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Hells Bells was the annual Hogmanay street party in Saints Bay. Though it had grown more official and organised over the years, it still had that gloriously local, haphazard charm. A tiny stage stood off to one side of the pier, where a handful of local bands would jump on and play a set. Folks brought along a carry-out or two, blankets, chairs—and naturally, an alarming number of fireworks.
Thankfully, the night was a perfect slice of winter: cold, crisp, windless, and clear. That just cranked the festive spirit up a notch. The creel Christmas tree stood proud and twinkling. Kids darted about like they’d had too much sugar, while their parents huddled on picnic blankets, swapping stories and sharing bottles of wine and beer. Teenagers lurked nearby, testing their luck with a sneaky swig off their older siblings’ stash. And all around, plastic cups thunked together—homemade cocktails sloshing out of old juice bottles because, well, why not?
The boys were lumbering off with several boxes of fireworks, heading to the makeshift launch zone at the pier’s edge. Predictably, Dallas, Eòin, DJ, their brothers and sons had taken command of the chaos, organising donations with military precision. Jenn had no idea how on earth they would work out what to do with the random selection of fireworks.
Jenn and the girls found a spot near Abigail and her clan, spreading out blankets and chairs like they were claiming their own little festival patch. No sooner had they plopped down than Abigail was quizzing Màiri about the proposal and all things wedding.
“Oh yes, it’ll be a local wedding for sure—but we’ll likely wait a couple of years,” Màiri confirmed, already glowing like she was walking down the aisle.
“Makes sense. You’ll want to save—and let Dol finish his stint at sea,” Abigail said with a sage nod.
“Absolutely! And we’re hoping to start work on the house too.” Màiri practically squeaked with excitement.
“Of course, Dol’s auntie’s old place in Faernish, isn’t it?” Jenn asked, remembering the row of colourful houses.
“Yes, one of the Rainbow ones—though sad to say it’s not looking so colourful these days. But it’ll be absolutely beautiful once it’s done up.”
“It’s good that folk are sprucing them up again. The tourists will love it.”
“Actually, I think it’s going to become a more official thing,” Màiri added. “Neil said they’re planning to give them some sort of heritage or protected status. Not sure on the details yet, but we’ll need to make sure everything’s up to standard.”
“That’s a cracking idea! At least those blooming councillors and politicians are good for something, eh?” Abigail said with a cheeky grin.
“Oi! Are you slagging me off, Abigail Gillies!” Neil called, appearing with MT—and, far more importantly, copious bottles of champagne.
“Of course! Someone has to keep you lot on your toes,” Abigail shot back.
“We’re talking about the Rainbow houses and their protection plans,” Màiri explained to Neil and MT.
“Ah, yes—it’s a great idea, isn’t it?” MT agreed, nudging Neil with a grin. “See, he’s good for something after all,” she added, her eyes soft with pride.
“Alright, troops—the fireworks are offloaded! Who’s ready for a drink?” Donnie bellowed as he and the lads returned.
“Saved by the bubbles,” Neil muttered with a wink at Jenn.
A couple of rounds of drinks, plenty of hugs, and a few drunken singalongs with the bands later, someone yelled for Neil to get on stage for the countdown.
“Booze and official duties don’t mix,” Ruairidh joked, as they all watched Neil weave tipsily through the crowd toward the microphone.
“Evening, Hellisay—and welcome to Hells Bells!” Neil roared, earning a chorus of cheers and whoops. “Okay, according to my good friend over there”—he gestured to a local lad swaying precariously with a clipboard and timer—“we’re about one minute to midnight. So, let me just quickly say a huge thanks to everyone for pulling this together tonight—our brilliant bands, the folks behind the scenes, the lads over there who are about to give us a spectacular fireworks show, and, of course, all of you for turning up!”
He paused as the crowd erupted in applause.
“Hells Bells is proof of the spirit and community that makes this island magic. Long may it last! Right—countdown time! Have a cracking night, and here’s to an even better New Year!” He jumped off the stage and dashed to MT and the kids as the countdown began.
“Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Church bells clanged in the distance, mingling with cheers, whoops, and whistles.
Ruairidh pulled Jenn in for a hot, quick, searing kiss on the stroke of midnight, before they were swept into hugs from everyone else in the group. When the first roar of fireworks gave way to the show itself, the crowd went oddly quiet—children and all—as they stood huddled close, faces tilted to the sky.
Ruairidh found Jenn again, his arms slipping around her waist, his breath warm as he nuzzled into her hair while they watched the colours bloom overhead.
For a moment, everything in her went still—the rare kind of stillness that felt like safety instead of emptiness. And then, just as quickly, something flickered in her chest—sharp and bright. God, if she stayed, could this really be her life? And if she left… No. Not tonight. She tucked herself tighter against him as the next firework broke across the sky.
Despite the frankly chaotic mix of donated fireworks, the firemen delivered a display worthy of Edinburgh Castle. For nearly five minutes, rockets and starbursts lit the sky, while down on the pier the lads dashed between launch points with clockwork efficiency.
The pier was the perfect vantage point, giving everyone a sweeping view of the technicolour display against the inky Hebridean sky. Each burst lit up ghostly glimpses of Scarba and Killegray, and even the silhouettes of people gathered around bonfires near Hellisay Lighthouse—a quieter but equally perfect spot for watching the show. Far off, the neighbouring islands answered with their own fireworks, like distant lanterns blinking across the sea. When the final barrage of fireworks thundered and the smoke drifted out toward the Minch, the stars returned—dazzling and brilliant, as if the universe had decided to put on its own encore.
