Page 52 of The Secret Christmas Library

From the window, Mirren pointed. Her tone woke Jamie up fully, and he leapt up, grabbing a blanket to wrap them both in.

‘If this is just a really good moon, could you take a bad photo of it and show me later?’ he said, but as he crossed to the window he fell silent.

‘What is it?’ said Mirren. ‘Is it something totally normal that happens here all the time and I can just ignore it because it’s some weird country thing I just don’t understand?’

Jamie didn’t answer her at first and just leaned over.

‘Crap,’ he said. ‘No. No. I think . . . ’ He got even closer to the window. On the horizon to the north was a steady orange glow. ‘Crap,’ he said again. ‘You know what’s there?’

Mirren looked at him, shrugging.

‘I think it’s the maze.’

‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Theo didn’t get the fire out?’

‘Theo got completely turned around in the snow,’ said Jamie.

‘I was lucky to grab him on his way back from the maze. But I didn’t think to go back .

. . I thought if I couldn’t see any flames it must be alright; it’s so cold and wet.

Mind you, the snow is fresh, and there was fuel on it .

. . It must have got inside the roots, and there was enough left when the snow stopped to smoulder . . . oh, God.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Mirren, then she frowned. ‘But it will just be the maze, won’t it? It can’t reach the house; it’s too far away. Can it?’

‘No, it won’t reach us,’ said Jamie, shaking his head. ‘Although it is a shame about that old thing . . . but . . . ’

Suddenly his body stiffened, and Mirren looked at him.

‘The cottages next to the maze,’ he said.

‘Bonnie’s cottage.’

‘Joy’s cottage,’ he said desperately, and she suddenly realised. The place they had been intending to head to at first light.

‘Do you think?’

‘It has a thatched roof,’ said Jamie.

‘Oh, no,’ said Mirren. ‘Oh, lord.’

He looked at her.

‘Should we phone the fire brigade?’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘How would they even get here?’

They stared at it.

‘The actual forest won’t catch,’ he said. ‘Far too much snow, too wet. But the cottage . . . ’

‘Bonnie’s here in the house, though?’

He nodded. ‘But Mrs Airdrie’s place . . . ’

‘Run towards Joy,’ said Mirren. It wasn’t a question.

‘It would be foolish,’ said Jamie. ‘It’s still dangerous out there.’

‘Yeah, it is,’ Mirren said.

They didn’t wake the others. They threw on every piece of clothing they could find.

Jamie grabbed a couple of fire extinguishers from the laundry and flung them into a backpack, and they put new batteries in the torches, and pulled on the snowshoes.

They worked quickly, in perfect harmony with each other, but there was no laughing, no joking.

Just before they left through the kitchen door, Jamie pulled Mirren towards him and kissed her fiercely once more and once more she felt her insides melting.

‘If I say fall back, we fall back, okay?’ he said. ‘I’ve seen thatch go up before, and it goes quick.’

Mirren swallowed. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘No heroics.’

‘Nope,’ said Jamie. ‘Right.’ He took her hand. ‘Let’s go.’

They didn’t need the torches. The cold and the wind were biting as soon as they left the house, great drifts of snow piling up from the latest dump.

But the scent of the fire was on the wind as they came round the north side of the house, moving quickly this time, towards the flames, skirting the loch.

The noise filled Mirren’s ears, and, when she looked up, a starry night brighter than any she had ever seen filled her vision.

The cold stars glowed above, the full moon shining across the waves as they tore along, as fast as they could snowshoe, her hand in Jamie’s strong one.

It felt like a dream. Even the cold barely touched her, as they worked up a sweat moving hard through the terrain.

The maze was aflame, a pattern of fire. It must look extraordinary from above, the hidden rows and secret ways aglow. Mirren couldn’t help looking at it in sadness, even as she felt the warmth on her face, her relief that it had not yet touched the cottages.

They looked at each other, nodded, and Jamie quietly turned the handle of the door.

It was difficult not to at least try the light switch out of habit – it was much darker inside the cottage than outside – but of course there was no power.

Their torches made Mirren feel like a burglar.

From the back windows of the cottage the maze fire seemed much more pronounced, the smell of smoke terrifying.

The door opened directly on to the main room of the cottage; it was a clean-swept room, with rugs on the flagstones; a wood-burner in the stove, and comfortable old armchairs arranged around it.

A small kitchen opened to the side, and there was a small, scrubbed wooden dining table.

It was nice; old beams held up the roof and the entire place felt cosy, even when it was freezing, unlived in and unheated.

Bonnie hadn’t been lying about leaving it as it was; there were family photos on the wall.

Jamie held the torch up to one of them – Bonnie as a baby.

‘Gosh,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘She looks exactly like Esme at that age.’

‘You never came over here?’

‘I practically lived here. But it wasn’t something I was ever looking for.’ He looked at the tiny winding staircase. ‘And I never went upstairs. That was Mrs Airdrie’s domain.’

The large sitting room was tidy and devoid of clutter; there were no papers, not even any books.

There was cutlery in the drawers in the kitchen; obviously discarded pots and pans that were huge for a tiny family of two; chipped crockery from expensive sets.

Jamie grabbed a small fire extinguisher from the side of the tiny kitchen.

It was designed to put out cooking fires, not what they saw through the window.

‘Maybe it will blow itself out,’ he said. ‘It won’t spread, I don’t think. There are no more trees, and the ground is rock-solid. We should save what we can, then leave.’

But they both slowed down on their way up the creaking dark wood stairs, breathless, wondering what they might find.

There were two doors at the top of the stairs, the smaller, to the left, clearly Bonnie’s childhood room. Jamie took a deep breath in front of the other – if it hadn’t been creepy, Mirren found herself thinking, he might have knocked. And then he pulled up the latch and opened it.

The room was simply furnished, but quite, quite lovely.

A large, soft sleigh bed; a thick, fluffy red rug covering dark wooden floorboards; a tiny fireplace filled with dried flowers; beautiful pale white furniture.

This room was a haven, everything carefully chosen and looked after.

There was good art on the walls and an immaculate little bathroom off to the side.

And there were three windows in total, all the way around; and even lovelier than at the castle, because the view from the southern window was the castle itself.

‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ whispered Mirren. The flames were making a glow against the window frames. She glanced out. The maze still held its shape; she couldn’t tell if the fire was spreading.

‘This reminds me of somewhere,’ said Mirren. Then it came to her. ‘Your grandfather’s room. It’s the same bed! The same bedside table! Oh, my God, the same lamp. I wondered why it was all so modern!’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Jamie, frowning. ‘Of course. He wanted . . . he wanted it replicated. Up there in the castle.’

‘The place where he was happy,’ said Mirren.

‘Yeah.’

He rested his hand on the top of the beautiful dresser by the bed. Then he glanced at his watch. ‘Huh,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘It’s . . . ’ He showed her the time. ‘It’s Christmas morning.’

It was one minute past midnight.

He pulled her to him, the fire apparently forgotten. ‘Can I open my present?’ he said, trying to undo her top button.

‘I’m a scarecrow,’ laughed Mirren. ‘Seriously, one of these days you’re going to see me in mascara and lippy and have a heart attack.’

‘I would like that very much,’ he said, and they both paused, at the idea of a future event, a future of any kind.

‘Anyway, no, we can’t, we’re on fire!’ said Mirren.

‘Yeah, we are,’ said Jamie. ‘Although . . . I don’t usually show off like this, but I can be very quick . . . ’

She laughed, then looked at him. ‘God, with you, me too,’ she said, and by the time he’d kissed her, deeply and passionately, she had half-realised that she absolutely would let him, again; that she had to, was utterly compelled; and it was only as they fell back on to the bed, totally carried away, completely caught up in one another, that Mirren landed rather heavily on top of something.

‘Ow!’ she said.

‘What? My darling, what is it?’

‘Um,’ said Mirren, feeling behind her. If she hadn’t been exactly there, in that exact position, they would never have found it. It was a small lump, book-shaped, sewn deep inside the mattress.

They sat up, staring at each other.

‘No,’ said Jamie.

‘Oh, my God,’ said Mirren. ‘Do you think?’

‘What else could it be?’

They stared at each other in the faint glow of the flames.

‘This is it,’ said Jamie. ‘I can sense it.’

Mirren nodded. ‘I think so.’

He tore the stitches of the mattress cover apart, and fished inside, until he pulled out a soft, faded old jiffy bag.

He handed it to her. ‘You open it.’

‘Absolutely not. You do it.’

In the end, they tugged at it together, carefully opening the bag, and pulled it out. It was well wrapped up, covered in layers and layers of bubble wrap.

‘Is it more letters?’ breathed Mirren. Jamie looked at her and shook it.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

And that was the moment the flaming branch fell against the roof.