A most unwelcome New Year's guest.

"Oh, so you're here for New Year, Commissioner?" Sarah eyed her fellow guest. Silver-haired, distinguished-looking, eminent, he must have been a catch for the party hosts.
"Well, yes," Sir John replied. "We usually go on safari - somewhere really remote - but as the High Commission's recommendation was to stay put and not travel, I thought I'd better take my own advice. Set an example, y'know."
"Yes, that has put a bit of a damper on the holidays," agreed Sarah. "It's been quite tricky travelling lately as it is, but of course we're safe enough here in town."
The man opposite didn't reply and Sarah realized his attention had wandered across the room. The police chief was also present. She smiled. "Well, if you'll excuse me...?" Sir John nodded as she moved away. Glancing back, Sarah noticed that he had already gone to talk to the policeman, seeming to be engaged in earnest discussion. She and her fellow guests would certainly be safe in such company.
The party carried on in full swing, sombre topics of escalating food prices, hijackings and the dishonesty of servants jostling with boasting about golf handicaps, children, fashion and gossip. Midnight came, when all talk was drowned by the gunfire of champagne corks popping and fireworks exploding.
The next morning, the usual clearing up revealed that there had been unwelcome visitors. Elderly Mrs Mitchell next door had been robbed at gunpoint. Shot and killed by a most unwelcome New Year's guest.

Someone old, someone new...

Winner, First Footers Writelink January 2010 monthly competition

Joan knew she was putting a damper on the celebrations, but she just couldn’t help herself. This was the first New Year’s Eve since she’d moved into the house that Sam wasn’t there to share it with her. She nursed a glass of ginger wine, barely sipping it as talk and laughter flowed around her. She had rarely felt so alone – he’d always been around, sharing her highs and lows. Now he was gone.

“Mum, have a mince pie?” Sara, her daughter, leaned over, concern in her eyes as she proffered the plate.
“No thanks.” Joan smiled with an effort, adding, “they do look delicious. I might have one a bit later.”
“There won’t be much later,” Sara laughed. “It’s almost midnight now.”
Joan looked around. People were still chatting and enjoying themselves. It was nearly midnight. She got up, moving towards the window as the countdown began.

“Five, four, three, two, one…” The room erupted as everyone hugged and kissed, exclaiming loudly. Joan accepted the embraces, then turned back to gaze out into the darkness. A sudden movement on the garden path caught her eye. Could it be? Surely not? Heart beating quickly, Joan went to the door, flinging it open. Yes! She was right. He HAD come. Sam had returned.

A pretty little Persian cat stepped daintily across the threshold, her four feet pattering on the parquet, Siamese Sam strutting proudly at her side.