Chapter seven: Winter's last light

Oh, there goes that pre-New Year hum, buzzing up the air again. It was New Year's eve, and we were all hustle and bustle. Papa had confined me to serving, and I was listening to the rise of hopeful voices rolling out the end of the year.

Everyone was ready to forget the year past, and the troubles they had faced, and they were feeling like they could maybe put their brave face on and make everything all better. That's the optimism that's in the air, every year, in Mineral town. I'm stuck in the inn all day, but I leave the window open. It creeps under the window, chilly, and that hopeful optimism gets a little to me too. I'd popped a few apple pies on the house already.

I don't know how many diners I'd seen today, but I was darn sure it was enough. Flitting in and out like birds, ordering their apple pie. Eating in or taking out? Taking out, miss, no treacle, miss, yes, please, thank you, going to play in the snow, miss.

And when did I become a miss?

It had been a disappointing winter for snow, definitely. Frosts would come and go, and it was only till the twenty second that we got three inches of the stuff. By the twenty-eighth we were sure of a full on thaw, but the twenty ninth frosted again. We were surprised to find yesterday morning, as we stumbled outside in the ruddy dark in our slippers, rattling our shiny red tin letter boxes for our morning mail, that white was falling from the black sky.

I, too, wished I could play in the snow. I had a face straighter than a ramrod these days – there was a definite feeling of loneliness underlying my every move. I just wanted someone to talk to – to feel involved. I would lean out of the little window behind the counter and speak to passers-by in a neighbourly fashion, whilst awaiting the next steaming apple pie.

When Rick passed at half past eight in the morning to see Karen, I was simmering fine. But by the time Anna had glided by at three in the afternoon, emerald green winter dress aflutter, I was sunken in my seat. It was a busy day, after all. I had already reluctantly confirmed to my father through the porthole in the kitchen that a second rate swing band from two towns over would be playing tonight, rather than the first rate jazz four-piece we had initially set our sights on.

Even from under the rising steam release of those stewing apples, I could hear my father's hissing and see his moustache quivering angrily. He told me that I should have booked it earlier.

I replied that no one would come to our stupid New Year's night.

He asked why. And I replied that they'd rather spend such a precious night with their family, quiet celebrations, not tacky countdowns and quizzes. I shut the porthole, and continued to doodle my feelings out onto the lined paper, aiding myself with the therapeutic sweetness of leftover apple pie.

I was wrong about our New Year's night. The low hum that thrived in the air had skittered to buzzing heights by nine. Voices, chatter, footsteps, bottoms on seats.

It wasn't even just the typical Billy-no-mates that might turn up to these things – y'know the type of guy – no family ties, willing to make new friends – there's always a few. I stood out by the door, feeling a fool in a dress that was forced on me by my father, a garish pink. Manna told me I looked cute, with that all too familiar glimmer of her eye and flicker of her eyelid. I smiled, took off her coat – oh, what an adorable sweater, it certainly flatters your chins, ma'am – and seated her rather near the back.

It was quite full – with my back on the door, I was rearranging the ivy display that kept falling off, and gazing around the room. Manna kept flitting off to different tables, leaving Duke seeking condolences in his shimmering dark wine – few more depressing sights would you find in this village. Stu flicking peas at May in a very large table, with Elli looking humiliated and the doctor looking uncomfortable. Popuri looking woebegone, as she frequently had done for the past six months without Kai – elderly Ellen, staring out of the window as though recalling a painful memory – and Cliff, standing in the corner, just plain lonely.

He seemed to be standing just near a crowd, not within it, but beside it. They seemed to be watching the television set that was situated on the wall, watching the New year's celebrations, as were many people – sometimes they would cheer – at this, Cliff would shuffle uncomfortably.

I suddenly realised that maybe this holiday wasn't the happiest for everyone.

A protective surge fell over me as I spotted someone lonelier than myself across the room – he had no-one on such a together kind of festivity. Idle chatter fell over the room as faces were turned to one another, but eyes were drawn back to the television. There was nothing for me here. I grabbed my cream trench coat and left the building.

It felt good being out here. The air was clean. Quiet. Y'know – ever since I was little, when I was alone, just like this – I used to spin in circles. I don't know why. But I found myself moving my feet round and round, to the very faint, pulsing music. I span and span, now. I was caught off guard and I felt my ankle give way, but then a tight fist caught my arm, and it hurt.

'Ow,' I said blankly. I looked up. Cliff stood slightly away, still gripping my arm. I yanked it away – I didn't want him to pull me up, for a reason I couldn't explain. The tangerine glow of the head lamp and the contrasting blue lights glittered on the fresh snow. I stood up, brushed myself down. He was walking away.

'Wait,' I called, my voice cracking, stinging the silence. I walked steadily to him, catching a glimpse of the darn despised pink dress from beneath my coat. He turned around. 'Why did you come out here?' I asked.

'... Well, why did you come out here?'

I shuffled, and understood. I felt instantaneously guilty. No. Sorry, Cliff. That was mean. 'It was hot.'

'...Yeah.'

I leant against the wooden picket fence that surrounded the winery, our next door neighbour. I remember the winery was once a bright, happy place that seemed to light up town with its ... downright purpleness. It fell into disorder when the family fell into disorder, see.

I suddenly recited aloud the year Aja left. Cliff looked at me curiously. 'It was a bad year for wine. But a good year for apples. We started serving cider at fancy dinners, y'know?'

'Wine is...'

Cliff drifted off. I laughed. 'Maybe you'd like Duke.'

I found myself wandering into the wineyard, fiddling with the grape vines, stroking the bare poles, of a once prospering plant. 'Y'know, Cliff, we try to work together in this communities, helping out each, supplies, things.'

He nodded, but I know he was gazing at the roots that lay beneath the poles. I looked at him for a bit, just like that. I thought he was a kind of beautiful person, but he was a little bit skinny and a little bit pale. Like he hadn't eaten in a week.

'You like food, Cliff?'

He pulled at his sleeves, and blew into his clasped hands. 'Of course... but – I – times have been hard, you know?'

I nodded. 'Yes, I know,' I replied quietly, looking at his scarred hands. They could be just from handling his bird. But they could be from something else. Hard times. Still looking at him, I asked, 'Why are you in Mineral town, Cliff?'

His hand drifted onto the hard, infertile winter soil, glittering in the glow of the lights that adorned Mineral town. He was silent for a bit. He seemed to be thinking things over. I wished I hadn't said it. But I wanted to talk. I wanted to understand him.

From inside, I heard the gallant slurs of "...eight..!" – leaving an unmistakably silent pause between counts.

I stared at his closed fist on the ground. 'Seven,' I replied. I heard this echoed in the inn. 'Six,' said Cliff. A mirror sound was heard faintly in the inn, again.

'Five,' I whispered.

'Four,' he muttered.

'Three.'

'Two.'

'One.'

A faraway, joyous explosion erupted, piercing the cold silence. It was sad. Very sad. It shouldn't be, I thought, but I couldn't stop looking at this bare pole and his scarred hands and the melting snow and... 'Kiss me.'

He looked up, and I think he was almost as shocked as I was. 'W-What?' He asked, and stopped scraping the dirt, and stared at me with shiny eyes, eye contact, for the first time. I don't know why I said it. It was me that then began scraping the dirt. 'It's what people do at New Year's, isn't it? Kissing?' I asked defensively, feeling myself reddening, swinging my hair over my shoulder. There was still a faint cheering to be heard in the night.

From the lights glinting around us, I could just see that Cliff was going red too, and he just seemed to be staring at his left arm, silent. He abruptly stood up, with a defiant "...bye...", and left the vineyard. I watched him pass the picket fence, on the other side.

'Happy New Year, Cliff...' I said wistfully.

And I was alone. I felt stupid, so stupid. One of the most embarrassing things I'd ever done, I was sure of that. And soon I found myself spinning again, spinning all alone. Why did I do that? Isn't that what you did at New Year's? Why didn't he kiss me?

I didn't care, though; I only did it in celebration – it was meaningless. I was Ann, happy go lucky, cheerful Ann, had no interest in boys. She didn't need boys. Boys suck.

But I wish he kissed me.