Page 44 of The Secret Christmas Library
He looked at Theo and Mirren.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I really don’t know when we might get out of here.’
Theo shrugged. ‘If you’re saying I won’t have to spend Christmas Day at my uncle’s watching the King’s speech and everyone getting drunk and racist by three p.m., that’s fine by me.’
Jamie looked at Mirren, who had of course already known her Christmas wasn’t going to be brilliant.
‘I’d need to phone home,’ she said.
‘Bollocks,’ growled Theo suddenly. ‘My battery is going to go. No phones. When will we get power back?’
‘That’s what we’re saying,’ said Jamie. ‘Could be days. The snow has to stop, and the engineers have to come out. At Christmas.’
Theo grabbed it out of his pocket. ‘I should not,’ he said, texting frantically, ‘have used it as a torch, in retrospect.’
‘You’re not even going to call?’ said Mirren.
‘Youdon’t even have a phone.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Mirren. ‘Can I borrow yours?’
‘Do you know your mum’s number?’
‘No!’ said Mirren. ‘Oh, goodness. I’d better email her a message.’ She frowned. ‘Something that doesn’t sound like I’ve been kidnapped.’
‘You kind of have,’ said Theo. ‘Maybe they did this on purpose.’
‘Yes,’ said Esme drily. ‘We’ve lured you both here for the fabulous ransoms you so clearly would generate.’
Mirren didn’t think that was very funny.
‘I was rather hoping for sex slave cult,’ said Theo, and Esme snorted, the candlelight glinting off her nose ring.
Jamie took his old phone out of his sporran and handed it to Mirren. It felt like an oddly intimate thing to do.
‘I don’t know about a signal,’ he said, and sure enough, there was only half a bar showing. ‘But do what you can.’
‘My text went,’ said Theo helpfully.
Mirren looked at him. ‘Would you mind . . . could you possibly ask your people to get in touch with my mum?’
She gave him the name of the care home her mum worked at. Her mum would probably still assume the worst, but then her mum assumed the worst when she called her literally going down the road to the shops, so she didn’t think this would make that much difference. It was the best she could do.
‘We’ve got plenty of goose,’ said Bonnie. ‘Never quite got the hang of downgrading Christmas in this place.’
They had to abandon the translating of the clue for now; Jamie very carefully pressed the tiny swan between two pages of a heavy flower directory and put it on the top shelf by the Christmas tree. Esme poured everyone another whisky, which made Mirren sleepier than ever. She lay back on the old floral sofa and stared into the fire.
‘If it’s numbers,’ she speculated, ‘all numbers, what could it be? Latitude and longitude?’
‘That seems a bit simplistic for Grandfather. Considering what he gave us when we were five.’
‘It would be ironic if it was a telephone number,’ piped up Theo. ‘You know. Considering the circumstances.’
‘Grandfather hated the telephone,’ said Esme, dreamily. ‘Do you remember, Jamie? As if it was the police coming to fetch him or something.’
Jamie shrugged. ‘I suppose he must have got a phone call at school, telling him about his dad. You probably wouldn’t like it after that.’
‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t.’
