The Midnight Estate
by Charity Wilkie
Silas stewed on Marie’s situation day and night after he found her standing in the rain. He wanted to talk it through with
someone—someone smarter than him, someone more compassionate. He found it all spilling out of him a few days later in a long,
unbroken monologue of frustration and concern as he sat at his sister’s bedside.
“. . . so, that’s the whole mess and I just don’t know how to help her. It’s not my place but I just can’t help but feel that
I should, you know? I think it’s what you would do . . .”
Silas looked at his sister, who remained stubbornly unconscious, even as he poured his heart out to her. He reached out to
brush a lock of her brown hair back from her forehead. Her skin was so cool to his touch, and over those past weeks, she’d
become pale. Maeve was now a living, breathing ghost.
It felt good to speak the truth of it aloud, although he’d never have dared to do so if Mr Williams hadn’t passed a few days
earlier. Now Maeve was all alone in the room when the nurses were busy elsewhere, and Silas knew it was absurd, but he worried
about her feeling lonely.
“She reminds me so much of Mom, Maeve,” Silas whispered, reaching to take his sister’s hand. He had to stop talking—the lump
in his throat would choke him otherwise. “I wish you’d wake up. I really need you to wake up. Everything here . . . everything back at home. It’s all so broken and I don’t know what to do.”
He stared at her through his tears, willing for something—anything—just a sign that he was right to hold on to hope. A sign that she might yet come back to him. A sign that there might yet
be a miracle for his sister, because he had finally realized that’s what he was holding out for. She had been in that bed, completely unresponsive, for more than a month.
This was different too. She always sat in the booth next to his but was usually facing him. If she followed his instructions
they’d be seated back-to-back.
Ah. He was giving her the opportunity to talk to him privately.
She’d been worried about someone spotting them chatting for a while. Some days she pushed the fear out of her mind, but other
days, it would just about drive her mad, to think that someone might see her talking to Silas and report back to Rupert that
she’d made a friend. A male friend.
The fallout from something like that would be catastrophic.
“Thank you,” she murmured, after she took her seat. “And Silas, I’m really sorry about—”
“No,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “Don’t you dare apologize. Just tell me, Marie—does he hit you?”
“No,” she said honestly. “No, he does not.”
She could sense Silas’s confusion even though she couldn’t see his face.
And this was what it all came down to—the brilliant twist in the way Rupert hurt her.
Perhaps some might have sympathy for her if he was physically abusive, but he wasn’t.
Maybe he’d grabbed her wrist with a little too much force from time to time, he’d certainly squeezed her shoulder a time or two and they were intimate when he wanted, whether she wanted to or not.
Despite all of that, Rupert had never once bruised her.
She sensed that it was coming closer all the time, that direct physical violence was an inevitability. But knowing how Rupert
liked to torture her, she wondered if he was playing with her even in that, leaving her existing in a heightened state of
fearful anticipation.
“But you do need help,” Silas said. Marie looked down at the booth’s table. She rubbed her thumbnail through a ridge in the
cracked vinyl.
“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. She couldn’t bring herself to think much about a possible pregnancy and what it would mean,
but it was at the front of her mind that the high stakes of her situation would soon be even higher. “Yes, I think I do.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Marie. Can you try to explain the problem to me? If you’re comfortable, of course.”
Marie knew she should be careful. Sharing her situation with anyone was a dangerous proposition, and she barely knew Silas. She was just so very desperate for help, and he was the first person
to invite her to explain what was going on. In doing so, he’d offered to ease the loneliness of her nightmare.
“I’m not allowed to check the mail. He checks the odometer on my car every single night. The girls at the exchange tell him
if I make calls. He tells me what I can wear and who I can see. What I can eat. What time I go to bed. Sometimes I think I
should be grateful that he’s so attentive . . .”
“There’s a difference between ‘attentive’ and ‘controlling.’”
“He even decides who I can talk to. That’s why I didn’t dare . . .”
“That’s why you always sat in the booth next to me, even though we often spoke, and it might have made more sense for you to sit with me.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you scared?”
“Terrified.”
“Have you tried talking to your brother?”
Irving? She hadn’t dared. He’d grown much closer to Rupert than he was to her by then. And besides that, he was a kid—only
seventeen years old.
“I’ll help you in any way I can, if there is any way I can. But I’ll have to go home soon, Marie. At the end of the day, and in a time like this, family is really all
you’ve got.”
It was busy in the diner that day and Irving was out clearing tables. He made his way around the diner chatting to customers,
flirting gently with Helen, who was easily twice his age. Marie knew—she had seen over those months—that Irving was charming and polite, even to Carmen and Rodrigo. Their relationship had grown distant, but
Irving was still kind and good. When their parents died it had been Marie desperately scrambling to care for him, but now,
it might just be his turn to return the favor.
It was a risk, but there was so much at stake now, and every single choice before her involved some kind of risk.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to him.”
“Good,” Silas said quietly. “Now?”
“I can’t now,” she blurted, panic sending her pulse racing. No, she needed time to prepare herself—to think about what to
say and how to say it.
“Tomorrow,” Silas said. Marie closed her eyes and tried to steady her pulse.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered back.
Marie walked into the diner the next morning just as Irving took a trolley loaded with cutlery through to the kitchen. She
looked for Silas but was surprised to find him missing. Maybe he was running late.
She could have done with the morale boost of a friendly smile, but no matter. She’d been up more than half the night planning
this and she couldn’t afford to hesitate even for a second—if she did, she’d just turn around and go home. And so she nodded
a greeting to Carmen, who was standing at the register, and then for the first time ever, she slipped through the swinging
doors to follow her brother into the kitchen. She grabbed his elbow and dragged him back past Rodrigo, towards the door to
the back alley behind the diner.
“Marie, I’m working right now.”
“I know. Carmen will understand,” Marie said. Her voice came out husky and uncertain—a far cry from the assertive, clear tone
she’d intended to use. She cleared her throat and waited until they were through the doors and in the alleyway to speak again,
but as soon as they stepped through the doors to the outside, the heavy smell of rank garbage hit her.
She pressed a fist to her mouth and concentrated fiercely as she tried to convince her stomach to hold on to breakfast.
“What’s wrong?” Irving asked, impatient, but then he maybe read something in her face and his tone softened. “Hey—are you
sick?”
The moment passed and the violent churning in her stomach eased—replaced instead by equally violent butterflies.
With razorblades for wings. She pressed her shaking hands to her belly now and looked up at her brother.
God, he’d changed so much in those terrible years since the accident.
All she wanted to do was to drag him home to wash that greasy hair, force him to have a haircut and to iron his clothes and maybe feed him a vegetable or two.
“I need to talk to you.”
“What about?” he said warily. “You’ve hardly wanted anything to do with me in months and now you want me to sit here while
you lecture me?”
“What are you talking about?” she said, bewildered. “You wanted me to stop mothering you, Irving. So that’s what I did.”
“Whatever,” he sighed impatiently. But Marie felt a pang of uncertainty now. Irving was already on the defensive. “Listen,
if it’s about the other work I’ve been doing. It’s just for a while, okay? Just for some extra cash, so I can get myself set
up. I was thinking of going to community—”
“What extra work?” She frowned, and Irving hesitated, then looked away.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “Nothing. Well? What is it, then?”
She looked down at her watch and felt her pulse quicken. This was already getting off track and she didn’t have long—Rupert
would be home for lunch in less than an hour.
“I think I need to leave Rupert,” she blurted. There, she’d said it.
Irving’s eyes bulged.
“What? Why would you—”
“I j-just do.”
Her voice was so small. All she had to do was to open her mouth and explain. To roar to get Irving’s attention, to demand he rise to the occasion and help her.
“Does he hit you, Marie?” Irving asked cautiously. She squeezed her eyes closed. The simple way through this would be to lie.
Yes. He beats me mercilessly.
But Irving would see right through her. He could always tell when she wasn’t being honest.
“It’s m-more complicated than that,” she whispered. “He controls everything I do.”
“So he’s bossy. He’s bossy with everyone and you are his wife, it’s not unreasonable. But has he ever laid a hand on you?”
She looked away as she shook her head. Irving frowned down at her.
“Then you need to sort this out with him. Don’t go dragging me into your domestic problems. He’s a good husband. A brilliant
provider—hell, look at that fancy house you have! That car! He works damned hard to give you that lifestyle—so what if he’s
raised his voice at you or something? He’s got to blow off steam somewhere, for God’s sakes.”
She started to cry then, big, heaving sobs that echoed around the alleyway and left Irving alarmed, and more than a little
annoyed.
“Sis, stop it!” He took two steps away from her, and she knew he was frustrated and embarrassed by the display of emotion.
“See, this is what he always says. It’s like this with women, isn’t it? You don’t get what you want so you turn the tears
on to manipulate us. You have to stop being so hysterical.”
“Don’t tell him,” Marie blurted. “I didn’t mean it. We just had a fight and I was upset. I shouldn’t have—”
“Go home and work it out with Rupert! Like an adult, Marie, okay?” Irving muttered irritably. He left her there in the alleyway,
pulling the door to the diner shut behind him.
The call from Dr Lomas had come as Silas was about to go for his walk. The morning nurse found that Maeve had slipped away
in the night, easing silently from the limbo of the coma into whatever lay beyond.
When Silas arrived at the hospital, he found her on the same bed in the same room, and yet it was obvious to him now that
whatever it was that had made Maeve the person he knew and loved, that part of her was gone.
He sat beside her bed and he took her hand in his and he looked at his sister’s beautiful face and felt like the grief would
split him in two. Perhaps he’d known for some time that this moment was coming but it still felt so wrong, so unfair. It wasn’t
supposed to be like this. He just needed two minutes—just long enough to say I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me and just long enough for her to smile that beautiful smile and to say That’s okay, Silas, I forgive you.
He’d have given it all back just for that moment. Every surprising cent he’d earned. Every amazing adventure he’d had, except,
perhaps, the wildest adventure of all—marrying Christine, having his son.
That’s what he had to focus on now. It was awful and it was hard but this odd period back home was coming to an end.
Silas kissed her gently on the forehead before he left the hospital room for the last time.
He would bury her right beside their mother.
He’d pack up Maeve’s home, list both properties.
He’d tie up all the loose ends so he didn’t have to return because God only knew there was nothing for him in California now.
And then at last, he could leave, to travel to his new home, back to his son and to Christine. He’d been gone for weeks, and
he had tried so hard not to think about the reality of what he’d left behind—not the happy family he pictured when he thought
of them, but a mess so large he didn’t know where to start to untangle it.
Marie was on edge for days after she spoke to Irving. Would he tell Rupert, or would he keep her secret? She wanted to trust
that Irving would be loyal to her—after all, they were family.
And when the first day passed without incident and then a second and a third, she started to relax. Silas hadn’t been at the
diner, but other than that, things seemed normal, and she told herself that there was every chance Maeve had woken up and
he was spending time with her.
It was four days after she spoke to Irving in the alley that she heard the front door slam. She was mopping the hallway at
the time and hadn’t even started dinner yet. She put the mop back into the bucket and called out uncertainly, “Rupert? You’re
home early—”
He grabbed her wrist and he pushed her up against the wall. Rupert’s face was red and he was panting as if he’d sprinted home.
A wild, unrestrained violence danced in his eyes.
“I told you what would happen if you left me, Marie. Did you really think he wouldn’t tell me? You’re as pathetic as each
other—he’s a simpering puppy chasing after me for scraps and you’re a disloyal bitch—”
Later, as she held a bag of frozen peas to her blackening eye, Marie wondered bitterly if Irving would be willing to help now, or if he’d try to tell her that Rupert was such a brilliant provider he was entitled to use his fists on her every now and again to blow off some steam.