Page 38 of The Secret Christmas Library

‘My mother grew up very like her. He was very short with her – though she gave as good as she got, mind you: she was vile back to him. And then she announced that her therapist had recommended family estrangement, and therefore she didn’t have to contact him ever again.

She announced it at Christmas, as well, right in front of us. ’

‘Wow. You’re not estranged from her, though?’

‘Oh, no, she still likes to get in touch to tell me what to do,’ said Jamie.

‘And how I’m going to make a mess of this place just like he did; and if she catches me reading it’s because I’m too fond of books and sometimes, when she’s drunk, she needs to slag off my dad again, or either of her subsequent two husbands, I can’t quite keep them straight .

. . sorry, I’m going on and on and on . . . Tell me about your family.’

Mirren stared up at the ceiling. It was incredibly high, with plaster moulding, and a huge hanging crystal chandelier. There was a vast, soaring painted roof above a room full of beauty and treasure beyond imagining; or there had been, once upon a time.

‘Um . . . pretty normal actually,’ she said, awkwardly, suddenly realising she was lying down in a castle next to an actual lord, and trying her best not to make him feel bad.

‘My parents broke up when I was small – but I still see my dad a lot, he’s just round the corner, and my mum is busy working; she’s a fusspot.

I’ve got two brothers, both married, one to a boy, one to a girl, and they’re fantastic; they all gang up so my mum doesn’t get too fusspotty, even though obviously she does.

We tend to meet up on a Sunday, round someone’s house – we try not to let Mum cook too much.

I spent a lot of my childhood with my great-aunt; she was so kind to me.

She’s the one who made me go to university.

And the one who loved books and got me to find one that was missing, so that’s kind of how I ended up here. ’

‘Because you loved your family,’ said Jamie. ‘And look how I ended up here. Because mine all hate each other.’

Mirren found herself stretching out and reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Forget the self-pity. It’s not very attractive. It’s just this time of year.’

Mirren was on the point of saying that he was perfectly attractive, but stopped herself just in time. The thought itself travelled up her like an electric shock and she was worried her hand would start to sweat. It felt nice in his large, comfortable one.

‘It’s okay,’ she said instead. ‘The idea that Christmas has to be super-happy for everyone was invented by supermarkets to sell you stuff from September onwards. And it makes less happy people even more unhappy. It’s an arbitrary date.’

‘It’s the deep heart of winter,’ said Jamie. ‘Not quite arbitrary.’

‘No, not quite,’ said Mirren. ‘I know. But you know, from Christmas onwards it gets lighter every day.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘That’s true,’ he said, glancing at her. Then he frowned.

‘What now?’ she said. ‘You’ve forgotten a small niece who betrayed you once?’

He actually guffawed at that. ‘Oh, God, I really am terrible. You know, I have lots of nice friends who like me a lot.’

‘Really?’ said Mirren. ‘Are you sure they’re not just braying toffs you just happened to be banged up at school with?’

He covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh, lord, the abuse,’ he said, but he was smiling. ‘Anyway, that’s all anyone’s friends are.’

‘True,’ said Mirren, smiling to think of how her old, very dear schoolfriends would take being described like that.

‘And I didn’t have an unhappy childhood, not really. It was normal to me. And I had the estate to charge about in, and Bonnie’s grandmother was very kind to me – she grew up here too.’

Mirren nodded.

‘You seem close,’ she said, carefully. She wanted to know.

‘I’ve known her my whole life,’ said Jamie, and Mirren found herself suddenly feeling uncharacteristically jealous. ‘Actually,’ he went on, ‘I was thinking that if we end up spending Christmas here . . . I haven’t got anyone Christmas presents.’

‘Oh, lord,’ said Mirren. ‘I do, but they’re all in their hiding place at my mum’s.’

‘What, for us?’

‘No! For my family. I am going to be in such trouble for not sorting out Christmas, or going to see my brothers.’

‘Will they give you the silent treatment?’ asked Jamie sympathetically.

‘Oh, God, no,’ said Mirren in surprise. ‘Though they won’t be happy about having to move their Christmas Day to wait for me.’

For a moment Jamie lay on the ground, slightly amazed. ‘Wow. They’d do that?’ he said finally. ‘God. You are so, so lucky.’

Mirren turned her head towards his. ‘But no,’ she said quickly.

‘There’s all this other stuff you don’t realise.

Like, my job doesn’t pay enough. My company is going down the tubes.

I can’t live anywhere nice. I’m always late.

I can’t meet any men who want to commit.

I don’t know if or when I should settle down.

I can’t really handle modern life, I can’t find a career I really love, and I’m never going to be able to afford to start a family or buy a proper house or retire. My life is a mess!’

Jamie screwed up his face. ‘Whereas I have too much sodding house and absolutely no choice in a career that isn’t desperately clinging on by my fingertips.’

They looked at each other, still lying head-to-head on the floor, and suddenly they burst out laughing. It was so unexpected.

‘Oh, my God, listen to us,’ said Jamie. He sat up. ‘Boohoo, my house is too big even though I am relatively young and in perfect health and don’t live in a war zone.’

Mirren sat up too. ‘Boohoo, it’s really annoying when your family loves you too much.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, my God, my nightmare happy childhood en route to growing up to be healthy and pretty!’

Mirren fell silent. He’d called her pretty. Which . . . well. She was flattered. She couldn’t help it. On his part, he looked as though he felt he had gone a little far and hadn’t meant to say it.

She scrambled to her feet. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t solve nobody getting any Christmas presents.’

‘I know.’ He jumped up too and stood a fair distance back from her.

Mirren looked around. ‘It may seem a little obvious,’ she said, ‘but we could probably choose a book for everyone.’

Jamie laughed. ‘Oh, God. The last thing anyone wants to see. Ever again.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mirren, stoutly. Nobody slagged off books in her presence. ‘A good book is a good book, regardless.’

‘I don’t know what I’d get Esme,’ said Jamie. ‘She only reads Vogue.’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ said Mirren instantly. ‘Jilly Cooper. She’ll love it.’

‘Have you seen any?’

‘I think so, in the North Library yesterday . . . I did think it would have been funny if your grandfather hid his clues in something really sexy.’

‘Wouldn’t be a bad place.’

‘Would be a terrible place,’ said Mirren instantly. ‘Don’t put it in any books people can’t stop reading if you want it to remain undiscovered.’

He grinned. ‘See, that’s why we need you.’

She looked up at him then. His worried face, the slightly too long hair, his fine brow and long nose. You could see his mother was a beauty; it showed in his fine features, his wide eyes and full lips.

The fire crackled behind them but there was no other noise in the room, and, suddenly, the atmosphere had changed.

Something about need: there was a hunger, suddenly, in his eyes that Mirren hadn’t noticed before.

And in herself too – she had felt something crystallise inside her; not because his story was sad, although it was, but because he had been able to share it with her, to talk, person to person, honestly and genuinely.

She didn’t find that in a lot of men. It made him attractive in a way she doubted he would understand; to explain to a man that it was strong to display vulnerability was not something, in Mirren’s experience, that worked terribly well in this world.

Theo never would understand. But she wasn’t interested in Theo now.

Not even the slightest. It had turned off like a switch.

Because, suddenly, there was someone here she found herself far more drawn to.

He had felt it too, she was sure of it. It felt like sparks flying in the heat of the room, his expression changing from worry to something like hope, as the fire crackled and he looked at her, steadily.

‘What kind of book would you choose for me?’

Mirren thought about it. ‘Something sad to begin with but, ultimately . . . uplifting.’

‘With a happy ending?’

She looked at him directly then. ‘Why not?’ she said, and suddenly her tone was breathy and unmistakable.

He moved forward, almost imperceptibly, just a little, and Mirren found herself, too, almost hypnotised, moving forward, just the tiniest bit, her entire body leaning towards him, wanting to be closer, immediately stopping as the door from the kitchen crashed open loudly and the rest of the party tumbled in.