Outside the community centre, just beyond the piss-poor pools of light generated by the energy-saving bulbs, some of the island’s youngsters have paired off to fumble in the bone-achingly cold darkness – an almost heroic endeavour, although they do not feel the chill, fuelled as they are by booze and hormones.
Inside, Charlotte is dancing to ‘The Power of Love’. She has reached the misty-eyed and wobbly-lipped stage of the evening. Bobby, encased in a Union Jack suit that is straining along several seams, is clasped to her bosom as the pair shuffle around the dance floor. The throng of sweaty swaying bodies emanates a miasma of lust, nostalgia and Lynx Africa.
A human-sized banana, a rather frayed jellyfish, and a septuagenarian Indiana Jones stand shoulder to shoulder waiting to be served at the bar hatch, where Hannah is busy dispatching orders. Joyce from reception asks for a WKD, which Hannah 172gives her, knowing full well it’s for her son, Robin, who’s only fourteen, but, hey, it’s a party. Joyce has come dressed as Cleopatra, or she might just be wearing a very bad wig with very bad eyeliner. Lounging against the wall with three other nerdy boys, Robin has come as a robin, wearing brown trousers and a brown jumper to which he’s simply attached a big red circle – both lazy and impressive.
Most of the party crowd are in fancy dress. Half of the Czar gig crew are butch bearded Spice Girls, wearing the sort of shoddy cobbled-together garments which would make Ru Paul weep. Kit is a rabbit in tight white jeans and a white T-shirt, plus bunny ears, a bunny tail, and a giant inflatable carrot. Hannah is a sexy vampire in a red basque.
Vampire is a popular choice of costume, serving for both Halloween and the New Year party. Vlad is playing up to his nickname, sporting a black cloak and a trickle of fake blood down the side of his mouth. His own impressive canines mean he doesn’t have to bother with fake teeth. There are two other sexy girl vampires, but Kit has assured Hannah that she is by far the hottest.
The young begin enthusiastically bopping along to ‘Dancing Queen’. Those over thirty, having danced to this track many more times than they have had pay rises, are a good deal more jaded.
Maisie Willis from Sanderling is dressed as a Scilly bee in a jolly homemade yellow and black striped costume. Her mother has been a regular at this event for many years – her Dalek, fashioned around her wheelchair, won the fancy dress prize last year. Maisie has shared the terribly sad news that her mum is too ill to visit this time with anyone and everyone who cares to listen. 173
The state of Edith Willis’s health, given her age and size, is no surprise. What is more notable is that her daughter seems to have bravely put her own sadness behind her. Maisie is now in full celebratory mode, dancing wildly and knocking over drinks with her frenzied bee wings. Such is the healing power of alcohol.
When she finally takes a break from dancing, Maisie stares hard into the eyes of any man of a certain height, hoping to see the visitor from the bathroom again. It is most disconcerting for those impaled by her searching gaze.
The DJ (Jeff from the kitchen team) announces the midnight countdown will commence in two minutes. Hannah leaves her post behind the bar and comes round to the dance floor to hug Kit. He kisses the top of her head. The teens reassemble indoors, hit by the blast of moist warm air. Cove Shiles is proudly sporting a red mark on his neck, while Amber Roskruge giggles as she cleans the steam from her glasses. The still-singles, and unhappy couples, eye potential new targets.
There are whoops and laughs as the countdown begins. Hannah and Kit shout out the numbers along with the crowd, and at the gongs, party poppers are released, and somewhere outside, even though there’s supposed to be a ban on them, a firework is set off. The gamekeeper’s dogs crack off in reply.
Belying the underlying pathos of the words, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ passes in a blur of sticky hand-holding, lurching and screeching, and then mass tonsil hockey commences.
Sam, absolutely off his tits, swoops in, grabs Hannah and gives her a big gropey kiss. Kit smiles. There are no hard feelings. He is sure of Hannah. He doesn’t like to think of himself as the jealous type. 174
Not so Christie, who sees this, of course she does, because she’s never allowed to have one single night where she can just enjoy herself, is she? She shoulders her way through the crowd into the shock of cold air outside and marches home without her coat, so fired up is she by alcohol and fury.
Alison, who’s dressed as Bonnie (as in Bonnie and Clyde, although there is no Clyde), notices Thor sloping around the peripheries of the hall with a face like thunder. He’s taken off his weird horror mask to wipe his sweat. She gives the lad a peck on the lips, and a ‘Happy New Year!’ But when he tries to slip her the tongue, she pushes him off with her plastic machine gun.
‘I don’t think so, Al,’ she warns. ‘I’m old enough to be your mother!’
He moves in again.
‘Cool it, son,’ she smiles, not unkindly, but he’s wounded by the word son and angered that she’s called him Al rather than Thor.
There is more umbrage in the corner by the toilets when Farmer Michael (a caveman) gives Fiona from the gallery (a Daryl Hannah-esque mermaid) a lingering kiss. The farmer’s wife (a Viking warrior) would very much like to fillet Fiona with the horns of her helmet.
The notes of ‘Come on Eileen’ signal a return to manic leaping about on the dance floor.
Thor does not dance. He skulks by the toilets. Old Betty tells him to take off his Freddy Krueger face mask because he’s frightening the smaller children. He mutters, ‘Stupid old cow,’ stomps into the cloakroom, and thrusts the mask into his sports 175bag, alongside the ceremonial dagger, nunchucks and balaclava.
Kit grabs Hannah and pulls her in for a kiss. He licks up her sweaty neck, and she shudders.
‘Is that a naughty twinkle I see,’ he enquires. ‘Shall we christen the back room?’
‘You leave my twinkle out of this, I have to get back to work,’ she laughs and kisses him again.
Kit bought her loads of Christmas presents: earrings, chocolates, champagne; a cashmere jumper not unlike one of his mother’s, but it was so soft she didn’t mind. Her favourite gift was the bunches of local scented narcissi. He’d placed them all around the cottage and the smell was intoxicating, filling the rooms with the early promise of spring.
Before Hannah can make her way back to the bar, Emma’s youngest, dressed as a small shark, runs up to her and she swoops him high, making him giggle with delight. Kit’s heart feels like it might be executing a small somersault. One night they’d talked about having their own child. ‘One day,’ she’d said. He could see it now.
His daydream is abruptly interrupted. With a feeling approaching dread, Kit notices Charlotte heading towards them, followed by Beatrice. While his mother is dressed simply as a Greek goddess, Charlotte is dressed to kill. She’s supposed to be a belly dancer or something, diaphanous wisps of pink and gold material barely covering her bony body and pneumatic chest (which she once informed him was an investment). He’s seen her snapping herself alongside a plethora of characters throughout the night because she means him to: contorted into a provocative pose with one leg up against the predictable pirate, kissing fat Elvis (Big Bob), pouting alongside a Poundland Madonna. 176
Charlotte’s progress towards Kit is halted when Thor intercepts her. She stoops to reward him with a kiss, but then there seems to be a small altercation and she pushes him back. Unaware of this, Beatrice almost skips towards Kit, knocking Hannah out of the way as she launches herself at her son, grasping him around the neck, planting a big sloppy smacker on his cheek.
‘Happy New Year, darling!’
‘Happy New Year, Mother,’ he replies.
Beatrice fusses over her boy, readjusting his giant rabbit ears and vowing, ‘It will be a better year this year, just you wait and see. It will be—’
‘Happy New Year,’ says Hannah, in the spirit of the season. This takes some effort. It was recently reported back to her that, during the Boxing Day pub quiz, in answer to the question ‘To whom, or what, does the whore of Babylon refer?’ Beatrice, playing on Colonel Blimp’s team, had laughed when Charlotte shouted, ‘Hannah the barmaid!’
But now Beatrice swoops her into a moist embrace. ‘Oh, Hannah, darling,’ she coos, ‘you make my boy happy!’ There are actual tears in her eyes. ‘You make him soooo happy! Thank you, darling. Thank you!’
Kit mouths, ‘Off her head.’
Hannah is unable to disentangle herself.
‘I always wanted a daughter,’ slurs Beatrice, smiling lopsidedly, stroking Hannah’s hair.
Charlotte arrives looking livid.
‘Happy New Year, Char,’ says Kit, planting a small kiss on her sticky lips. 177
‘Happy New Year!’ she replies. The kiss is obviously not enough, but then, neediness and anxiety can never be sated.
As she’s finally released from Beatrice’s arms, Hannah says, ‘Happy New Year, Charlotte.’
Charlotte has her fingers linked behind Kit’s neck. She has no intention of letting go, but she manages to turn and face Hannah. ‘Just go away,’ she snaps. ‘I’m talking to Kit.’
‘What—?’
‘Leave us alone! GO AWAY!’ shouts Charlotte, sounding like a toddler having a tantrum.
Hannah looks to Kit, but he just shrugs his shoulders, managing to disentangle himself from Charlotte’s embrace.
‘You’re, you’re … disgusting!’ spits Charlotte.
‘You … what—?’
‘Charlotte!’ gasps Beatrice.
‘Charlotte!’ warns Kit.
‘But she is! She’s old and disgusting. What do you see in her?’ wails Charlotte. ‘Leave him alone! Just leave us alone!’
‘Perhaps you should leave before someone drops a house on you,’ counters Hannah.
‘Who do you think you are, some, some … bloody siren luring him onto the rocks?’
Hannah looks genuinely confused. ‘What, like, NER-NER, NER-NER?’ she asks, making the noise of a police car.
Kit snorts. He places his hand on Charlotte’s shoulder and starts to say, ‘Ignore her, Hannah. She’s drunk, and—’ but Charlotte slaps his hand away, looking furious, snarling, ‘She just a basic bitch.’
Hannah’s face turns deadly. ‘I’m warning you—’
Charlotte tries to slap her. Hannah sidesteps. ‘That’s the 178only chance you’ll get. Come for me again, Charlotte, and you’ll regret it.’
‘Just stop! All of you!’ shouts Kit.
He suddenly feels exhausted by it all. None of them will see reason. He makes his excuses, forging his way to the toilet, leaving the women to it.
After several seconds of belligerent eyeballing, Hannah turns to leave – Charlotte’s not worth the trouble – but as she makes her way back to the serving hatch, there’s a sharp pain in her leg, like she’s been stabbed in the soft spot behind her knee, and suddenly she’s tumbling forwards, landing heavily on her right hip.
‘WHOA!’ comes the whoop from several bystanders. It wouldn’t be the first time Hannah has fallen over drunk. But that is not what’s happened.
As she scrambles up off the floor, helped by Vlad, Hannah sees wisps of pink and gold chiffon hastily disappearing back into the crowd. Beatrice has turned away to chat to Ted the boatman and seemingly hasn’t even noticed the incident.
Hannah decides to say nothing to Kit because she doesn’t want to spoil his night further, or cause another row, but she will have a bruise from the kick for more than a week.