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Chapter One December 31st

I’ve never held much with New Year nonsense. You know what I’m talking about. It’s that moment when the clock strikes twelve, the corks pop and a few fireworks shoot up in a brief blaze of glory. For me, that’s as good as it gets.

After the let-down, you have to endure the slobbery kisses of men you’d run a mile from on any other occasion, followed by the inevitable conga that always has to venture outside. Of course, you freeze or get soaked because your fancy shoes and sleeveless dress should have been replaced by a fleece and a liberal coating of Gore-Tex, not to mention wellies or at least trainers and the thickest socks you can find. I always thought Dickens missed a trick. Scrooge should have had a sister who hated New Year, although perhaps she would have been beyond redemption. Call me a party pooper? Yes, give me a bash on a hot August night or a June wedding any day.

My family lived too far away for me to pop back and see them and I’m not sure I wanted to spend what could be the most romantic night of the year with mum, dad, grandma and the rest of the family. Besides, even I can only stomach so many hours with the relatives, no matter how much I love them. Over Christmas I always seem to revert to the snivelling child, resentful at not getting the present I’d wanted and arguing with my younger brother. After the break up with Mark in the summer, I’d decided to make a fresh start, but moving to a new town in October meant my social calendar was depleted. I’d been tempted to stay with Daisy and Molly, besties from primary school days, but there was the danger if I went back, I might bump into Mark again, although he was probably with his new girl who was about to give birth and had a bump of his own to worry about.

Tonight, my celebration would consist of a large mug of hot chocolate, a boxset and an early night in a battered Rudolf Onesie, minus the ears as they get tangled in my hair. Tomorrow it would be a New Year, and I can put the old one firmly behind me.

At nine thirty pm, I snuggled down in front of the TV with a hot water bottle and my hair plaited so as not to get it stuck to the miracle serum I’d just plastered on my face. It promised to fill out the tiny wrinkles which accompanied the first grey hair I’d spotted that morning. I switched on the TV and scrolled through the boxsets. Which one? Nothing romantic. I couldn’t face another stick thin, successful but ditzy girl, hooking the rich boss. Horror and thriller meant a night spent cowering under the bed clothes, certain any odd sound was the Zombie/killer maniac etc breaking the door down. No. A good old sci fi fantasy with plenty of spacecraft blitzing through the darkness would suit.

Blue lights flashed in the room. I checked the screen. Nothing there. It must have come from outside. Something was happening. I ignored them. Except the lights continued. It must be more serious than a couple of drunks wearing traffic cones. The professional in me was now intrigued. I went to the window, lifted back the curtain, and peered into the street below. Probably a couple of lads trying to explain to a policeman they were on their way to the recycling centre with piles of sheets covering up the nicked tellies on the backseat of their car.

I was so wrong. There were three police cars, two fire tenders, a support vehicle and four white vans with the name of a gas company written on the side. A digger was being driven off a low loader. Even I knew that meant bad news. Who was it said in any crisis the only people running towards trouble are the reporters and photographers? Was this the break I’d been dreaming about?

I grabbed my camera and was about to open the window for a decent shot. I could always stick it on Instagram with a witty quip like What a way to fire up the new year. The knock on the front door nearly broke it down. A voice called out ‘No need to worry, It’s the police here.’

That did it. With trembling hands, I put the chain on the door and opened it. You can never be too careful. A policeman and a woman were standing in the corridor, and a few fellow residents were walking down the staircase. I undid the chain and opened the door fully. ‘Yes?’

It was the policewoman who spoke. ‘I’m sorry but we must evacuate the whole block. There’s a gas leak in the road.’ Neither looked fazed by the sight of me in a Rudolf Onesie but I supposed they’ve seen worse.

‘Can I get my bag and a coat?’

They looked at each other. ‘If you’re very quick. Is there anyone else in the flat?’ I shook my head. ‘Any pets?’

‘No. Just me. Will this take long?’

The policewoman shrugged. ‘Probably the whole night. Sorry about that. I know it’s not the best way to spend New Year’s Eve.’

I didn’t let on it was more exciting than the evening I’d been planning. I grabbed my handbag, collected a coat, and slipped on a pair of mud-spattered, furry boots. The camera was still round my neck. I followed the families and couples down the stairs. A few children were crying and the older people looked worried. If the flat was mine and held more than a few meagre possessions, I might be a teeny bit concerned about it going up in smoke. As it was, it didn’t really matter. I was still in dispute with Mark about who owned what and I certainly wasn’t going to waste money on new stuff until that had been sorted out. ‘Here let me help’ I said to an elderly lady with a budgie in a cage. I took the bird and placed my hand under her elbow until we got to the ground floor.

Outside the rain had stopped. A few stars shone in the night sky and the moon peeked between the clouds to cast an eerie glow over the sight before me. A huge cordon had been set up. The digger was ploughing a hole in the road and four hefty blokes in hard hats and Hi-Vis jackets were leaning on their spades, waiting for something to happen. I reckoned I might get a few photos of the fire crew in action if I was lucky. That would be a good start to the year.

I took a few photos as we were herded along the road away from the danger. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked a man carrying a young baby.

 ‘Community centre I reckon. Or the sports hall.’

‘Thanks.’ At least it would be warm. The rain had started to fall again and was mixed with sleet.

We trudged along. A plump gentleman in a black dinner jacket was standing on the pavement His face was familiar. His arms were flailing around as if he was about to take off and he was talking to a police officer with chevrons of silver braid on his arms. They both looked and sounded as if they were more used to giving than taking orders.

‘Officer, we’re got plenty of space at the function room. The sports hall will be freezing and I know for a fact the community centre has a problem with the toilets. Why not let everyone come to us as it’s only for a couple of hours?’

That was a relief. The idea of bunking down for the night with fifty other people, not to mention a dozen cats and dogs was fast losing its appeal.

‘That is very kind of you, Councillor Jeffries but we do have emergency action plans to cover this sort of incident.’ The police officer did not look convinced.

‘It’s New Year’s Eve, officer. What about a little good spirit? All of us helping each other in a crisis?’

Now I knew where I’d seen that face before. It was plastered over the front page of the local newspaper at every opportunity. Councillor Jeffries ran a hand through sparse tufts of silver and gold hair. ‘I understand. If you have any concerns, why don’t you leave a couple of officers here and I will personally make sure everyone is back tucked up as soon as the coast is clear. It isn’t as if you haven’t got more pressing things to do tonight of all nights, is it?’

 The police officer shifted from one foot to another. There was a crackle, and a disembodied voice called out a series of numbers and a call for back up. He said something into the phone attached to his jacket and turned back to Councillor Jeffries. ‘Very well. I’ll leave you PCs Farookh and O’ Donnelly.’ He signalled to two of the police officers and they nodded.

Councillor Jeffries clapped his hands together. ‘Splendid, splendid. That’s settled then.’ He turned towards us. ‘Everyone comes with me; we’ve got hot drinks and plenty of food and the children can take a nap upstairs in the billiard room.’

By the sound of his voice, Councillor Jeffries was not a man who was used to being ignored. We all followed like a raggle-taggle group of the homeless and dispossessed and I made a note to send a few more quid each month to charity.

Councillor Jeffries led us past the end of the cordon, down an alley and onto Station Road. The function room was situated in the old Station Hotel. The railway had closed years ago and after remaining derelict for decades, the hotel had been converted to an upmarket conference centre and wedding venue. As soon as we walked in through the main door I could see why. A huge staircase that curved round the entrance would have made a stunning backdrop for the bride, her dress flowing down the purple and gold carpet. For a minute I got quite misty-eyed. Fat chance of me having a wedding like that. I hadn’t even got a date or the prospect of one in the near future.

‘There are seats in the anteroom’ a woman in a black waitress uniform pointed to a room off the main lobby.

‘And food is in the function room’ Councillor Jeffries rubbed his hands together.

There were murmurings of thanks and a few sighs of relief. It was warm in here and there was a savoury smell of warm food. My stomach rumbled. I’ve always loved party food. The rest of the crowd followed the waitress. I hung back, imaging where I’d position the bridesmaids. Would it be against health and safety to get the groom and best man to slide down the banisters?

‘Is that a camera?’  I was shaken out of my reverie by Councillor Jeffries’ voice. 

‘Er yes.’ I held it out for him to see. It had cost me more than I’d wanted but it was perfect with less need for photoshopping than a cheaper variety.

‘And a proper one too? A Canon? Latest make? Suitable for pro and enthusiast?’

I nodded. ‘Yes.’ He was well informed.

‘Quality’ he tapped the side of his nose. ‘Not like these pesky phones.’ He glanced round before moving closer and whispering. ‘I wonder if you could take a few pictures of me, handing out cups of tea, sandwiches that sort of thing, preferably with a cat or dog? I know parents don’t like their children being photographed but no one minds old Fido.’

‘Of course.’ I nodded vigorously. This was the chance I’d been waiting for. Who knows where it would end up? I only hoped I’d be able to keep my hand from shaking.

Councillor Jeffries grabbed my arm and propelled me towards what must have been the function room. It was obviously being used for a private party as everyone was in evening dress. A bar had been set up at one end and the side tables were laden with food. ‘I’ll stand here.’ Councillor Jeffries positioned himself in front of a table with plates of quiche, hot pizza and tiers of dainty flans and pastries.

For the next half hour, I snapped away at Councillor Jeffries’ beaming face as he turned to smile at the camera while handing out sandwiches and hot drinks which had miraculously appeared from some hidden kitchen. Obviously, he was a man who got what he wanted. After each shot, he came over to check his face was not obscured by a sandwich or his stomach was not bulging. We got fifteen in all. He smiled as he brushed off a stray cat hair and agreed the last one. ‘If you can send these to my private office at this email address, I would be very grateful.’ He handed me a gold embossed card and disappeared into the throng of his guests.

I stood back to check the photos once again when a deep voice made me look up. ‘Now I know where Rudolf goes when he’s delivered the presents.’

I’d undone my coat while I was taking the photos and the words Rudolf is here were fully visible, emblazoned across my chest. I looked up into the dark eyes of a man in evening dress- all black bow tie and frilly shirt front. Even I knew his suit was expensive. It didn’t look shiny. Check out the PM’s and all those actors on the red carpet if you don’t believe me. He was slim and had a slight tan. Probably from some exotic holiday. I’d bet my last print, he was a rich player about to whisk a model or influencer to Dubai or the Caribbean for a January break. I also happen to hate cheesy chat up lines. If I’d been closer to the food table, I’d have grabbed a fork and stuck it in his leg, but he must have realised he’d overstepped the mark as he quickly added. ‘Sorry. My attempt at humour is never one that’s made me a lot of friends.’

‘Perhaps you should give it up as a bad job and stick to reading the jokes from crackers,’ I said. Why is it that some men can be tall, dark and drop dead good-looking but have the personality of an olive? Although that is probably being insulting to olives. After all you get different types with various fillings and marinades, don’t you? I put on my fiercest Don’t mess with me look. I was on a man-free break. It was all about me in the coming year.

He slapped his hand on his chest in mock anguish. ‘I will if you pull the cracker with me.’

More cringe-making lines. I took a closer look at Mr No-Hope Joker. His dark eyes sparkled in the winking fairy lights strung around the room. They were brown with yellow flecks, like a cat. His lips were twisting up at the edges as if they were ready to break into a smile. Was he laughing at himself? Perhaps there was a personality under there after all.

‘It had better be a good one.’ I refused to smile. I was not that easily won over.

He went and selected a cream and gold cracker from the pile on the buffet table and held it out to me. ‘Make a wish.’

‘I wish I could get back to my nice quiet flat as soon as possible,’ I muttered.

‘Oh no. You shouldn’t say it out loud or it won’t come true. We’ll have to do it again once we’ve pulled this one. Now, on the count of three, one two, three.’

The cracker exploded and bits fell to the floor. The man bent down to pick them up and handed me a small key ring with the words Happy New Year engraved on it. Not the usual plastic crap. These must have been made to order. He unrolled a piece of paper and read out loud. ‘What’s the most popular Christmas wine?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ 

'I don't like Brussels sprouts’ He started to laugh before he checked himself. ‘Get it? Wine as in W H I N E? Verdict?’

‘Not bad’ I said. This time it was the corners of my lips that were threatening to destroy what I hoped was my sophisticated, worldly expression.  ‘Could do better, as my teachers used to write at the end of my stories.’

‘They said that about me too. We must have a lot in common.’

He squeezed his way between the dancers and returned with a pile of crackers. He peeled one open to find the joke inside. ‘Here’s another’ he said.

 ‘Heh, what about all those people you’re depriving of their jokes?’

‘They can send the crackers back for a refund.’ He was certainly determined. ‘What’s round and bad tempered?’

‘Apart from me that is?’ Was it the food or the warm atmosphere or just the craziness but even I was beginning to see the funny side of a stranger in evening dress telling cracker jokes to a woman in hair braids dressed as Rudolf.

‘A vicious circle.’ He punched the air as I felt a smile cross my face. ‘Got you. No one should be miserable on New Year’s Eve. Fancy a dance?’

‘Dressed like this?’ I nodded in the direction of the couples shimmying on the floor to the strains of ‘The Best’ by Tina Turner. They certainly looked it. I’ve never seen so much diamanté and sequins in one room. And all the women had that I’ve just come from the hairdressers/spa/ beautician’s look that would cost more than I earnt in one day. ‘I think I’m underdressed and I’m sure reindeers don’t dance’ I said and looked around for an escape.

‘According to my knowledge, Santa’s reindeer included one called Dancer.’

‘Really?’

He spread put his arms and recited.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

‘Wow. What do you do for an encore?’ I looked around again. No one had taken any notice. Either Councillor Jeffries’ parties were full of weirdos who spouted rhymes, or the music was so loud, you couldn’t be heard further than ten centimetres from the person you were talking to.

He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Alex Jeffries.’

‘Sophie Curtis.’ We shook hands. His was firm and cool to the touch. I like that. I frowned. ‘Alex Jeffries as in Councillor Jeffries? Are you related?’ The resemblance was difficult to spot.

‘He’s my father or rather my stepfather. He’s my uncle really but he adopted me when my parents died’ Alex said.

I felt the tears spring into my eyes and my throat constricted with that awful dagger like stabbing pain that tells you proper tears are not far away. ‘I’m sorry.’ I meant it.

‘You weren’t to know.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Six.’ He nodded in the direction where Councillor Jeffries was waving his arms around by the side of a younger man with short cut blonde hair. They shared the same face shape. The younger version looked at me for a second before turning away. There was something sad about his eyes, like Bambi. ‘That’s his real son, Martin. We grew up together. He’s two years younger than me.’

The way he spoke it was obvious there was no affection between Alex and his stepbrother. Martin glanced our way again before sidling out of the room towards the entrance. Probably to get some peace and quiet. The music must have been continuing as people were twisting and turning round us but all I could think of was Alex’s words. How horrible to be left an orphan at such a young age. I wanted to know more. ‘How come I haven’t seen you in the papers, or don’t you like the limelight as much as your dad, I mean stepdad? ’I know I was being flippant, but I was intrigued.

‘I haven’t really lived here since I went to university in Manchester. After that I was in London for a couple of years before heading to Glasgow. I spent a lot of time travelling. That’s about to change. I’m practically a newcomer’ Alex said.

‘Is this just a festive visit then?’

He glanced to where Councillor Jeffries was holding court to a large woman in red and gold, before leaning closer to speak. ‘If you must know, I’m worried about dad. He’s not in good health and he’s working far too hard. He won’t take any notice of doctors or anyone in the family. I’d like to ease the burden if I can and…’ He looked back at his stepbrother and his eyes narrowed. ‘-if I was allowed, of course.’

‘Working hard? Isn’t being a councillor all lunches, cutting ribbons and kissing babies? Or is that politicians?’

Alex shook his head. ‘Dad’s keen to do something for the town…something big that will leave a mark.’ He stopped. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be boring you like this.’

I half expected him to say how easy it was to talk to me. That’s the story of my love life. I’m the best female friend. Rarely the girlfriend. I was getting fed up with being told how understanding I was and if I knew where-fill in name of any female-might be up for a date. Anyway, this was getting too serious. It was New Year’s Eve after all. The music had changed to one of my favourites Tonight’s Gonna Be A Good Night. I could feel my foot tapping. ‘Is that dance still up for grabs?’

‘You bet’ he said as Alex swung me on the floor. He wasn’t the best dancer. Like me, he had enthusiasm over style. And fortunately, there weren’t any slow ones, or I’d have had to make my excuses and do a runner for the loo. Slow dancing is so intimate, and I didn’t exactly feel at my most fragrant or attractive. We carried on dancing even after the all-clear had sounded and we were told we could go back to our homes. Most people stayed and enjoyed more of Councillor Jeffries’ hospitality. From time to time, I would spot Alex’s brother glaring in our direction through little screwed up piggy eyes. Whatever was going through his brain did not suggest a happy new year. I ignored him. I loved dancing and this was my chance to have some fun and without any romantic ties.

It was Councillor Jeffries who announced through the PA system that it was nearly midnight. Big Ben sounded and I got the usual thrill. Is it the sound? Or the thought of a fresh start? People were already toasting and kissing. Me, I don’t believe it’s begun till we’ve heard the last of the twelve bongs. Alex must have thought the same as we counted and waited and on the final bong, a shower of different coloured balloons fell from the ceiling and there was a cry of “Happy New Year.”

It's at this moment when I always get a bit tearful. I don’t know why. Today was no exception. I felt my eyes prickling and blinked hard. ‘Happy New Year’ Alex said and pulled me towards him for a kiss on each cheek. Nothing more. It was sweet.

The Rudolf Onesie came in very handy when the conga started up and a man in a green tuxedo led the line outside. The rain and sleet had stopped, and a few stars were gracing the ink blue sky. Even the workmen joined in for a few turns around the block. It was gone one clock when Alex accompanied me back to my flat. We stopped at my door.

‘This is me’ I said.

‘Will you be warm enough? I reckon the weather is going to turn bad?’ Alex said.

‘I can use the fan heater until the gas company have relit all the boilers and tested them’ I said.

‘Are you sure?’

It was strange having someone so concerned about my welfare. Mark would have left me at the door and headed off to another all-night party.  Any excuse to pretend he was still a student with no responsibilities. I suppressed a smile. He’d got plenty of responsibilities or would have when the newborn announced its arrival. I shook away the thought. I didn’t want to become a snide ex, relishing his every difficulty.

‘Yes’ I smiled up at Alex. ‘I’m sure. Thank you for a very interesting evening.’

We exchanged phone numbers of course.

As I crawled into the shower, after dumping the onesie in a heap ready for the next load of washing, even I had to admit the new year was looking more promising than it had been a few hours ago. With my photos waiting for Councillor Jeffries’ attention and possible attention from his stepson, this might be the best year I’d had in ages.