‘Nothing, I don’t really need anything.’
‘Stop being ridiculous, you’d have a total fit if you didn’t get a parcel. What would you like?’
Mirren sighed. ‘I’d love ... some new Adidas?’
Nora snorted.
‘Trainers? Oh my God, Mirren, I never thought I’d bring you up to be so common.’
‘Have to go, Mum,’ said Mirren, hanging up and feeling more alone than ever.
Back outside in the cold and the snow, even the cheery sparkle of the town’s Christmas lights around the square and the laughter of children on the old-fashioned carousel was not enough to lift Mirren’s spirits. She pulled her arms around her. Her coat really wasn’t enough for this weather; it was fine for mild grey London winters, where you were never more than a few feet away from a warm grate venting from the Tube as you walked past. But this – with the wild sea on one side, and the cold wind and empty fields on the other – was another matter.
Northumberland was clearly incredibly beautiful, wild and remote; Mirren loved it. While also feeling completely freezing. She left the last shop, a charming place that mostlyfocused on local history and birdwatching – she almost got sidetracked into a glorious Lindisfarne facsimile before tearing herself reluctantly away. Maybe if she went back to the big bookshop ... at least she could have a coffee at the ice cream stand, heat herself up a bit. It was after six; everywhere else was shut.
Suddenly, Mirren felt the air going out of her like a deflating balloon. This place was beautiful. But it was miles from home and everything she knew, and she was no closer to finding the book than when she set off nearly a week ago.
Outside, the wind pulled at her ferociously. It was freezing. If this book even existed, she was never going to find it here. Never in a million years. It was in some millionaire’s mansion, or shredded by someone who didn’t know its worth. It had been lost, was in the attic of somebody; had been used as firewood in a harsh winter after the war. This was a stupid errand; she should never have come, a total waste of time.
Mirren thought, fighting against the swirling flakes and howling wind, that she would get into her car, drive back to the motorway, and carry on until she got too tired, then pull off and have a night in a nice cosy Premier Inn, with a boiling hot shower and a comfy double bed. She could get some Jaffa Cakes from the petrol station and watch some terrible rubbish on television and then tomorrow she’d be back in London. Nothing like as nice, she reflected rather sadly, as the night in the coaching inn with that handsome young salesman. But even so. It would be warm.
And Violet would be soothed by her being there. That was a much more sensible idea than trying to do the impossible here, while her poor aunt was treated as an inconvenience by the rest of her family.
Shaking with cold, she headed over to where she’d parked the little Fiat. A thick layer of snow lay over it and she wipedit off the windscreen with her inappropriate raincoat, soaking it through.
Inside the car was freezing, and outside was now pitch dark, the glow of streetlights only dimly perceptible through the snow-clad windows. Mirren turned the key, ready to turn the heating up to absolutely full, when she realised that she had already turned the key over. And nothing had happened. She tried it again. A small groan from the engine. Nothing else.
Mirren felt tears pricking her eyelids, which she knew was ridiculous but even so. She’d been fantasising about that boiling hot shower for a long time and now it was dissolving in front of her eyes. She just wanted to go home and get warm, more than anything else in the world.
It was nearly seven o’clock. Her phone was almost completely drained; she couldn’t recharge it in the car any more. There was nowhere else to go, except the bookshop, where she could use the toilet – it was getting urgent – and ask if they knew somewhere she could stay. She couldn’t think of a better idea.
She got out of the car, fiercely wiping the tears from her eyes, her feet now soaking and freezing. Her car ... she’d have to look at it in the morning. Another expense she could barely meet.
She slipped and skittered her way up the ungritted high street, back to the big bookshop, where a tall man with a beard was just locking up for the night.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Please ...’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we’re shut.’
‘But I just wanted to use the bathroom and ... ask if there was anywhere to stay,’ she said.
The man shrugged. ‘Dunno.’
‘Can’t I just grab one of the leaflets on your desk?’ she said. ‘My phone is out of juice.’
‘Didn’t you come in for hours the other day and not buy anything?’ said the man.
‘I was coming back!’
‘To use our facilities for free? Good, good.’
Mirren was staring at him, unsure as to whether or not she was about to start crying again, when suddenly, out of the dark, came a loud, posh and rather familiar voice.
‘Excuse me, good sir? Might I prevail on you to help this travelling young lady?’
Chapter 13
Mirren realised she had rarely been so pleased to see anyone. There was Theodore, his black eyes flashing with merriment.
