Page 97 of The Secret Christmas Library
‘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’scottage,’ 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 goesquick.’
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 asmall, 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.’
