When she woke up, there were 17 voicemails from a stranger.


She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead, trying to rub away the budding migraine behind one eye that was becoming so familiar these days. She could only think of one person that would call her, and if it wasn't her, then...

She dialled her answering machine and listened to the first message.

“Hi, is this Jill? It's your mum's neighbour, Gary. She seems to have had a bit of a fall and a funny turn. I think she's-”

She cut it off and played the second.

“Hi again Jill, it's Gary. I'm worried about your mum, so if you could-”

She didn't listen to any more, but she could imagine. And no, she wasn't doing this today. This was a day for her. It was New Year's Eve, and for once in her life she refused to be burdened by her ailing mother.

Rolling onto her side, she eyed the outfit she had picked out over a month ago. It hung limply on the wardrobe doorhandle. A thought flashed through her mind:

“Who do you think you are, trying to dress up? You'll look like a frumpy old woman. Mutton dressed as lamb. And with your legs? I hope you don't run into any teenagers on the way to the pub. They'll eat you alive!”

It took a great effort to push aside these thoughts. She was already regretting the afternoon nap to save her energy for the pub later on. Her head throbbed as she imagined the embarrassment of having no one to kiss at midnight.

There was a tiny, tiny niggle somewhere in the recesses of her brain. She didn't like to give it any of her attention, because it always ended up hurting her. It wasn't exactly hope; she wouldn't have allowed that to form. But the diluted version of it was saying “maybe there will even be someone there who is less attractive than you. Maybe she'll take the brunt of it. And anyway, isn't it supposed to be personality people fall in love with? I'm sure if a man just started talking to you, he'd forget about everyone else in the room.”

She knew some of her thoughts could be cruel, but life could be equally cruel, and she didn't have the energy to pretend she didn't agree with them. Her thoughts racing, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Not tonight. One night without anxiety and guilt. One night to live like everyone else.


She drew a bath, trying not to look at herself in the mirror. She was aware it had been a while since she had cleaned the bathroom, but she decided to give herself some grace.

The sequinned skirt sat a little more snugly on her than she'd remembered. The loud tone of her red fluffy jumper may be a little garish. She didn't want to come across as attention-seeking. But she had heard that red gives good luck for the New Year.

She reluctantly glanced at her phone, more to see the time than anything else. She rolled her eyes when she saw the amount of messages and missed calls. Oh well. She'd just say she had her phone on silent. It wasn't a lie. For God's sake, she was thirty nine years of age and she deserved one night to herself.


Make-up carefully applied, she faced herself in the mirror. Her lipstick didn't quite match her jumper. There were dots of mascara lining both her upper and lower eyelids where she had been a little too vigorous. The half-bottle of wine she had sipped over the past hour probably hadn't helped there. Despite the cold, sweat had dampened the hair on her neck, blemishing her attempt to coiffe her unruly cloud of hair. The red dye she had used a month ago had faded to a burnt orange. She looked OK. She wasn't a knockout but... maybe an acquired taste? She reminded herself that the influencer profiles she scrolled through night after night on Instagram only posted their best pics. They must have days too when their make-up isn't quite right, or their hair needs a touch-up. She guzzled down the rest of the glass of wine and turned away from the mirror.


After polishing off the second half of the wine bottle, she wished she had something more appealing to wrap up against the cold in than her long, grey, dowdy winter coat. She would take it off the second she entered the pub.

The pub. She had been there before with a friend. Once she even went with two friends. Well, she other was her friend Sue's workmate, but no one else would have known that. She had enjoyed herself to an extent. She had felt a little left out when the shop-talk between Sue and... whatsername (the wine had kicked in). She had supposed it was normal. Of course, she herself hadn't been able to work since her mum had become ill. She had also felt something uncomfortable in her chest when Sue had spent a little too long chatting to the guy behind the bar. But she wasn't with Sue tonight. Maybe tonight would be her turn. People went to pubs on their own all the time. And she couldn't imagine that every single man there could resist a lady sitting and drinking alone.


The bottle of wine she had consumed benefitted her in that the wind didn't bite quite so much as it would have. It was a five-minute walk to the pub, first along an unpaved country track and then a little way over tarmac. It was on the outskirts of the small town. Quiet, but anything could be overwhelming when you've spent enough time alone.

She wobbled a little on het first step, and, feeling silly, she straightened her back and strode out towards the lone lamppost where the track met the road. It was the only source of light before the approached civilisation, but she didn't want to waste the battery on her phone by using the torch. Tonight could turn into a long night. She might not even be coming home.

Leaving the lamppost behind her, she fixed her sights on the pub a little way ahead of her. She was just fighting a little wave of panic at how full and bustling it looked when she heard it.


She thought she had imagined it at first, but slowed her pace nonetheless. She looked around her, up and down the street stretching out before her.

And then she heard it again; louder this time. A catcall. And there was no one else around who could possibly be the recipient. Not even any female smokers outside the pub.

She turned around more slowly than she'd have liked, trying to act as if this was a normal occurrence. And there he was, flooded by the light of the lamppost she had just left behind. The aura the light shed around him seemed almost fitting.

He was a big man, covered by a dark green wax coat, which hung open. Underneath, she spotted a grey polo shirt which attempted to hide a prominent beer belly. His shapeless jeans hung low, despite the brown leather belt. He wore shabby white trainers. His hair was thick and black; his beard shaggy. His face was mostly in shadows.

“Alright, darlin'?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Where you off?”

“I was just off to the pub for a drink.”

“On your own?”

Should she tell him the truth? She didn't know if the truth or a lie about a group of friends would make her sound more appealing to him.

“What's your name?”

She felt that she shouldn't lie to a potential suitor.

“Jill.”

“Fancy a drink, Jill?”

“In the pub?”

“I'd rather have one at yours. You live far?”

She began reevaluating. The reasoning behind going to the pub was to find someone to kiss at midnight. What would it really matter if she took a little shortcut? She wasn't attracted to him necessarily, but she didn't know him. And she was being shallow. It is persoanlity that people fall for, after all. Besides, he might scrub up well. It was hard to tell in the dark. She did have a few more bottles of wine at home. She always bought the second cheapest, to avoid looking like a cheapskate.

“No, I live just up the road.”

“Fancy it then?”

She caught a whiff of something strong as she approached him and he slung a heavy arm round her shoulders. Spirits, she thought. But everyone was celebrating tonight. It didn't mean he made a habit of it.


She fumbled a little as she unlocked the door, suddenly unsure. She pushed any feelings of uncertainty to the back of her mind. Life was about taking risks, or so she read on social media. She really wouldn't rather be sitting at home, rewatching an old season of some reality show, nursing yet another glass of wine and feeling more and more despondent. Anything was better than that.

She glanced at the clock in the hallway. Half ten. She had ninety minutes to work her magic and secure herself that kiss at midnight. She led them through to the sitting room.

“Make yourself comfortable. I'll go and fetch some drinks. Red wine OK?”

He sat down heavily on one side of the settee.

“Not got anything stronger?”

She cursed herself. How could she be such a useless hostess?

“Afraid not.”

“It'll have to do then.”


As she made her way back, she found herself confronted with a dilemma. Did she sit with him on the settee and risk seeming presumptuous, or did she take the armchair?

She placed the overfull glasses of wine on the coffee table and stood back. He patted the place next to him and she was slightly relieved the choice had been made for her. She hoped he wouldn't notice the layer of dust covering the glass of the table. Things had been hard lately.

They sat in silence; one sipping and one swigging. After making two more trips to the kitchen in quick succession, she brought the bottle in, and another for back-up.

She switched on the TV, hoping it might stimulate some conversation. It was eleven o´clock. She was worried she was running out of time. But she needn't have.

At five minutes past eleven, he launched himself at her. He planted wet kisses down the side of her neck and groped around her body, somewhat aimlessly. She wondered if she had ever liked doing this before. It had been so long that she couldn't recall. A tiny spark ignited in her chest.

Before she could recognise what the spark was, he had her off her feet and was leading her into the hall and up the stairs. She would have preferred to have had a bit of a chat first. To get to know each other a little. But he seemed to find her so irresistible. She supposed it must be quite romantic.

“Which one's your room?”

She gestured towards her bedroom door. He pulled her through and didn't hesitate in pushing her onto the bed, and suddenly a tiny seed of something unpleasant began to stretch its baby roots into her subconscious. But she chided herself. This was what she had wanted. Relationships often got off to a rocky start, especially before getting properly acquainted. If she could grin and bear it for now, maybe he'd like to go for dinner at the weekend? She'd ask him afterwards. Her treat. She bet he'd enjoy good, homemade British food, and resolved to mentally scanning the town for a suitable pub as he discarded her carefully-planned New Year's Eve outfit and began to romance her.


Once it was over, he rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. She wasn't sure if she'd got a good look at his face. She'd remember him as handsome, she decided. She watched sleepily as he pulled his clothes back on and shifted his weight off the bed. He walked towards the door without turning back.

“I'll see myself out.”

She looked at her phone. It was half past eleven. She hadn't quite managed her kiss at midnight, but she hadn't been far off. Nothing was perfect.

She'd accumulated 27 missed calls and 35 Whatsapp messages. All from the same number as before. She'd wait until midnight and give her mum a call, wish her a happy New Year. Arrange to take her out at the weekend, if she herself didn't have any plans. He would probably track her down on Facebook. That was how things worked nowadays. He had her name and location. She felt a little buzz of excitement remembering him.


She sipped another glass of wine as she watched the BBC chime in the New Year. She toasted herself and her good fortune, and thought of all the good that was to come her way the following year.

Her mum's phone went to voicemail once, twice, three times. It would appear she was sulking, but she'd get over it soon enough. She always did.

She left a voicemail.

“Hi mum, happy New Year! Sorry I've been hard to reach all day, just been super busy. Heard you had a bit of a fall. How are you doing now? Guess what! I met a guy tonight and we really hit it off! I know I promised to take you out at the weekend, but I might have to postpone to Monday if he wants to make plans. His name is-”