Page 62 of The Midnight Carousel

Hugo acknowledges Maisie with a handshake as she enters the office, while Mr Peabody’s smile stretches across his face.

‘My grandchildren love Silver Kingdom,’ he discloses. ‘Adore the rollercoaster. But it’s the carousel we’re always drawn to. I have to say, I’m particularly fascinated by that horse in the glass case. Have there really been no further developments in the investigation?’

Maisie must have been asked this question a thousand times– by the park’s visitors, reporters, by anyone she encounters in her day-to-day life who knows about her link to the carousel.

She wishes there were. Settling in the same seat transports her back almost four years, to the time just after Sir Malcom’s disappearance, when she was unaware of the turbulence she would soon face: taking over Silver Kingdom, motherhood, her marriage ending.

Through all those changes, there’s been one constant– the mystery has never been solved.

Hugo waves his hand, dismissively. ‘The carousel is nothing. I’m thinking of commissioning a special ride. Something that blows everything else out of the water.’

It pains Maisie to admit, even to herself, that the nature of amusement parks is changing rapidly.

Once a groundbreaking wonder, the carousel is now a quaint, outdated relic.

To Maisie, herself, it will never lose its magic.

Their fates have been interconnected since she first spotted the coloured piece of paper floating on the seas off the coast of Canvey Island, and leaving it behind will be a bigger wrench than she’d expected.

For a second, she considers changing her mind. But, no, it’s too late to back down.

‘We better get on with it, then,’ she says.

Hugo sits up straight.

‘I spoke to my accountant, and he believes I should drop my offer.’

Maisie was half expecting him to try renegotiating at the last minute, like any half-competent business person. Though desperate for the deal to go through, she fixes Hugo with an unblinking stare.

‘That’s fine. I’m happy to find another buyer.’

Maisie is banking on the fact that Hugo won’t want anyone else owning an amusement park that borders his house. He twitches nervously. Then he nods to Mr Peabody, who produces a thick document.

‘The terms are exactly as requested, with midday today the time and date when control passes from you, Mrs Squires, to you, Mr Randolph,’ Mr Peabody explains.

Quickly, Hugo signs the last page. Without hesitating, Maisie scrawls her signature next.

There, it’s done. A huge sense of relief washes over her, but also something else.

Apprehension, she thinks, the knowledge that she’s about to step into the big unknown.

This time there’s no Aunty Mabel as her guide, no Sir Malcolm.

Mr Peabody hands over a banker’s cheque with a bigger number written upon it than Maisie has ever seen before.

Her hands are shaking. To think, once eight pennies had impressed her, and now she’s the possessor of an infinitely larger sum.

The formalities over, she bids farewell to everyone and collects Milo, who has been kept occupied by the secretary.

Stopping by the bank, a large stone building with a brass door and echoing floors, she deposits the cheque, then heads for Lincoln Park Zoo.

The morning merges all too quickly into afternoon.

Ever since James paid his recent visit, a sense of dread has followed Maisie everywhere.

The Crew managed to fix the carousel so there was no long-lasting damage, but she can’t dispel the worry that this isn’t the end of it.

While Milo is entertained by waddling penguins and sharp-fanged tigers, and especially by the creatures in the new aquarium, Maisie is on tenterhooks, convinced that trouble is brewing.

When it’s time to leave, he’s predictably reluctant.

‘Come on, I’ve invited Mrs Papadopoulos for supper this evening,’ she reminds him.

In a hurry to spend the evening with the woman who has been so supportive over the years– someone she might see only sporadically after tonight– Maisie persuades Milo into a taxi, which drops them at the large iron gates to Fairweather House.

This will probably be the last time she will ever approach the amusement park from this direction, the last time the strong outline of the carousel with its waving flag will guide her way home.

Maisie’s sense of unease heightens: flocks of birds are flying away from the direction of the estate like a parade of colourful clouds, casting the driveway into shadow.

She picks up her pace, chivvying Milo. As the house appears from behind the line of trees, Maisie is hit with a shocking sight: tall flames reach up like the legs of stretching chorus girls towards the late-afternoon sky.

The carousel is burning to the ground.