Page 53 of The Midnight Carousel
There are occasions when Laurent is on the point of admitting defeat in the search for Maisie’s parents; usually when he is overwhelmed by his workload, or another lead dries up. After a day or two of rest, however, he rallies himself by recalling his pledge to make amends to Maisie.
Failing to discover any sign of her mother or father near the tavern, or anywhere in the industrial district, he decides to change tack at the beginning of April.
It is ten months since Laurent embarked on the search.
Perhaps digging deeper into their history will unearth a lead on their current whereabouts.
Habits, preferences, pastimes– all are useful clues.
By the time May glows into the heat of June, Laurent is still deciding how to proceed with his discoveries.
After his last letter to Maisie, he has discounted the idea of writing to her again, but should he contact Sir Malcolm?
Get in touch with the university for further information on their former student?
The weather is muggy this month, a cloying heat that sticks to his clothes. Laurent believes he has never felt so suffocated. With tall ceilings and generous room proportions, it is not the fault of the apartment. But compared with the spaciousness of the Fairweather House, Laurent feels confined.
To compensate, every morning he slides up the windows to allow air to circulate. As soon as she notices, Odette closes each one, complaining of dust from the street. When she leaves, Laurent reopens them. Open, close, open, close. It has become their daily marriage dance. The only one they do.
Everything about their relationship is summed up in this one act.
The squabbles ceased some while ago, and they barely speak now or spend time together alone.
Laurent works. Odette cares for Amélie and the household.
They are civil to one another as a tension pulses beneath the surface.
Although Laurent has considered putting them both out of their misery, duty, honour, sacrifice, have been drummed into him since childhood and further ingrained by his stint in French intelligence during the war.
More importantly, a fear of appearing a failure in his father’s eyes compels him to stay.
Separate lives while remaining married. Isn’t this the fate of so many?
For the fourth time this evening, Laurent pulls on the window cord and returns to the dining table. His papers are laid out as usual, and he digs through until he finds the sketch of the carousel. In the year since he drew it, that evening has never left his thoughts.
Laurent studies the design. It is certainly on a bigger scale than any of the carousels dotted around Paris. It’s like he thought it was his son. Emmanuel’s statement is eerie and has played on his mind ever since. But no stranger than Maisie’s claim that it is cursed.
There is a rustling sound. Laurent looks up and is surprised to find that Amélie is on the dining chair beside his, scribbling on a piece of paper. Engrossed in his work, Laurent did not notice his child enter the room.
Automatically, he looks around for Odette. The apartment is too small for an assigned study and so the dining room doubles. It has been established for some time that no one enters when Laurent sits here after supper.
He is about to shoo away the child when he catches sight of the picture.
A circle in the centre of the page is covered in small oblongs with sticks poking out.
Horses on a carousel. It is crude but it is not a bad likeness for a seven-year-old.
He watches as she draws a wobbly canopy next.
Her tongue poked out, she glances at Laurent’s sketch and then scribbles a crooked rectangle that he presumes is the flag.
She must notice him watching because she suddenly looks up with a shy smile.
With a sense of regret, it dawns on Laurent that at one time his daughter would never have acted this reserved around him.
She used to giggle and prance about and put on shows for his benefit.
The trip to Chicago, Laurent now realizes, stirred up so many emotions about his mother that he has withdrawn from Amélie since returning, not wanting her to know the same loss he has.
His mother’s death shattered him. As a six-year-old, Laurent couldn’t even begin to pick up the broken pieces and retreated into himself.
As an adult, he has developed no other way to cope, and hurts those caught up in his suffering.
A wife who sees through the fakeness of their marriage.
Maisie, the woman he loves, deceived by his actions.
It has created a shockwave of pain radiating outwards, with Laurent at its core.
This is not a life he would wish for his child.
He loves Amélie with all his heart, as much as he loved his mother.
An understanding sparks in his deepest consciousness like a crack of lightning. More than anything, Laurent now realizes, he is terrified of losing his daughter as well.
As though she can perceive his sorrow, Amélie sets down her crayon and strokes Laurent’s face.
Her eyes gleam as he smiles. She looks so like his mother on one of her ‘good days’, when she would climb out of bed and get dressed, then sweep off the eiderdown with a flourish to make soldiers’ camps or the sail of a pirate’s ship.
Ahoy! she would call, standing on the dining table while looking through a rolled-up newspaper as the maid brought in afternoon tea. ‘Is that treasure I spy?’
What he would give to relive one of those times again, despite the pain of losing her. Even a ‘bad day’ would do. He would grasp every second, absorb each emotion.
He takes Amélie’s hand in his and leans over to study her artwork.
‘A masterpiece,’ he declares with an appreciative nod. ‘I think tomorrow we should visit the Louvre.’