Midnight approaches. Ann gets Rosie up. Rosie dances between her mother and mine, little steps, little steps.

My watch does not agree with my father's and we turn the radio on. My mother hurries back from the kitchen. Our crossed hands reach and grasp and we have formed a circle. A drum-roll begins. Then everyone is singing.

'For auld lang syne, m' dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For the days of auld lang syne,'

my father's voice dear and youthful above the rest.

It moves me as it always does. And for me at least the room is crowded with ghosts, ghosts eager to be present. We who are material seem so few amidst this airy throng of others. And then we are all shaking hands or kissing and slowly, slowly, something begins to be over.

*