Page 51 of The Secret Christmas Library
‘Well, have you tried phoning it?’
Theo was about to sneer but Jamie looked up. ‘Oh, that’s actually quite a good idea,’ he said.
‘What does it start with?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, is there a bit that looks like a phone number?’
They studied the page.
‘There’s a zero then an eight . . . ’ said Theo eventually.
‘Isn’t that, like, a freephone number?’
Esme snorted. ‘Grampa wouldn’t have bothered setting up a free anything.’
‘But nobody’s mobile has got a signal,’ pointed out Theo. ‘Plus, they’re all dead, because I spent all day yesterday using mine as a stupid torch.’
‘House phone’s working,’ said Bonnie, stacking plates.
‘You’re telling me your phone is so old it can survive a power cut?’ said Mirren. ‘Does it wind up and have a trumpet on the end?’
Jamie was frowning at the numbers.
‘I don’t think.’
‘Maybe he made it before they did,’ said Theo. ‘What did they used to be like?’
‘Forres Castle 74262,’ said Bonnie automatically. They all turned to look at her. ‘What?’ she said. ‘That’s how my gran had to answer the phone. That’s how I’d still answer it if it ever rang. It used to ring all the time. We had an exchange.’
They all followed her along the passage, Mirren heaving another blanket around her shoulders. It might look ridiculous, but remaining swaddled was the key to not gasping whenever you left the relative comfort of the kitchen or the drawing room.
The telephone, remarkably, was in a room of its own, which did indeed have a large bank of wires leading to various mysterious rooms Mirren hadn’t come across yet: the Ladies’ Smoking Room, the nursery, the day room and the boot room all having their own connections.
‘Wow,’ said Theo again. ‘This place must have been really something . . . ’
‘In its day, yeah, yeah,’ said Esme who had, nonetheless, come through to see if her hunch worked. There was indeed a dialling tone; it truly was that old.
Laboriously, Jamie dialled the numbers in every order they could think of. They got a Chinese restaurant in New York, lotsof dead dialling tones, many ‘please replace the handset and try again’s, someone shouting ‘QUE?QUE?’ down an intensely crackly line that felt as if you could hear the snow lying on the lines, and a friendly person in Australia who was extremely interested in what they were doing but couldn’t actually help them in any way.
Mirren meanwhile was examining the telephone directories. There was none for London, but Mirren called Directory Enquiries, something she was astounded to discover still existed. She jotted down the care home number, then rang it while Jamie stared again at the numbers, puzzling over them. They couldn’t call every combination; they’d be here till the heat death of the universe, as Esme had pointed out, unhelpfully.
Mirren had never used a rotary dial phone before, and it took a while to get used to.
‘Hello?’
‘Yes, Bright Fields Nursing Home?’
Mirren recognised the voice of the receptionist; alas, it was the grumpy one. She used to be a librarian, and had left when she wasn’t allowed to shush children any more.
‘Hello? Is Nora Sutherland working today? It’s her daughter.’
‘Can’t you call her mobile?’
‘No,’ said Mirren. ‘I’ve lost my mobile and I don’t remember the number. That’s why I’m calling you.’
‘You don’t know her mobile number?’
