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AVERY
I stareat the contents of my glass and calculate how many rum and cokes I've had. Not enough to see me through a New Year’s Eve with friends I rarely see, or a dodgy guy hitting on me, but just enough to remove me from the situation and leave a nice, glowy mist around the world. People cram around metal tables and the long bar, or a re sardine packed on the dance floor. I've retreated to our table. If Tim gropes my ass one more time, I'm going to punch him. My feet hurt from drunken dancing amongst the sweaty masses and I pull off my shoe and wriggle my toes.
“Avery!”
Janet calls through the lull in the music and trips across the dance floor to grab my arm. The music rises again and I cringe at the opening bars of “The Final Countdown”. Every New Year’s party, every year, the same song. I shove my shoe back on and drag myself into the suffocating start to my year, yanked into the circle of old friends by two of them. Arms across my shoulders, practically in a headlock, the group enthusiastically count down, drinks sloshing in the air.
What does next year hold?
I finish the academic part of my course and then move onto the vocational in September. Teacher training at a school all day equals no possibility of part-time work to see me through. Will I be able to afford the last year?
Losing my Christmas holiday job sucks because the money earned was to get me through until the next holidays. Rent is high in London; and the 'I told you so' from my parents who aren't in a financial position to support me niggles, but they're right. Moving to Cardiff or Swansea to study would've made more sense, instead of my starry-eyed decision to live in London. A year of living it up led to debts that grow every day and, three years later, there's a limit to the overdraft the bank will give me.
The possibility I need to stop my studies for a year and find a part-time job to afford to pay my way through my training year looms.
“...Two! One!” Janet screams and bounces up and down, eagerly hugging and kissing everybody. Caught up in the once a year 'it's okay to touch anybody', I take part in the ritualistic embracing everybody in turn.
I come face to face with Tim, whose kiss is heading dangerously close to my lips. The friendly New Year’s kisses involve cheeks, not what he intends with his open mouth. I duck my head and step back, smiling sweetly.
“Better call my other friends!” I shout at him over the noise and indicate the table where my bag and phone are. Disappointment crosses his face momentarily before another girl throws her arms around his shoulders and their mouths meet instead.
Funny.
Flopping onto the semi-circle bench around the table, I pull my bag from under the table. In the shadows, I squint and scroll through the contacts for Ben’s number, my housemate in London and one of my best friends. The screen is blurry so I wipe. Still blurry. Right. I've had more to drink than I realise.
My mind trips back to last time I got drunk. Very drunk. With a rock star who thought it hilarious to crash my life and pretend we were a couple. Well, did I have some explaining to do to my friends tonight when my so-called boyfriend wasn't with me.
Hitting the screen, I dial.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ben! Happy New Year!” I yell over the noise around me. Did Ben spend New Year’s Eve alone? He’s a party boy and there’s no noise in the background.
“Ben?” the confused voice replies.
“Ben?” Oh, crap. “Sorry, did I call the wrong number?”
“Ah!” The 'not Ben' laughs. “Are you drunk again,cariad?”
The voice carries me straight back to the night I was just thinking about, embarrassment instant. “Bryn? Omigod, I'm sorry! I should've deleted your number. I won't call again—”
“Wait!” he says as I'm about to end the call. “Talk to me. I can hardly hear you. Where you are? Somewhere noisy.”
“And very quiet where you are. I thought a rock star would be at a swish celeb party.”
“Not me. Not in the mood.” He pauses. “Go somewhere quieter; talk to me.”
“Um. Okay.” I head to the hallway and lean against the cool wall between the entrance and the bathrooms.
“Okay?” I ask.
“That's better,” he says. “Now, why did you call?”
“I didn't!”
“Cariad, you're speaking to me on the phone and I didn't callyou.”
“I mean, I didn't intend to. I was calling a friend.”
