The Water Tower - Books 4-5

Chapter 35-5

Madison shrugged. “Di’n do us no good, di’ it? Yer got wha yer wan’ed.”

“Yes,” he chuckled. Then he looked at her, sideways on from his statue-esque pose by the window, his glance enough by itself to haunt her. There it was again; that same expression dancing across his lips, reflected in his eyes. “Yes, I always seem to.”

“I ‘member,” she rumbled.

She didn’t know where the words came from. They left her mouth before she’d had time to think them over. Or perhaps it was so late in the day that she had passed the point of caring. Perhaps being here, in this room – seeing him again – had triggered something inside her that she was powerless to resist.

himIt was as if she had physically struck him. His expression flickered, his composure wavering for the briefest of moments. Then he collected himself, and he pitied her again.

“What I want,” he said coldly, “has never changed. “I want to see the back of people like you.

wantbackyou“Do you know? I mean, do you really know satisfying it will be? To see those shabby, squalid blocks you call home wiped off the map? To finally see the back of the shell suits and the pram pushers and those skinny little rats shooting God-knows-what up their arms? You’re a blight, Madison. You, your family, your neighbours. A blight that has to be sheared away. Like a tumour. And once that’s done – and thanks to Victoria Kendall, it will be done…” He spread his arms, letting some of the venom drop from his voice as he relaxed visibly and smiled. His tone shifted; he was calmer now, more assured. He’d won, after all. “People in Little Bassington will breathe a sigh of relief, you know. In the end. They’ll grow accustomed to whatever is built in Whitechapel’s place. They’ll have what most of them have always wanted. A clean, unspoilt, perfect little world. And all it took was a dirty old Water Tower to fall, and then just like that—” he snapped his fingers sharply to emphasise the point “—the past falls away. Into nothing. Forgotten. Erased.”

knowreallybackblightwillperfectErasedHe spat the last word at her. She knew what he meant; understood how much of what he’d said had been meant for her and her alone. She let his words bounce off her, the way she always did when other people wielded their pain and their hurt, and she was too brittle – too fragile – to mount any kind of resistance.

fragile“Me,” she said in the end, her tiny voice sounding meeker and more unsteady than she’d expected it to. “I’ll be nuffin’. I’ll be… forgott’n.”

Grainger nodded silently. “Gone. As if you were nothing more than a bad dream.”

He closed the gap between them as he uttered his last. She didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch; she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his being there in front of her, just paces away, was still fuel for her nightmares. He took a sudden step back in quick reversal; distancing himself like the dream he’d compared her to.

“Still can’ look me in th’ eye, can yer?” she asked as he turned his back again. She hadn’t known she’d had the strength inside her to muster. To find the voice she’d thought had been silenced years ago. To say what she’d always wanted to say, if only she’d had the chance.

Well, now I have. The bastard’s here. He’s right here. In front of me. And I can say whatever I f*****g want.

Well, now I have. The bastard’s here. He’s right here. In front of me. And I can say whatever I f*****g want.He whirled round to face her. “Oh I can look at you,” he hissed. “I can look, but I can’t stand what I see. Look at yourself. Joined at the hip with people like Victoria Kendall and Clarissa Clements. Do you honestly believe that you’re something to them? How could you be? When they’re talking, how much of what they say do you really understand? You barely went to school; you were too busy clogging your veins with whatever filth you could lay your hands on. Your mother was happy to let you waste away. And look at you now – gobbling up whatever scraps that old woman who used to have the painting shop throws at you. Still wallowing in your own mess in an empty house, crying over pictures of a baby they came and took away. You’re a bloody mess. God spare you, you look like you’ve barely eaten a square meal this week.”

lookstandyourselfClarissa Clementssomethingcouldreallynowmess“Pro’ly haven’t,” she mumbled.

“And you think they care about you?” He pressed on, disregarding her admission. “Oh, they tolerate you, Madison – they pity you. The way I do. That’s why you’re here tonight – with them. It’s nothing but a token gesture. You’re the toddler who won’t let go of their parents’ arm, no matter how much they try and shake you off. You’re the stray dog. The clingy pet. But mean something? Care about you? You’re nothing to them – or to me. Nothing, to anyone at all…”

caretoleratepitythemstray dogmean Care nothingShe felt the tears rising. Hot, prickling tears that stung her eyes and threatened to drown her.

“Yoo fuckin’…” she whispered. “Clems… Vics… Adam…”

It was all she could manage.

“Oh, Clems. Vics. Adam,” he imitated, matching her intonations almost exactly. “Do any of them know who you really are? Would any of them look you in the eye if they did?”

Clems. Vics. Adamreallylook you in the eyeNo. None of them. Not even Hilda.

No. None of them. Not even Hilda.She heard the answer sounding like a bell through her head but she forced its noise away.

“I still remember that day, you know. The last time I saw you.” Grainger’s tone softened as he considered her again, his eyes wandering up and down her all-too-slight frame. “The day I came to Bell Heath.”

“Yoo – yoo fought I wuz disgustin’…” her voice quivered, the first splash of tears bouncing onto her hollow cheeks.

“And you blame me for that? Sitting there, like butter wouldn’t melt with that – that thing growing inside you…” His lip curled upwards.

thatthingHe can’t bring himself to say it. He’ll say anything else – but not that.

He can’t bring himself to say it. He’ll say anything else – but not thatIn the split second between decision and execution, all her anguish, pain and resentment came bubbling to the surface. Until then, she’d tried to be as delicate as she knew how; tried her best to keep her torment buried, to keep everything she’d ever felt under wraps. She’d fought to suppress it all; to offer nothing except the even tone she’d mastered, the expressionless face she showed to the world. She’d long ago decided that they would see only what she presented on the outside and nothing – nothing – that came from within.

nothing Then something changed. The moment arrived when she decided to let it all out. To direct it all at him; the one person that, for so long, she’d so desperately wanted to hear her.

hearShe made her choice as soon as she heard the word.

“Thing”.

“Thing”She’s not a “thing”…

She’s not a “thing”…She’s not a “thing”…

She’s not a “thing”…She’s not a f*****g “thing”!

She’s not a f*****g “thing”!“She’s called Alice!” she shouted.

She’s called Alice!” “She – was an accident. She was never supposed to happ—”

Sheaccident“Yer her fuckin’ dad!”

“Yer her fuckin’ dad!”If what she’d said to him earlier had stung, it was nothing compared to those four words. Her outburst hit him full force; like a body blow, the sheer weight of which threatened to send him spiralling. He closed the distance between them in two urgent, menacing footfalls.

“Keep – your – bloody – voice – down!” he hissed.

bloody“Tha’s it, innit?” she managed between sobs. “Tha’s why yoo wan’ Wh – Whitechapel g – gone. Why – why yoo wan’ me gone. Yoo can’ – can’ f-face it. Yoo d-don’t wan’ t’ – t’ r’member. Yoo"d rather knock tha" – tha’ whole estate down than – than face wha" yoo done!”

mer’member“You despicable little wretch. You think I’d want anyone to know that I ever sullied my hands with the likes of you? That I ever had anything to do with you?”

despicableyoudoShe could feel his breath on her face. It was tinged with grit and the hot waves of threat.

“I can still see you,” he hissed. “Oh, I can picture you like it was yesterday Every time I close my eyes. Standing next to my car with your feral friends. Trying to steal what was mine.”

picturesteal“I – I never,” she stammered. “I tr – I tried t’ – t’ stop ‘em. Gaz did too.”

“Gaz?” he spat. “Your boyfriend?”

Gazboyfriend“’E’s – e’s n-not my – my b-boyfriend. N-no’ really. He – he h-helped me. T – t’ look af’er Alice.”

“You were poison – all of you! You still are, Madison. I remember watching you, hanging around the Town Hall with the rest of that Godforsaken crowd. Playing truant, running away from a world you’d never wanted and a mother who’d never really wanted you. I didn’t pay you any heed; you were just another girl from Whitechapel whose life had been derailed, who would never get back on track. Then suddenly, there you were. That little bastard was with picking the lock of my car. I’d just had it cleaned and there you were – you and your little rabble, with your filthy little paws all over my bloody car. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves, could you? You couldn’t help yourself?

poisonmy carrabbleall over mybloody carhelp yourself?“I saw him trying to pull you away. Your – your boyfriend. But you wouldn’t go. You stayed there. You’d wanted to take what was mine so I took what was yours instead.”

boyfriendShe remembered. She’d tried to cover for the others; tried to tell him as he’d come storming round the corner in his freshly-laundered suit with his face red and his veins throbbing that they hadn’t meant any harm. That Ryan had just been showing off. That they hadn’t damaged his car and that she was sorry.

She’d been surprised at how sympathetic he’d seemed at first. His anger had subsided. He’d told her calmly that he would drive her home, and he had. Just not by any route she might have expected.

They’d driven down Salt Hill together. She could still see his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckled whitening as he’d gradually tightened his grip. She’d wondered if he was going to put his foot down, that maybe they’d crash and he’d blot out the world with a single stroke of his shoe against the accelerator. Instead, he’d kept his eyes fixed forward, resolute and determined. Then he’d turned down a dirt track that wound its way off the main drag. You couldn’t even call it a road.