The Water Tower - Books 1-3

Chapter 2-1

“The night racks my bones,

“The night racks my bones,“The night racks my bones,and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.”

and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.”and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.”(Job 30:17, English Standard Version)

* * *

“A live debate on Britain"s future in the European Union, which will form part of a special edition of BBC"s Question Time, is scheduled to take place next week at London’s Wembley Arena. Panellists include the former Mayor of London Boris Johnson, representing the Leave campaign, and Labour’s Sadiq Khan who will speak on behalf of Remain.

“A live debate on Britain"s future in the European Union, which will form part of a special edition of BBC"s , is scheduled to take place next week at London’s Wembley Arena. Panellists include the former Mayor of London Boris Johnson, representing the Leave campaign, and Labour’s Sadiq Khan who will speak on behalf of Remain.“Sir Elton John has paid tribute to the victims of the Orlando shooting at his concert in Liverpool"s Echo Arena this evening. The gunman, who opened fire in a gay nightclub, killed 49 people and injured 53 others.

“Sir Elton John has paid tribute to the victims of the Orlando shooting at his concert in Liverpool"s Echo Arena this evening. The gunman, who opened fire in a gay nightclub, killed 49 people and injured 53 others.“In sport, UEFA have threatened to disqualify England from the Euro 2016 tournament after what they describe as "totally unacceptable" incidents of violence between fans at the England v Russia game earlier this month.

“In sport, UEFA have threatened to disqualify England from the Euro 2016 tournament after what they describe as "totally unacceptable" incidents of violence between fans at the England v Russia game earlier this month.“The news headlines at ten o"clock.”

“The news headlines at ten o"clock.”* * *

Madison Carter shivered with the rapture of release as she carefully drew the shard of glass across her uncovered, lily-white skin. Relief washed over her as blood seeped from the trench that she’d dug in her own flesh. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to revel in the moment, blotting out the sharp sting of the cut and feeling only a familiar sense of casual ecstasy that she had never properly been able to define. She couldn’t articulate why it felt this way, why she craved the sensation still. The scars on her arms were a testament to the number of times she’d been here, replaying this moment, this abhorrence, over and over again. She tilted her head back and let out a gasp as the blood dripped from her arm onto the towel that lay like a safety net, ready to catch the drops, beneath her.

She was resting against the side of the bed, her head inclined towards the window, where the sunlight filtered through in streams of iridescence that curled around her half-drawn curtains. Her legs were folded beneath her on the carpet; a bowl of hot water with a threadbare flannel draped across its lip lay just out of arm’s reach. Later, when she had finished cutting herself, she would douse the flannel in the lukewarm water and soothe her skin, the way she’d always done, to stem the flow from the ragged channels she had engraved in herself, before relaxing back into what passed for normality and stability.

She could feel her pulse throbbing beneath her wrist, beads of sweat beginning to glisten into existence as they trickled from the pores on her forehead. The unkempt, greasy black hair which reached her shoulders was already matted and damp. She raised her other arm to brush away the strands that had fallen across her eyeline and then cast her gaze downward, to stare at her own reflection in the shard of glass she held, its jagged edge poised over her wrist now like a jaguar’s tooth.

But she didn’t want to die. Not yet. She just wanted to feel.

feelThe mirror from which the shard had come had originally been her Mum’s, given to her as a gift when she was a teenager. She remembered the morning she’d smashed it, consumed with a rage unlike any she’d previously exhibited during one of her customary busts of anger to which she’d always been prone. They’d had their share of screaming matches before, her and Mum. Mostly, she couldn’t remember what the rows had been about; maybe she hadn’t eaten properly, or hadn’t washed, or maybe sometimes her Mum had just felt like waging war and any excuse would do. There had even been days when tensions would just erupt out of the blue, when her Mum had come round for one of her peace-making visits and found Alice crying in the cot because she hadn’t been fed yet. But the morning she’d smashed the mirror had been something else.

By the time that day had arrived, she’d long since numbed herself to her Mum’s criticisms; no longer feeling the need to consciously listen as she’d reeled off the ever-growing list of her daughter’s failings. Madison knew every word by rote, and could easily recall the way the condemnations had escalated as the years had slipped by: she was “a let-down”, then “a disappointment”, “a failure of a daughter”, and eventually “a bad mother”. The truth was, she had been numb to everything after Alice was born. She could barely look after herself properly back then, let alone retain enough focus to look after her daughter. The facts of her life had been driven home when her Mum had called round unannounced one day and found her slumped on a chair in the sitting room, passed out from the vodka she’d drowned her sense of unending dread in, a second empty bottle lying discarded at her feet, where it had fallen unceremoniously.

everythingherself That was an age ago now. It felt almost like another life. The drink had been the reason she hadn’t been able to breastfeed, of course. The grey miasma inside her head that still made it a chore to pull herself out of bed most mornings meant that she hadn’t cared enough about eating either. She’d lost weight. Right now, her arms were red raw from her exercise in self-inflicted pain, the colour broken only by pressure circles of milky white where she’d pinched her flesh before the glass had pierced it. But when she wasn’t cutting, when her sleeves were rolled down and she went out to face the world, her arms were still the colour of chalk beneath her hoodie. Her face was gaunt, although less so than it had been; her cheeks remained hollow, but they were gradually starting to fill out again.

That’s why the cutting was such a comfort blanket. It was somewhere she could retreat to, as if she were concealed beneath her own, private cowl, where no one could touch her, and no one could interfere.

The steady stream of sunlight was lightening her mood a little too. She remembered that her social worker had seemed surprisingly optimistic the last time she’d visited. Cathy f*****g Hale, normally so judgmental, without a scrap of sympathy to offer, had found herself pleasantly surprised by what she’d found. f**k her, Madison thought. She’s looked down her nose at me every time she’s f*****g come here. Never had to struggle, has she? Don’t really care if anyone else has, either. All she needs is to tick her f*****g boxes in that f*****g file she’s always writing in. Wiped the smile off the cunt’s face last time she came, though, didn’t I? Seeing Cathy lose the smug expression that so often dominated the social worker’s face had been worth every last scrap of effort.

Fuck herShe’s looked down her nose at me every time she’s f*****g come here. Never had to struggle, has she? Don’t really care if anyone else has, either. All she needs is to tick her f*****g boxes in that f*****g file she’s always writing in. Wiped the smile off the cunt’s face last time she came, though, didn’t I? It had been, for Madison, immensely satisfying to see her would-be adversary’s expectations turned on their head. There was no drink in the house anymore; apparently that was “progress”. She was eating three meals a day now so, despite her pale skin still sagging and the curves beneath her eyes still gauged with crow’s feet, she had put on weight and looked healthier than in months gone by. That was “more progress”. She’d told Cathy that she was finding it a little easier to get out of bed this last couple of months, and she’d spent far fewer mornings with the duvet thrown over her head and her eyes closed to the world. The medication had helped with that. That was “tangible progress”.

Together, these were all “steps in the right direction”. She’d cleaned the house. That had taken her a whole f*****g weekend; making sure every last corner was spotless, as she wiped away the spills, the grime and the filth that had accumulated after months spent just not caring. Her Mum had helped, which was probably the most useful thing she’d done lately. She’d smartened herself up, too; today was an exception because the heat was making her lethargic, but she was generally sticking to her new-found routine of washing every morning and every night. Even Cathy f*****g Hale had to admit that the case file said exactly what she’d hoped it would: that, for all the mountains she still had to climb, Madison Rae Carter was on the mend.

she’dExcept there’s one thing missing, isn’t there?

Except there’s one thing missing, isn’t there?She’d staring shooting herself up when she was 14. If anyone ever asked, her Mum would always blame Kelly Horrocks for introducing her to it and for giving her that first taste, but they both knew she hadn’t exactly resisted. Gary Henshaw’s older brother Vince had been doing the stuff too. He’d been there that night, when they’d all been standing around the Water Tower smoking cigarettes and sharing some cheap tins, boasting loudly in that arrogant, cocksure way he did sometimes, grinning from ear to ear about some “red headed Brummie” that he’d shagged the week before. He’d taken some then too, apparently, as a post-coital pick-me-up at her flat over in town.

But it was Kelly who’d first suggested she try it. She’d seen Vince eyeing her curiously as she drank in the brash recital of his exploits, but he was never going to have been the one to ask. They both knew that he’d thought she was too young to be hanging around with the older kids anyway. He’d rather have sent her away, but Gaz wouldn’t have it. Gaz always stuck up for her, always kept an eye on her. Always tried to keep her on the straight and narrow.

sheBut Gaz wasn’t there that night. He’d gone into town to help a mate, and that had left her with Vince, Kelly and the others, chucking stones through the Tower windows that weren’t already broken and watching the older lads trying to climb the drainpipes. They’d smoked cigarettes together and talked about Brummies with red hair; Brummies who’d let Vince Henshaw into their bed for a one-night stand, wondering if it meant something, only to find they’d never see him again.

Kelly hadn’t expected her to say yes. She could tell Vince had been surprised too. But she’d held her nerve; she’d looked the older kids straight in the eye and thought about what her Mum would say if she’d known. In her own way, she’d felt like she was teaching them all a lesson. Her Mum, her Dad (she’d never known him, he was just a face on some blurry old photos that her Mum kept locked away; a shadow from the past that they didn’t really talk about), her Uncle Sean, her teachers, and even that cow at the Job Centre with the stupid hoop earrings who’d sorted her Mum out with that cleaning contract, her face pasted with an expression that implied they should both have been swept up or flushed away too. The junk had been her way of f*****g them all over.