Christmas Evening

5:30pm Christmas Day.
Em and Andy both at work, and I am alone in the flat. Doctor Who is on the television and is making me vaguely annoyed already.
Beyond the sound of the television, and over the vague noise of voices outside, the flat has a silence. A silence that all buildings have at certain times of year - or of days. Not so much ghosts of the past (metaphoric or literal - your choice) but more like the present moment itself is feeling old. This is 2012 remembered (or imagined) a hundred years from now.
Through the gaps in the curtains, a fragment of the Mews, and I can see a window of one of the flats opposite. I can't tell whether those dark shapes are sofas or heads. The north side of the house (my room, the toilet, Andy's room) is in its always-shadow, comforting and dream-like and eerie in a redemptive way. No sun ever falls there, even in the night.
Footsteps next door, or some piece of furniture being moved perhaps. Quiet now. Something moves again, skittering over the walls of the house next door.