New Years Quiet
November was so drearycold, wet, just that classic British grey you know all too well. The days seemed to drag on forever, hopelessly bland. The only reason Emily even realised it was December was because every supermarket seemed to be practically shouting about prosecco deals, Christmas puddings, and those little boxes of clementines.
London was buzzing with that pre-Christmas mania. Shop windows were practically sparkling with fairy lights. People clutching bags full of gifts looked like they were trying to win some kind of obstacle race, always rushing, busy, planningeveryone seemed to be on a timed mission.
But Emily wasnt waiting for anything, nor rushing anywhere. She was just hoping for it all to be over soon.
She was forty, already. Her divorce had been finalised three months ago, and it hadnt left her with a wound, exactlymore a sort of numb emptiness. No children, so at least there was nothing messy or complicated. Just two lives that had run in parallel for years, finally splitting off in their own separate ways.
Happy New Year! her colleagues would call out with wide grins and exaggerated winks.
Emily would smile back politely, devoid of any real cheer. All dayevery dayshe kept repeating the same thing to herself: Nothing special. December becomes January. Wednesday turns to Thursday. No need for a fuss.
Her New Years Eve plans were crystal cleartake a shower, slip into her oldest pyjamas, brew a cup of chamomile tea, and get under her duvet by ten oclock. Just a plain old evening.
No homemade trifle, no rewatching Notting Hill, no bottle of fizz sitting lonely in the fridge until next year.
***
So, the night finally rolled in.
And, as if wanting to poke fun at the whole festive season, the weather decided on its own partya truly British affair of freezing rain and slushy pavements. The sky was heavy and grey, pressing down on the city, and even the fairy lights outside seemed dull and weary. Perfect night to bunker down.
By half nine, Emily was already burrowed under her blanket, soft music humming from the neighbours flat next door. She closed her eyes, determined to drift off.
But thenthis startling, persistent thudding. Not a polite knock, mind you; more like someone battering the door, desperate. Emily sat up, grumbling about drunken idiots and why people couldnt behave. She glanced at the clock:
11:45 pm
She stood up but didnt go straight to the doorprobably just someone with the wrong flat or wrong floor. Theyd give up and leave eventually. But something made her peer out of her window to see who was causing all the commotion and suddenly, she froze.
It was blindingly white outsidenot a hint of rain or dirty pavement in sight.
Huge, fluffy snowflakesjust like when you were a kidwere twirling gracefully around the lamplight, frosting everything with this perfect white duvet.
In a matter of hours, the whole city looked almost magical.
***
The banging came again, softer now but still determined.
Still under the spell of that snowy transformation, Emily went to open the door. The thought of who it might be hadnt even crossed her mind. She was caught in the moment. She turned the key and swung the door open.
And there
***
There was her neighbour.
Arthur, the chap from across the hall. Not young anymore, with a crown of messy, silver hair and eyes always sparkling with mischief. He was wrapped up in an old tweed blazer with a warm wool scarf haphazardly thrown around his shoulders.
One hand held a battered leather suitcase, and the othera glass jar filled to the brim with something red and delicious-looking.
Sorry to bother you, he said, voice a bit raspy, I, uh, caught a bit of well, it seemed to me that youve got that New Years quiet going on in here. Its a rare kind of quiet, and I couldnt help but notice.
Emily stood there, not speaking, then glanced at the street where that unbelievable snowfall was still dancing in the lamplights.
Arthur, what what do you want? she finally managed, feeling completely flustered.
Ive brought you a present, he said, holding out the jar. Cranberry cordial. My late wife used to say it could cure any kind of gloom. And well, he lifted the suitcase, Id love to show you something. Could I pop in for fifteen minutes? Just until the clocks strike midnight.
She hesitated in the doorway. All her apathy and that hard shell of nothing special had started cracking. First, that miraculous snow, and nowher eccentric neighbour with his suitcase of curiosities and cranberry cordial. Curiosity, the very thing shed buried deep beneath years of pragmatism and disappointment, suddenly stirred.
Alright, she said, stepping backunsure, but open.
Arthur came in, knocking snow off his boots. He didnt bother taking off his coat, just put his case down in the middle of her dimly lit living room. The only light was the lamplight streaming through the window.
Its very minimalist in here, he noted, but he was gentleno judgment, just matter-of-fact.
I wasnt planning to celebrate, she replied quickly.
I get it, Arthur nodded. Afterwell, after big changes like yours, celebrations feel almost insulting. Everyone around you is happy for no reason, and you just cant and dont want to be. You think maybe somethings wrong with you.
She met his gaze, surprised by how true every word felt.
Theyd barely spoken beforeusually just the occasional chat about the weather in the hall.
Really?
Im old, Emily. Ive seen all sorts of peopleand plenty of grey Decembers. And I know for sure: winter isnt the end. Its when the earth rests, recharges. And people well, they ought to rest too. But not disappear forever.
He snapped open the suitcase. Inside, lined with velvet, were dozens of glass baubles. Each was differentone navy blue dusted with silver, looking like the Milky Way; another blazing red with a tiny, intricate golden rose painted at its heart; a third, simply clear, but with a bit of light, you could see a miniature rainbow sparkling inside.
What are these? Emily whispered, stepping closer.
My collection, Arthur said proudly. I dont do stamps or coinsI collect memories. Each one of these baubles holds a happy moment. This blue onehe lifted it with carewas our first trip to the mountains together, my wife and me. We watched the stars and promised wed always be there for each other. We kept that promise. This red oneshe gave it to me for our first anniversary. Said love is a rose that never fades.
Emily looked at this tiny universe of glass and felt something inside her melt; the ice around her heart was thawing. These werent decorationsthey were a whole life, full of meaning and warmth.
But why show this to me?
Because youre empty right now, Arthur replied, straight as anything. And I want you to know: emptiness isnt a punishment. Its a space. A space to put something new. Look.
He pulled another baublea plain, perfectly clear onefrom his jacket pocket.
This ones yours, he said, handing it to Emily. Your very first. To mark tonight. Its a signthat you opened your door when you meant to stay in bed, that you caught the miracle of the first snow from your window, and that, even in the bleakest quiet, something wonderful can happen.
She took the bauble in her handscool, smooth, delicate.
Outside, you could just make out the sound of Big Ben chiming, and neighbours shouting, Happy New Year!
Emily looked up at Arthur, noticing the shining in his eyes; they seemed even wiser now, the playfulness threaded with warmth.
Thank you, she whispered, and for the first time in ages, she managed a real, if timid, smile.
Not at all, Arthur smiled back. Now youve got your beginning. The restyou choose what memory youll put in there. Could be tomorrows morning coffee, or a book you finish, or maybe something bigger. Who knows? The New Years just started.
Arthur closed up his suitcase, wished her sweet dreams, and let himself out, leaving Emily alone.
But the quiet was different nownot heavy and hollow, but gently alive, sparkling with hope.
Emily stood at her window, holding that clear bauble. Outside, the snow kept falling, erasing the old and covering everything in white. For once, she found herself thinking not about what had been, but about what might come next.
And that, truly, felt like a New Years miracle.
