Auld Lang Syne

You're so exhausted every bone in your body aches. The alcohol in your system isn't helping, either, even if it is only a small amount. You're beginning to regret coming to this party; the will to celebrate the arrival of yet another year has pretty much escaped you.

But, Leo and Janet had put such an effort into organising the whole thing that you hadn't wanted to let them down. Plus, you'd never turn down an excuse to go dress and shoe shopping.

The drinks table is starting to look rather diminished now. Gingerly, you sniff the contents of a punch bowl before pulling a face and hastily putting down the plastic cup you had picked up.

Sighing, you glance around the room. It's absolutely crammed full of people, most of whom you don't even recognise. You're being jostled at the elbow as red-faced partygoers reach for more alcohol, beyond caring what exactly it is that they're ingesting.

You move into an emptier corner, but it's right next to the stereo system and the clichéd party music is loud. Too loud. You can feel the vibrations in the pit of your stomach.

Desperate for some semblance of peace and quiet, you weave your way through the room and slip unnoticed through the French doors leading onto the garden, closing them softly behind you.

At once, the noise from within the house becomes muffled and ten times quieter. The sharp, cool air is refreshing against your warm skin and for the first time all night, you finally feel like you can breathe again.

Slowly, you step neatly across the decking in your heels, down the steps and onto the lawn, expecting your shoes to sink into the muddy grass below, grateful for the frost-hardened ground when they don't.

Coming to a halt in the middle of the garden, beside a rather spectacular rose bush which has been strung with fairy lights, you exhale deeply and wrap your arms around yourself to ward off the cold.

It's New Year's Eve. Behind you fifty people are celebrating, their spirits as high as their blood-alcohol levels. But not you. Yes, it's been a terrible year and you'll be bloody glad to see the back of it, what with Hungary and your ... minor breakdown. But you don't see why the arrival of just another year is so exciting.

No one knows what's going to happen in the next twelve months. You can't predict the future, can't possibly know how you'll feel at this exact moment in one year's time. Why is the arrival of another year any more poignant that March turning into April, summer into autumn, Sunday into Monday? It's not, really. It just means that you're going to spend the next month, at least, writing the wrong numbers at the end of the date. But, of course, the general population will use any excuse to have a knees-up.

And then there's the terribly depressing fact that once again, you're alone. You were alone over Christmas, and you're alone now. Well, you spent Christmas day with Leo, Janet and Harry, but it doesn't change the fact that you wake up in an empty bed and fall asleep in an empty bed.

Behind you, the unmistakable sound of a countdown begins. Ten seconds later and an almighty cheer erupts, before a very inebriated rendition of Auld Lang Syne fills the air. You find yourself relieved that none of Leo's neighbours appear to be home. Then you realise that they're probably all inside too.

Perhaps you're being a bit of a New Year Scrooge. After all, it gives people a reason to be happy, be hopeful. It allows a fresh start, a new beginning. Life changes are made into resolutions, diligently written down and carefully adhered to for a fortnight, before the piece of paper slips into the bin and the cigarettes and chocolate make an appearance again. But at least that effort is made, and for a while everyone remains optimistic and content.

You shiver, your bare arms and legs erupting in goosebumps as a cold breeze washes over you. Cursing yourself for not at least bringing your cardigan to put on over your thin shift dress, you're just considering going back in and getting it when you find that you don't need to.

A strong pair of arms encircles your waist, pulling your small body against a firm, warm torso. The soft cotton of his jumper is smooth against your arms, the smell of his fabric conditioner mingled with his aftershave comforting.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he mutters in your ear. "You okay?"

You sigh again, leaning back against him slightly. "Do you think this year will be better, Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Really?"

Now it's his turn to sigh. "No, probably not. You know what our lives are like."

"That's what I thought," you say, in a resigned sort of voice.

"But hey, it can't really be any worse than last year, can it?" he points out.

A small smile graces your lips. "I guess not."

"Exactly. And anyway, even if it is, we can get through it," he says confidently. "We can get through anything, you and me."

"And Leo," you add, although you're not entirely sure why you felt the need.

"Naturally," Harry nods, "Leo is the glue that holds us all together."

You grin as he smiles against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. You stand in silence for a few minutes, looking up at the clear, starry sky above you, until he says, "You missed the countdown."

"I heard it," you tell him. "Who did you kiss at midnight? I saw Janet's mother eyeing you up when we arrived."

Harry snorted. "I didn't kiss anyone. I was looking for you."

"Oh."

You're not sure what else to say. In fact, you're not even entirely sure what he means. Looking for you for what purpose, exactly? The silence becomes a little awkward. You wonder what he's thinking, but you're too scared to ask.

Eventually, he says, "Mind you, so were half a dozen other men."

A giggle escapes your lips, and the tension disappears as quickly as it had arrived. "Well," you say sarcastically, "Now I'm sorry I missed it."

Rather abruptly, Harry spins you around in his arms so that you're facing him, taking a step back so that you are literally at arm's length from him. "So let's do it again," he tells you simply.

A frown creases your brow. "What?"

He smiles at you. "Nikki Alexander, your new year will begin at-" he glances at his watch briefly, "-twelve-sixteen a.m. Okay?"

Cottoning on now, you grin back. "Okay."

"Right, close your eyes," he instructs, keeping a close eye on his watch.

"No, Harry, I'm not closing-" you begin warily, but he cuts across you.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then close your bloody eyes!"

A reluctant smile returns as you do as you're told. Shivers tickle your spine, but you're not sure if it's the cold or the fact that Harry is stood less than a foot in front of you and you can't see what he's doing.

"Okay, here we go," he says, "Ten ... nine ... eight-"

You jump slightly as you feel his warm fingers lace themselves with your cold ones.

"-seven ... six ... five ... four-"

He's definitely stepped even closer, you can tell. You also wonder why on earth he's whispering, when it's just the two of you out here."

"-three ... two ... one ..."

And before you can even register what's happening, his soft lips are pressed against yours, his hands tightly gripping onto your own. This time, it's definitely not the weather that's causing the goosebumps.

You don't open your eyes again until you break apart a minute later. He's looking right at you with a wonky grin, his bright green eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Gently, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"You can expect plenty more of those this year, too," he says quietly. "I mean, that is – if you want."

You find it incredibly difficult to repress a little squee of joy as you pretend to think and say, "I'm not so sure. I might check out those other half a dozen men you mentioned first, just to make sure. I could be missing a Brad Pitt or George Clooney in there."

Harry laughs, shaking his head as he places his hands on your hips. "Yeah, you could do that," he nods. "But ... no Brad Pitt or George Clooney could love you like I do."

The corners of your eyes prickle painfully, and for a moment you wonder if you've misheard him. "Is that right?" you whisper breathlessly.

"Mm hm," he nods again. "Plus, I'm really good at the sex."

You dissolve into watery giggles, your forehead falling against his as your arms loop around his neck.

"So? Who's it going to be?" he asks. "Me or Brad?"

"You, of course," you tell him and he crashes his lips into yours triumphantly, literally lifting you off your feet as your smile quickly breaks the kiss.

"Happy New Year, Nikki," he says quietly.

Your grip on him tightens. Burying your chin in the crook of his neck, you whisper, "Happy New Year, Harry."

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and days of old lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! :D

I know it's only technically New Year's Eve (as I'm uploading this), but I actually have plans myself this year (miracle of miracles), so I won't be able to upload this on New Year's Day as I had originally planned.

I also need to apologise for my absence lately; what with Christmas and lack of internet I haven't had any time to do much writing, reading, or reviewing! But rest assured I shall remedy this very soon. Just bear with me. :)

All the best for 2012,

Charlotte xxx