January 3rd
I kept silencing my phone, but Oliver wouldn’t stop calling.
“Lily, answer. How long are you going to keep this up?” Aunt Margaret peeked into my room. “Either pick up or turn it off if you’re ignoring me.” She slammed the door behind her.
I finally switched it off and tossed it onto the sofa. I would’ve done it sooner, but I’d been waiting for Andrew’s call. He’d promised to ring, yet two days had passed without a word. Oliver? I couldn’t bear speaking to him, let alone seeing him. For him, I’d crawled out of the shell I retreated into after my parents died. And he’d betrayed me so carelessly…
***
The roads had been black with ice that evening. Mum and Dad were driving back from Grandmother’s when a jeep came skidding out of a side street. The drunk driver lost control on the slippery road, sending the vehicle careening straight into theirs. Mum died instantly. Dad held on just long enough to reach the hospital.
A year had passed since then. I used to adore New Year’s—counting down the days with excitement. Now, the thought of it made me shudder. It wasn’t a celebration anymore. Just a reminder of loss, of grief that refused to fade.
I barely remembered finishing my first year at uni, let alone surviving the aftermath. Aunt Margaret, Dad’s sister, moved in after splitting from her husband. She’d been unable to have children—a botched abortion in her teens saw to that.
“Just call me Margaret,” she’d said straight away. “Makes me feel less like a spinster.”
But she was no replacement for Mum and Dad. We weren’t friends, either—too busy with her own life, always out with some new man, chasing the marriage she desperately wanted.
This year, I planned to sleep straight through New Year’s. No parties, no celebrations. But Oliver convinced me to go to his mate’s birthday two days before.
“You’re practically my girlfriend. I can’t show up alone—everyone else is paired off. It’s not even New Year’s, just a birthday. Come on. You can’t hide forever. Your mum wouldn’t have wanted this,” he’d argued.
That last bit broke my resistance. So I went. I wore the dress Mum and I had picked out for last New Year’s—the one I never got to wear.
“You’ll be the most beautiful girl there,” she’d told me then.
It suited me perfectly.
Margaret gave me a critical once-over.
“I’ll never find a husband with you around. Who’d look twice at me with a young stunner like you nearby?” She sighed. “Isn’t it a bit revealing? Hold on—” She vanished into her room and returned with a delicate scarf, just a shade darker than the dress.
Mum would’ve approved, I thought.
“Better,” Margaret declared, draping it over my shoulders. “Keeps you warm too.”
Oliver and I took a cab across town. The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived. The birthday boy whistled when he saw me.
“Now I see why you’ve been hiding her. Handsome sod like me might steal her,” he teased, wagging a finger at Oliver.
I didn’t know a soul there except Oliver. With him nearby, I felt safe. But then the music started, and some bloke pulled me onto the dance floor. By the time the song ended, Oliver was gone.
I hated being alone in a room full of strangers. I wandered the flat searching for him. Near the entrance, I noticed the front door slightly ajar. Stepping out, I spotted Oliver on the landing below—locked in a kiss with some girl like they’d been separated for years. They didn’t even notice me.
My stomach lurched. I couldn’t stay. I hurried back inside, grabbed my coat and boots, and stepped out again.
The sight of them made me sick. There was no way I could walk past. So I went up instead, waiting for them to finish or for someone to call them back inside. But even a floor above, I could still hear their whispers.
I climbed higher. The top landing had an open balcony stretching along the side. I stopped there, letting the cold air bite at my flushed cheeks. The cars below looked like snowdrifts.
“Would it hurt if I jumped?” The thought flickered before I could stop it. “Don’t you dare.” Whether it was my own voice or something else, I jerked back from the railing—then leaned over again, staring down.
“Don’t even think about it! Step away from there!” A sharp voice cut through the air. Strong hands yanked me back just as my scarf snagged on something, slipping free and fluttering over the edge. I lunged for it, but the wind caught it, sending it spiraling down.
“Let go of me!” I snapped at the stranger still holding me. “That scarf—Margaret will kill me!”
“Sorry. Thought you were going to jump,” he muttered, sheepish.
“Where’d you get that idea? I was just looking.” My irritation flared.
“Come on, let’s find it.” He tugged me inside. By the time we reached the street, Oliver and his girl were gone. The scarf hung from a tree branch, flapping wildly. The guy grabbed the lowest limb, hauling himself up—only for it to crack. Just before falling, he managed to snag a corner. A loud rip echoed as half of it tore free.
“Sorry,” he said, handing me the remains. “Will you get in trouble? Was it expensive?”
“No. Margaret gave it to me.” I stuffed the tattered fabric into my pocket.
“Skipping the party?” he asked.
“Like you care.”
“Let me walk you home.”
“I can manage,” I said sharply.
“It’s late. Rough area. Come on.”
Against my better judgment, I followed. He hailed a cab and slid in beside me.
“I didn’t need help,” I muttered.
“Where to, love?” the driver chirped.
I gave my address.
We rode in silence. Finally, he spoke.
“Were you really not going to jump back there?”
“What if I was? Who even are you?”
“Andrew.”
“What—Angel?”
“If you like. Mum named me after that folk-rock band, *Andrew & Eliza*. Big in the 80s.”
I studied him. “I’m Lily.”
“Brilliant.” He grinned. “Mum always said I’d find my Eliza. Fate, don’t you think?”
For a second, I thought he was mocking me. But he seemed entirely serious.
“Why’d you say ‘Mum always said’? Is she… gone?”
“What? No. Alive and well. She remarried, lives abroad now. I stayed here with Dad. He’s the one who loved that band.”
Before I knew it, we’d reached my building.
“Give me your number. Be a shame to find you only to lose you again,” he said, fishing out his phone.
I rattled it off.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he promised.
***
Two days passed. No call. I couldn’t stop thinking about him—how he’d even appeared on that balcony. I hadn’t heard footsteps. “Maybe he *was* an angel.” Just then, the doorbell rang.
“Lily, get that—my hands are covered in flour!” Margaret shouted from the kitchen.
Another one of her suitors was due over. She’d decided to impress him with her cooking, especially since it was New Year’s Eve. I planned to hide in my room, avoid the whole thing.
Grudgingly, I answered, expecting some middle-aged bloke. Instead, Andrew stood there.
“Why’d you ignore my calls? Why turn your phone off?” He sounded almost hurt.
“I thought—” I’d been rejecting every call without checking.
“Was it your boyfriend? The one who made you want to jump?” Now he was teasing. “Figured I’d come myself. Especially since I’ve got these.” He held up a bag with my forgotten shoes.
“How did you—how’d you even *find* me?”
“Didn’t leave straight away last time. Waited to see which window lit up. The rest was easy.”
“Lily, who is it?” Margaret called from the kitchen.
“My guest!” I yelled back.
“Mum?” Andrew asked.
“No. Margaret.”
“Get your coat. I’ll wait on the stairs. We’re short on time,” he said abruptly.
“I’m not going anywhere. You don’t understand. I can’t do New Year’s because—” The joy of seeing him collided with a year’s worth of grief. My voice cracked.
“Just a few mates at a club. Live music. Small crowd.” He looked at me like he already knew everything.
“What should I wear?”
“Whatever you like. Just be comfortable.”
I ducked into my room, emerging minutes later in jeans and a peach-coloured jumper. Not dressed up, but I knew I looked good.
“As the clock struck midnight and fireworks lit up the sky, Andrew leaned in, whispered *”Happy New Year, Eliza,”* and for the first time in years, I believed in beginnings again.
