Page 91 of The Secret Christmas Library
Everyone laughed, but Mirren frowned. There surely wasn’t a book in the world that could save this place.
The big water pot boiled, and he emptied some pasta into it.
‘Be careful you don’t harm that pasta!’ said Esme. ‘Oh, no! I’m getting all hot and bendy!’
‘Shut up, Esme!’
‘I thinkyou’rehot and bendy,’ said Theo.
‘You shut up,’ said Esme, but she smiled.
This is joy, Mirren found herself thinking suddenly, completely out of the blue. Sitting in this kitchen with these odd people, and a warm oven, and a gin and tonic, and food on the way.This is joy, and it’s nearly ended.
It was such a simple meal – rich, garlicky pasta with a squeeze of lemon; a leafy salad from the greenhouse; Bonnie’s heavy sourdough bread with thick salty butter; red wine that tasted as old and deep as mined jewels – but it was one of the best Mirren could remember. Jamie persuaded Bonnie to join them, and for once she acquiesced, pointing out that she would have to, as he had done for her roast duck; and they all reminisced about Christmases past, when dozens of people would come to the castle, when great braziers would line the driveway for the carriages, or cars with chauffeurs, or just people driving drunk, as they did in the country in those days.
Bonnie could remember stories of how downstairs, in the old days, they would have to put up the visiting maids and footmen, and how there was all sorts of funny business. And of course then there was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, when thestaff got their boxes, or gifts, and had a day off to spend with their own families after waiting on the great house. It felt so long ago. And yet, so close: in the walls and the floors and the endless rooms for guests and staff and dogs and horses and noise. Now the castle felt so empty; people preferred mod cons, and hotels, and the distractions of a city, or ready access to the internet. Mirren thought of her own little studio in London, so far away, so near to so many people, their noise, their cooking smells, their fuss, but still feeling so alone. Whereas here – she felt so much freer. And it was true: she had barely been alone for a second.
But great homes like this, off the beaten track – built before there was even a track to be off – what would become of them? Of all of them?
As everyone chattered away, and Bonnie brought in a beautiful Yule log cake, Mirren looked at the storm outside and grew wistful. She wouldn’t see these people again. Jamie had a new road to plough, in the Botanic Gardens, she supposed. Esme would vanish back into her glamorous world, hoping to marry well. Theo might have to up his game if he wanted to keep hold of her, Mirren thought, but, now, without rancour. Bonnie would be fine, she sensed.
And she, Mirren . . . She glanced at Jamie’s reflection in the window, only to see, with a start, that he was looking back at her. Their eyes met. When she turned back to the table he was glancing down again. Esme had dragged out Scrabble, much to Theo’s protests.
‘No,’ said Jamie. ‘No. I’m done. No more word games.’
His face looked sad suddenly.
‘I hope you guys . . . I’m so sorry. I hope the snow stops soon and you can get home. I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out. I’m glad you came, though. It has genuinely helped me decide a fewthings, even if it doesn’t feel that way. Thank you. Thank you all.’ He raised his glass. ‘To running towards joy.’
‘To running towards joy,’ they all repeated, raising their glasses.
‘What’s that about joy?’ said Bonnie, pushing open the door from the larder.
‘Oh, we’re meant to run towards it,’ said Theo, frowning. ‘Grandfather James turned out just to have left some kind of hippy bollocks of advice. He’s probably laughing his head off up there.’
‘But why does he mention Joy?’ said Bonnie, looking annoyed. ‘What’s she got to do with it?’
‘What’swhogot to do with it?’ said Jamie.
‘Joy,’ said Bonnie, as if he was being particularly stupid. ‘My grandmother!’
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The room stared.
‘Mrs Airdrie?’ said Esme, stupidly.
‘MrsAirdrie?’echoed Jamie.
‘You didn’t know your housekeeper’s first name?’ said Mirren.
‘But that wasn’t her name!’ said Esme, screwing up her face. ‘Her name was Joyce.’
‘Yes, which she hated,’ said Bonnie. ‘Everyone called her Joy.’ She paused. ‘Everyone who knew her. Knew her well.’
Neither of the McKinnon children said anything to that.
‘Hang on,’ said Theo, looking excited. ‘Where is she now?’
