Lizzie stubbornly ignored the ringing phone, but Oliver kept calling again and again.
“Lizzie, pick up. How much longer can you keep this up?” Marina poked her head into the room. “Or just switch it off if you don’t want to answer.” She slammed the door behind her.
Lizzie turned off her phone and tossed it to the other end of the sofa. She would’ve done it ages ago, but she’d been waiting for a call from Andrew. He’d promised to ring, but two days had passed, and nothing. Meanwhile, Oliver was the last person she wanted to speak to, let alone see. She’d crawled out of her shell for him—the one she’d retreated into after her parents died—and he’d betrayed her in the most callous way.
***
The roads had been sheer ice that night. Her parents were driving back from Grandma’s when a jeep shot out of a side street. The drunk driver lost control on the slippery road, skidding straight into them. Mum died instantly. Dad passed away in hospital.
A full year had passed since then. Lizzie used to love New Year’s—counted down the days. Now, the thought of it made her shudder. It only reminded her of death, loss, and a grief that never faded.
She didn’t know how she’d made it through her first year of uni, let alone survived the loss. Her dad’s sister, Aunt Marina, had moved in after her own divorce—failed abortion years ago, couldn’t have kids, the usual tragedy.
“Just call me Marina. No need to make me sound ancient,” she’d said straight away.
But Marina was no substitute for Mum and Dad. Nor were they friends. Marina was too busy swiping through dating apps, determined to rebuild her love life.
Lizzie had no intention of celebrating New Year’s. She’d just sleep through it. But Oliver had convinced her to come to his mate’s birthday party two days before.
“I’ve got a girlfriend, and I never take her anywhere. What am I meant to do, turn up solo? Everyone’s coming as couples. It’s a birthday, not New Year’s. Come on. You’ve got to get back out there. Your mum wouldn’t want you moping at home,” he’d wheedled.
That last argument had broken her resistance. She agreed, digging out the dress she and Mum had bought last New Year’s—one she never got to wear.
“You’ll be the prettiest girl there,” Mum had said.
And it did suit her.
Marina gave her a critical once-over.
“No one’s gonna look at me with you around. Who’d glance at an old spinster next to a gorgeous young thing?” She sighed. “Isn’t it a bit revealing? Hang on.” Marina disappeared, returning with a delicate scarf. Just a shade darker than the dress, it tied the whole look together.
Mum would’ve liked it.
“That’s better,” Marina said approvingly. “You can drape it over your shoulders if it gets chilly.”
The taxi ride took ages. By the time they arrived, the party was in full swing. The birthday boy whistled when he saw Lizzie.
“Now I get why you’ve been hiding her. Mate or not, I’d steal her in a heartbeat,” he joked, wagging a finger at Oliver.
Lizzie didn’t know a soul there except Oliver. While he was nearby, she felt safe. Then the dancing started. Some bloke asked her up, and when the music stopped, Oliver was gone.
Surrounded by strangers, Lizzie felt horribly out of place. She wandered through the flat looking for him, spotting the front door ajar on her way. Stepping out, she saw Oliver on the stairwell below, locked in a passionate kiss with some girl like they’d been separated by war. Oblivious to the world.
Lizzie’s stomach lurched. What now? She couldn’t stay. Back inside, she grabbed her coat and boots, then slipped out again.
The sight of them made her ill. She couldn’t walk past. Only one option—go up and wait it out. Sooner or later, they’d run out of oxygen or someone would call them back inside. She climbed to the next floor, but even there, whispers and the sound of kissing carried.
Higher, then. The next landing had an open balcony along the side. Lizzie paused, leaning over the railing, letting the cold air hit her flushed face. The cars below looked like snowmen in the dim light.
“Would it hurt if I jumped?” The thought flickered before she could stop it. “Don’t you dare!” Whether it was her own voice or someone else’s in her head, she jerked back. Then, against her better judgement, she leaned over again, peering down.
“Don’t even think about it! Step away from the railing!” A sharp voice cut through the air just as strong arms yanked her back.
The delicate scarf caught on something, fluttered free, and danced on the breeze before slipping over the edge. Lizzie gasped, reaching for it—too late.
“Let go of me!” She twisted in the stranger’s grip. “The scarf! Marina will kill me!”
“Sorry,” the bloke said sheepishly. “Thought you were gonna jump.”
“Where’d you get that idea? I was just looking. Fancy jumping? Really?” Irritation flared.
“Come on, let’s find your scarf.” He tugged her inside, down to the party floor. Oliver and his fling had vanished. The sting of him not even bothering to look for her barely registered.
The scarf had snagged on a tree branch, flapping like a trapped bird. The bloke grabbed the lowest limb, hauling himself up. The branch groaned ominously—but not before he snagged a corner. A loud tear, and half the scarf stayed on the tree.
“Sorry. Meant to save it. Will you be in trouble?” He handed her the ruined scrap.
“No. Marina gave it to me, but…” She stuffed it into her coat pocket.
“Leaving the party early?”
“Do you care?”
“Come on, I’ll walk you.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s pitch-black. This area’s dodgy. Let’s go.”
Against her better judgement, she followed. He flagged a cab and slid in beside her.
“I could’ve managed,” Lizzie muttered.
“Where to, love?” the driver chirped.
She gave her address.
Silence filled the car until the bloke finally asked, “So you really weren’t gonna jump?”
“What if I was? Who even are you?”
“Andrew.”
“Who—Angel?”
“If you like,” he grinned. “Andrew. Mum named me after some Polish folk-rock band from the ’80s—‘Andrew and Eliza.’”
Lizzie studied him.
“I’m Lizzie.”
“Brilliant. Mum always said I’d meet my Eliza. Meant to be, yeah?”
For a second, she thought he was mocking her. But he looked deadly serious.
“Why’d you say ‘meant to be’ like that? Is she… gone?”
“What? No, she’s fine. Remarried, lives abroad. I stayed here with Dad. He’s the one into that band.”
Before she knew it, they’d pulled up outside her flat.
“Give me your number. Can’t let me find you just to lose you,” he said, pulling out his phone.
She rattled it off.
“Ring you tomorrow,” he promised.
***
Two days. No call. Lizzie had spent every hour thinking about the strange boy with the odd name. Angel? She still didn’t know how he’d appeared on that balcony. Hadn’t heard a single footstep. Ding-dong.
“Lizzie, get that—my hands are covered in flour!” Marina shouted from the kitchen.
Another one of her ‘prospects’ was due. With New Year’s Eve here, Marina had gone full MasterChef. Lizzie planned to hide in her room.
Grudgingly, she opened the door—expecting some middle-aged bloke—only to find Andrew.
“Why’d you ignore my calls? Why switch off your phone?” He looked mildly offended.
“I thought—” She’d rejected every call without checking.
“Your ex pestering you? The one who drove you to the balcony?” Now he was definitely teasing. “Figured I’d come myself. Especially since…” He held up a bag. “You forgot your shoes in the cab.”
“How did you—how’d you even find me?”
“Didn’t leave straight away. Waited to see which window lit up. The rest was easy.”
“Lizzie, who’s there?” Marina called.
“It’s for me!”
“Mum?” Andrew asked.
“No. Marina.”
“Get your coat. I’ll wait on the stairs. We’re short on time,” he said abruptly.
“I’m not going. You don’t get it. I can’t do New Year’s because—” The joy of seeing him tangled with a year’s worth of grief. Her voice crackedAs the clock struck midnight, Lizzie realised that sometimes, life sends you an angel when you least expect it—just not the kind with wings.
