. ‘From Mary. She’s been everywhere. D’you want to look?’
    I didn’t. Not right then. I’d just remembered something from Saturday. Something odd. I shook my head. ‘Not just now. Martha?’
    ‘What?’ She twisted round to look at me, still on her knees.
    ‘Who were the Pampers for?’
    She turned away and began putting things back in the hole. ‘Pampers? I don’t know what you mean.’
    ‘Your mum bought Pampers at Asda.’
    ‘Disposable nappies?’ She was really busy, crouching over her hidey-hole. ‘She can’t have. And how would you know anyway?’
    ‘I tailed her, stood right behind her at the checkout.’
    She turned, the floorboard in her hands. ‘Why, Scott? Are you spying on my family or something?’
    I shrugged. ‘Not spying, no. I was curious, that’s all. And bored.’
    ‘Weird thing to do, follow somebody round Asda. I hope she didn’t notice you.’
    ‘Why should she, Martha? Your mum doesn’t know me from Adam.’
    ‘It’s just that if she thought . . . if she suspected I was seeing somebody at Asda, that’d be the end of my shopping expeditions.’
    ‘Relax. As far as your mum’s concerned I was just another customer.’ I looked at her. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
    She shook her head, slotting the board in place. ‘I don’t know, Scott. She must’ve been getting them for somebody – a neighbour, perhaps.’ She stood up, smoothing her skirt. ‘I think you’d better go now. I’m scared in case Father finishes early.’
    ‘OK.’ I stood up and followed her out of the poky room and down the stairs. In the hallway she put a hand on my sleeve. ‘Are we still friends, now that you’ve seen my place?’
    ‘’Course we are, you plank. I told you – I don’t care about the house. See you at school, eh?’
    She opened the door, glanced up and down the road. ‘Yes. Take care, Scott. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She watched from the step as I set off down the hill. I turned once to wave and she waved back, but when I turned a second time the door was closed.

36. Martha
     
    Talk about a narrow squeak. He’d not been out of the house fifteen seconds when Abomination set up a howl. The cellar door’s right there in the hallway. What the heck could I have said if he’d heard?
    I had to see to the creature straight away or I think I’d have collapsed. It wasn’t till I’d finished that the narrowness of my escape hit me and my legs went rubbery. I could hardly get up the cellar steps. I staggered into the front room, flopped in an armchair and sat shivering in