Page 59 of The Midnight Carousel
As Maisie settles down to work, her nerves are frayed. She tries focusing on the accounts, but can’t sit still. Her palms sweat, and she feels hot. This is it. This is the big day.
Hugo arrives an hour later. To no one’s surprise, he has tried to play peacemaker between Maisie and James, staying friends with both.
He often invites James over for dinner or a game of tennis on the new court by the lake, or drinks on the patio.
Her estranged husband usually arrives with a much younger woman in tow.
They are always very pretty, very giggly and never last longer than a couple of weeks.
James makes a big display of zooming up the driveway in a zippy sports car, talking loudly enough for the sound to carry over the fence to Silver Kingdom.
If this is for Maisie’s benefit, it’s a waste of effort, because she couldn’t care less as long as these temporary love interests are kept away from her son.
It does mean that Maisie now refuses to step inside Fairweather House.
On her insistence, James left that night of the party just over three years ago, protesting.
When it became clear that he was a welcome visitor to the house, courtesy of Hugo and Nancy, she took refuge with Mrs Papadopoulos briefly until Essex Cottage was built.
‘You sent for me,’ Hugo says, settling in the brown leather armchair.
Maisie hands him a cup of steaming Darjeeling, hoping that he doesn’t notice the tremble in her hands. He sips, his mouth curling around the rim as if he’s sucking a lollipop. Hugo looks bored, distracted, staring out of the small window at the ticket office.
‘There’s something I want to tell you.’ Maisie’s stomach flips over. Leaning back to appear relaxed, she places her hands on the desk that was once Sir Malcolm’s. ‘I’m selling my share of the amusement park.’
Her heart beats extra fast. Maisie has practised this line many times over, but it still sounds strange spoken out loud, with a finality like a death knell.
She has wrangled with this decision, back and forth, back and forth, since the moment three years ago that she decided to wipe the slate clean after her failed marriage.
Even this morning she woke up undecided yet again.
Silver Kingdom has been interlaced with Maisie’s fate for half a decade.
She remembers the first spark of an idea, the excitement of setting up a business with Sir Malcolm.
It was their creation, and saying goodbye will be like leaving behind an old friend.
On the other hand, the memories at Silver Kingdom are ghosts that haunt her day and night.
Now Maisie has her own child, the horror of what might have happened to the missing children is amplified– and their fate was also Sir Malcolm’s fate.
The night she waited in vain for him to return, frightened and alone in the dark, is a constant, replayed in her mind and tangled in a messy web with the heartache of losing Laurent.
It all came back after she ended things with James, as though her marriage had been plugging a hole in a dam.
Strolling past the dodgems, or standing near the carousel at sunset, or arriving at the Journey to the Centre of the Earth ride, trick her mind into imagining ‘what could have been’.
No, the way to silence these thoughts is to create a new future.
With the proceeds from the sale, she is moving to Joliet, a pretty city fifty miles south-west of downtown Chicago, with a river and train station and elegant residences.
It creates a distance from James, but is near enough that he can still spend time with his son.
Having secured the rental of a two-storey building consisting of an apartment on the top floor and a dried-goods store below, which she will run herself, she hopes to live a simpler life there, without the responsibility of hundreds of workers.
It wasn’t intentional, but her future living arrangement reminds Maisie of her mother and Aunty Mabel growing up above their parents’ haberdashery shop.
Perhaps life is like that, Maisie thinks, perhaps life is like a carousel– it has ups and downs but it eventually comes full circle.
Hugo splutters. He sets down the cup, wipes a dribble of tea from his chin, dabs his collar.
‘Bloody Indians with their bloody tea, making a chap ruin his best shirt,’ he mumbles.
It’s funny how people like Hugo– civilized, polite people who believe they act better than the women in the lock-up– forget or aren’t aware of Maisie’s true origins, say things to her face that they would never dream of saying otherwise.
‘Bloody Indians like me, you mean?’
He looks up, his eyes widening as he realizes his faux pas.
‘No, no, I didn’t mean you, Maisie, you’re not like…’ he stutters. His voice trails off and he sits, squirming.
‘We’re good at business, though, from what I’ve heard. So, for the sake of business, I’m giving you first refusal.’
Hugo takes a moment to compose himself. As he runs his fingers through his hair, Maisie can see that it’s thinning.
‘I don’t know, Maisie. I would need to liquidate all of my other assets and mortgage the house, so it may take some time.’
Hugo must have realized this day might come. Maisie is certain that someone with his experience has a built-in contingency. She likes him, but this is business.
‘Time isn’t something I’m willing to offer,’ she counters.
‘Have you told James?’
Maisie purses her lips. Talking to James is her next step, but she’s been waiting for everything to be finalized because she doesn’t want his overconfidence undermining her decision.
‘You let me worry about him.’
Hugo studies his fingernails. ‘Are you absolutely certain it’s over between you two? You know he still adores you and would take you back in a shot. He never shuts up about you.’
Maisie taps the desk, unable to hide her impatience. Hugo’s interference, albeit well meaning, is another reason she needs to leave this place.
‘You have forty-eight hours, Hugo, then I’m putting my share on the open market.’