The Water Tower - Books 4-5

Chapter 35-3

Oh, Aitch. I’m so sorry. To think that I betrayed you for… this.

Oh, Aitch. I’m so sorry. To think that I betrayed you for… thisHe leaned against the back of the bench as Victoria closed the distance between them and came to a breathless halt. She didn’t just look exhausted; she looked fatigued, as if the events of the night hadn’t just tired her but also placed some deeper, hidden strain on her body and soul.

“Why?” he asked pointedly.

She extended a hand, palm-first towards him. “Sit down,” she said, calmly, pointing to the bench. “We can talk.”

“Why?” he asked again. “What’s the point? When all this time, for all these months, you’ve been playing me.”

Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it clearly hadn’t been that. “Wh – what?” she answered, still trying to catch her breath. “You think – you think that all of this – me and you, everything we’ve shared together – was a game? Oh, Adam, please don’t tell me that’s what’s running through that brain of yours!”

whatall of thisgamethat’sHe extended his arms in a gesture of supplication as she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head skyward in disbelief. “Do you realise what you’ve done? Do you understand what’s going to happen now? It’s over, Victoria! The Tower’s gone. They’ll tear it down. You did that. You made that happen. They’ll bulldoze Whitechapel. Everyone – all of those people – will lose everything they’ve ever known. Kayleigh Morris and her boyfriend will lose. Your neighbours – your friends will lose. Madison – Madison – will lose. They’ll do exactly what they wanted. The only thing that was standing in their way was that Water Tower. And you just voted to demolish it. To demolish everything you’ve – we’ve been fighting for. You did that. No one else. You.”

doneunderstandovergoneYoumadethat happenlose loseloseMadisonlosewe’ve YouYouAs he spoke, he allowed himself to be carried away on a tide of his own emotions, as everything he’d kept bottled up since that singular, terrifying moment rushed forth in a torrent of restless anguish.

“For…”

“For…”He watched Victoria turn away, and he understood then that she was fighting back tears.

“How could you do that?” he whispered. “To Madison? To Hilda? To us.”

usShe bit her lip, trying to stop herself from sobbing. “I spoke – I spoke to Grainger. If you’d listen, just for a minute, I can explain.”

explain“Grainger?” For a moment, Adam was dumbfounded. Of all the people he’d imagined might have influenced her decision, the Mayor-to-be was the last person he’d ever have suspected. He’d been edging towards hearing her out; in spite of himself, he’d been on the cusp of acknowledging that he owed her that, if nothing else.

GraingerBut Grainger…

Grainger…It had to have been Grainger, didn’t it? It had to have been.

It had to have been Grainger, didn’t it?It had to have been.“Forget it,” he told her. “This – right here, right now – this is how it was always going to be, wasn’t it? It doesn’t matter how much people are promised something to the contrary. It always ends the same way, doesn’t it? A broken word here. A second thought there. What chance do good intentions have when the wheels of power turn? You were always going to be forced to surrender, weren’t you? Because there’s always a closed door to hide behind. There’s always an offer waiting to be made, something tempting and appealing in all the right ways. There’s always a palm to be greased. Once you’re on the inside, those principles you once held dear just go weak at the knees, don’t they? Don’t worry; you’re not the first person to betray them for convenience. You won’t be the last.”

“Adam—”

“You’re no better than him,” he seethed. “You and Grainger, two peas in a pod. I don’t know what he promised you, but I hope it was worth it.”

He pushed himself off the bench and took the first step of what he knew would be a long walk into the darkness.

So this is how it ends, then? Same way it always did. With the ending that was always destined to be written.

So this is how it ends, then? Same way it always did. With the ending that was always destined to be written.I’m living it again, aren’t I? The only story I’ve ever known.

I’m living it again, aren’t I? The only story I’ve ever known.Why did I ever believe that she was different? What made me think that all those hopes and expectations would somehow be repaid in kind?

Why did I ever believe that she was different? What made me think that all those hopes and expectations would somehow be repaid in kind?She was never the woman I thought she was. People never are. You meet someone, you write their whole biography in your head. But everything you create there’s just a fiction.

She was never the woman I thought she was. People never are. You meet someone, you write their whole biography in your head. But everything you create there’s just a fiction.We want to believe – all of us. We want to believe so badly. But the truth is that people only ever disappoint. They’re empty and hollow. She took everything I gave her and she trampled all over it. So casually. So easily.

We want to believe – all of us. We want to believe so . But the truth is that people only ever disappoint. They’re empty and hollow. She took everything I gave her and she trampled all over it. So casually. So .And I should have seen it coming. But I didn’t.

And I should have seen it coming. But I didn’t.And he knew why.

Because it’s lonely without her.

Because it’s lonely without her.That’s why we all keep on believing, when it comes down to it; through the bruises and the betrayals, that’s why we keep the faith. Because it’s hard – it’s so hard – to keep going without the one you love.

That’s why we all keep on believing, when it comes down to it; through the bruises and the betrayals, that’s why we keep the faith. Because it’s hard – it’s – to keep going without the one you love.Well, I’m done. I’m through believing.

Well, I’m done. I’m through believing.The dull ache of his next realisation was on him before he could collect his thoughts.

I put her before Hilda. Before everyone.

I put her before Hilda. Before everyone.Oh my God, Aitch, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Oh my God, Aitch, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.“I didn’t do this for me,” he heard her call. “Adam, please. I did this for y—”

“Don’t – you – dare.” He spun on his heels and saw her flinch as the force of his words struck her. For the second time that night, his response – sharper than steel teeth and colder than ice – stung one of the few people in the world he loved.

dareThought I loved, he corrected himself.

Thought I loved“Try and justify this however you like, tell yourself what you will, but don’t you dare say that you did this for me.”

dareHe took in her face, pale and worn and washed in desolation. Her eyes were still the same – those deep coffee eyes that he’d thought he could drown in – but it was as if he were looking at a different person now. And the way she looked at him…

It’s as if she doesn’t recognise me.

It’s as if she doesn’t recognise meBut then, I hardly recognise myself.

But then, I hardly recognise myself.“You have no idea – no idea – how much I’ve done for you. The lengths I’ve gone to,” he said.

no idealengths “Wh – what does that mean?”

So he told her. Through the blind heat of his anger, he told her all his secrets. Her tears spilled and the weight of all his burdens lifted.

When it was over, when there was nothing left to say, she stood gasping for breath, one hand resting on the bench as she fought to steady herself.

“I’m going now. Don’t follow me,” he told her.

Then he turned and walked away.

* * *

Hilda rummaged in the glove compartment, foraging through the gloom for the driving gloves that she was sure she’d left there. She’d got into the habit of wearing them whenever she used the car; which, she admitted to herself, seemed to happen less and less these days.

Finding and extracting the gloves, Hilda ran her hands over the material; the stretch fabric bristled beneath her fingertips. Elasticated at the cuff to allow for a more comfortable fit, they had a snakeskin print on one side. The palms were plain black. She considered them for a moment, remembering who had bought them for her.

“I thought you ought to have a pair like this, Hilda. A good pair of driving gloves can make all the difference,” she heard him saying.

“I thought you ought to have a pair like this, Hilda. A good pair of driving gloves can make all the difference,” Placing the gloves on the passenger seat, she switched on the interior light above the rear view mirror. Suddenly, she could see inside the glove compartment unhindered.

Why didn’t I do that to start with, she wondered? There I was, fumbling around in the dark when all I needed was the light above my head.

Why didn’t I do that to start with, There I was, fumbling around in the dark when all I needed was the light above my head.She’d managed to displace the contents of small plastic box that was resting atop of two manuals she was almost certain she’d never read.

Closing the glove compartment, Hilda lifted her phone from where she’d left it lying on the dashboard. The last text she’d received – from Madison – was still on display when the screen illuminated:

Gone 2 find Clems. Will c*m back with her.

Gone 2 find Clems. Will c*m back with her.U don’t have to wait 4 me.

U don’t have to wait 4 me.She hadn’t acknowledged the text. Though she always felt a slight twinge of apprehension at the thought of leaving Madison to fend for herself, she knew that she had no right to pull the young mum by the apron strings. She would do her own thing; and she was old enough to take care of herself.

And it’s not as if she’s your daughter, a gentle voice reminded her.

And it’s not as if she’s your daughterHilda scrolled through her phone, looking for the number that she needed now. She found it easily enough, then pressed the call button and held the device to her ear. The dial tone reverberated over and over. As she listened, she stole a glance out of the window. The car park had emptied relatively quickly, once people had come to terms with the fact that there was no longer any reason to stay. They had traipsed back to their cars, while those who hadn’t come under their own steam hitched a lift back to Little Bassington with friends or neighbours. Most of them, she suspected, would be heading to the Arms; to regroup and reassess or, in most cases, to just drink away the night’s failure. Hilda had embraced the chance to sit alone for a while. To think.