Lawrence had planned to head straight home when his shift ended at ten, but at just before the hour he'd been called out on an emergency, and by the time he got back to the station and signed out for the night, it was well past eleven. He knew his chances of finding a taxi on a night like this were minimal. So, on New Year's Eve, while the New Town resounded with live jazz, and hip hop and African beats, and the revellers chattered and flirted and got drunk on mulled wine and champagne en masse, Lawrence ran stone sober through the streets, weaving his way in and out of party-goers and thinking only of getting home to be with Elena before midnight. Soon he was turning into Frederick Street, running down the steep hill towards Stockbridge, leaving the mayhem behind him.
He couldn't help noticing how the lights spilled from the windows of the Edinburgh town houses on either side, and he couldn't help observing the festive scenes within. He wished Elena had gone to Mike and Sarah's party, he wished she were more sociable, but she had been adamant in her refusal. "These people are very kind, but they are not my friends." she had told him in her lilting English. "I prefer to wait for you, and dine late as we do in Spain, just the two of us. Then we'll go out to your friends' party and have fun and dance." He wasn't sure about this plan, about her staying in on her own on New Year's Eve, waiting for him. He knew how lonely she often felt, how easily her mood could swing, but he hadn't wanted to insist. How much he regretted his decision now. If only she'd gone to the party he wouldn't be feeling so guilty about coming home late. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't help feeling weighed down by her dependence on him, couldn't help feeling she was selfish to put him under so much pressure. He'd called to let her know that he'd be late, but she hadn't answered the phone. He asked himself what kind of scenario awaited him, if he would find all the glasses smashed on the kitchen floor, and Elena huddled in the corner, her dark eyes flashing with anger and hurt. It wouldn't be the first time.
By the time he reached the quiet alleyway where they lived, tucked away from the clamour of Edinburgh's annual street party, he was in such a state of anxiety that he ran up the three flights of stairs, and burst in through the front door, his chest heaving, his pulse racing. He was hit by the darkness and the silence. He peered into the sitting room, into the kitchen, but they were empty. "Elena?" he called out "Where are you? Are you all right?" but there was no reply.