New Year Eve by Dave Rigby

dead as a doornail

bonnet up poke around inside but what for I know nothing about car engines kick the tyres in mock frustration close the bonnet lock up and start walking

snow is thickening but I’m dressed for it boots a parka with a decent hood just the problem of trying to keep the snow out of my eyes when the wind gusts full in the face

whisky bottle party-entry fee safe in an inside pocket

what a year company folded redundancy payout don’t make me laugh only enough to keep me in booze and cigs for a month and Liz left soon afterwards not that I can blame her wasn’t in a good place

dip your bloody lights why do they always ignore pedestrians probably because we’re pedestrian no need to bother about you mate back into sudden blackness there’s something nice about the walk now warming up crunch crunch underfoot, snowballs nicely rounded between leather gloves dispatched into darkness

Eve might be there it’s possible maybe not likely but possible I keep thinking about the first time we met at the quick checkout waiting for those slidey doors to reveal the packs of tens and twenties same brand immediate bond no I’m joking or am I that’s a coincidence isn’t it immediately regretting my opening speech but she’s OK with it not the only thing we’ve got in common she responds class parka I’d not even noticed a few more bits of banter and she’s gone

but she’s on the bus a week later my car in dock as usual a friend in common it turns out a friend who’s holding a party so she might be there you never know she might be

a cat dashes across the road playing chicken with a passing car snow chains rattling along who on earth uses chains these days cliched solitary owl hoot adds some nocturnal flavour as I pass the beech copse and take the long track to the left trudging uphill

maybe I can leave my bad year behind start again glass half full that interview went OK didn’t it they told me I’d know within forty eight hours so twelve to go

up ahead farmhouse windows glowing bass thudding in greeting shadows shifting rhythmically a lion’s face on the door two knocks Hannah party-thrower kisses my left cheek followed by right whisky bottle handed over warmth deafening music people everywhere drunken Christmas tree tables of food suddenly ravenous dangerously overloaded paper plate and a short to warm the insides

no sign of her heigh-ho there was just a chance another whisky

a hand on my shoulder somehow she looks different even better different

she takes my glass and drains it