Every Time a Bell Rings

When I stand by his side, he makes me feel prettier than I’ve ever felt with any other man. It doesn’t hurt that at six foot four he can make my five foot ten-inch tall frame look almost petite. Well, maybe not petite, that’s probably a stretch.

And never mind how he looks, it’s how he makes me feel that has me undone. Ever since our amazing first kiss, I crave him, there’s no other way to describe how it feels than that.

I mean, I was doing very nicely without him for the past ten years, thank you very much. Now I cannot be without him.

Is this what true love feels like? Did Cinderella feel like this when she met her Prince Charming? I hope so.

What happens when he goes home to Indiana after Christmas, though?

There’s that nasty inner voice again. Shut up. I refuse to even think about anything more than this moment right now. And to prove that point I turn to face him and kiss him passionately, with every fibre of my being. I don’t care who is watching and it appears, as his tongue makes its way towards mine, that he doesn’t either.

‘Ahem.’ A voice coughs and we pull apart to see who is trying to get our attention. It’s the dapper concierge of Brown Thomas. He’s wagging his finger at us, but he’s smiling, there’s no sting to his rebuke. He just wants us to move away from the front of his store.

‘Sorry about that.’ Jim tips his head towards him and we start to move away. ‘Let’s go get some of that mud pie you keep going on about. I think I’m going to need to keep my strength up with you.’

I wave happily to the concierge and he waves his top hat to me, shouting, ‘Merry Christmas, lovebirds.’

The chocolate pie tastes as good as I remember. Jim suggests sharing a slice, but I put that notion to bed straight away.

‘I’ll add the “no sharing of chocolate treats” to my list,’ he jokes.

When we leave Captain America’s, sated and giddy with sugar, we stop, listening to the sounds that tinkle in the air.

We walk slowly up to Stephen’s Green and take a stroll around the park. It’s quiet there and we walk in comfortable silence.

‘Where to next?’ Jim asks when we have done a full loop of the park.

‘I told you, we head to the Ha’penny Bridge then to O’Connell Street, finally back to Tess’s,’ I say.

‘And I really have to sleep in her spare room tonight?’ Jim moans.

‘Yes. Don’t you dare try to do any bedroom flits. You’ll give her a coronary,’ I say.

Before we have a chance to debate sleeping arrangements any further, the sound of a girl singing floats towards us. ‘That’s so pretty.’ I point towards the Ha’penny Bridge. ‘It’s coming from over there.’

‘She’s singing your favourite Christmas song,’ he says.

His knowing this, remembering that fact, overwhelms me. He sees this and lightly touches my cheek. ‘I keep telling you, Belle. I remember everything.’

We move towards the sound of her voice. It is so pure and beautiful, it makes harried shoppers stop in their tracks, one by one. We push our way through the crowds and I half expect to see a CD deck. But to my surprise, I see that the owner of the voice is in fact a young girl, standing in the middle of the bridge.

‘She’s no more than ten or eleven,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off her.

‘She’s so cute,’ a woman remarks and we both nod in agreement. The girl is wearing a double-breasted red woollen coat. She has bobbed, black shiny hair that bounces off her black-velvet collar. The lights on the bridge bounce off the still water below and back up around her, creating a soft glow.

It’s the most beautiful moment I’ve ever experienced. There is something so pure about the voice, the girl, the bridge.

‘Can you believe that voice?’ Jim says in amazement as she belts out O Holy Night like a pro.

‘She has the voice of an angel,’ I whisper and feel emotion swell inside of me. Tears threaten to fall and that won’t do at all, not on Christmas Eve.

‘A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. …’ I sing along with her, reaching for Jim’s hand. He clasps it tight. The words touch my heart in a way they’ve never done before. I realise that I felt exactly like that, weary, only three weeks ago. Then Jim walked into my life and, in an instant, everything changed.

I feel my whole body shudder as another wave of emotion overtakes me and I have to pinch myself hard to stop myself falling to the ground weeping. Is it just me, or is Jim as affected? I pull my eyes away from the girl and take a peek at him. Thank goodness, I can see he’s not immune to her voice either. His eyes glisten in the crisp night air and I lean in towards him once more.

And then something hits me with a jolt. I’ve finally come home. Right here, in this man’s arms. I’m home.

It’s only been three weeks, though.

But it feels like a lifetime. How can that be?

I know why. He’s my destiny. I wished for him. And he arrived all but wrapped up in a bow.

I look around at the gathered audience standing around this young girl. Families, couples and groups of friends, all captivated by a beatific voice.

I decide there and then that I must never forget this moment. There aren’t many times in life that are so perfect and pure that they can make your heart explode in joy. This is one of them.

As the young girl builds up to the last line, her voice hits the high note with ease. And all at once the busy thoroughfare is silent, spellbound, by her pure voice.

How long do we stand in wondrous silence? It seems to stay that way for ages, but it can only be for a few seconds.

Then the hush is interrupted by a joyful jingle as the crowd moves forward, one by one, to drop coins into a red-velvet hat that is by her feet. As the coins hit each other, they chime and tinkle, casting magical notes high up into the night air.

‘It’s like the bells are ringing.’ I say in wonder.

‘Bells ringing for you, Belle,’ Jim says.

I take my turn to throw a handful of euros into the red cap and the girl looks right into my eyes, a big smile across her face. And you know what? The weirdest sensation overcomes me. I swear I know this girl. I have this ridiculous urge to hug her.

As her parents are most likely watching right now and would think I’m a crazy lady, I resist.

‘If Simon Cowell were to rock by right now, he’d have euro signs shining in his eyes. That’s a Christmas number one right there, that song,’ I turn to tell Jim, expecting to see him behind me. Where’s he got to? I scan the bridge right and left, kicking myself for moving forward, away from him. The crowds are thick as everyone moves to continue their evening, and I can’t see him anywhere.

But then, I feel his hand grab mine and I smile in relief, feeling silly for my dramatic panic.

‘There you are!’ I exclaim. Now what the hell is he doing? I watch in complete shock as he drops to one knee, right here, in the middle of the Ha’penny Bridge.

‘Have you lost something?’ I ask, thinking he must have dropped his wallet or something. I start scouring the cobblestones around me.

‘Look. That man is going to propose,’ someone shouts from behind me, and my stomach starts to flip, even though I know that it’s impossible. Jim’s not going to propose.

I turn to them to say, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, there’s no way that’s happening.’

Sure I’ve only known Jim three weeks. People don’t propose that quickly. That only happens in books or movies. Not in Dublin. And certainly not to me, Belle Bailey.

But when I look down, he’s not laughing, he’s looking at me intently. He doesn’t look like he’s lost anything. Nor does he look terrified. In fact, if I had to call it, I’d say he looks downright happy. A little bit goofier than normal, with a strange look on his usually cocky face.

‘I’ve not lost anything, Belle. On the contrary, I would say that I’ve found something pretty wonderful.’ I can hear an audible gasp from someone behind me. I look around at the sea of faces who a moment ago were united in emotion at the young girl’s song. And now they are united in expectation, as delicious real-life drama unfolds in front of them. They’ll have plenty to chat about over their mince pies later on.

‘I want my happy-ever-after to be with you, Belle. I want to grow old with you. I never want to let you go. I want to love you so much that you never look sad again,’ Jim states.

Did I just dream that?

I mean, it does sound like a proposal, but there again he hasn’t actually asked me. I purse my lips tight. There’s no way I am going to jump in and say ‘yes’ to a declaration as opposed to a question.

But, even so, something that feels a lot like excitement starts to course its way through my body.

‘I want to marry you. I want to marry my best friend.’ His voice is strong, unfaltering.

Oh boy. No room for misunderstanding now.

The crowd who were about to disperse moments before have now made a circle around us. In an unspoken movement, they are now protecting us from jostling shoppers. I hear them gasp and shush each other as Jim’s words echo through the crisp night air.

‘I didn’t plan this, which is silly, because it’s all I’ve thought about for days. I don’t even have a ring.’ He says, and looks forlorn.

I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of happy-ever-afters, where the prince drops to one knee, diamond ring in one hand as he pleads his devotion. But now, in this moment, I realise that I don’t care one jolt about a ring. I smile in an attempt to reassure him of my non-materialistic self.

‘But I do have this,’ he continues, his face breaking out into a big smile again, and he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.

What on earth is he going to pull out? He’s got a square box in his hand, wrapped in red paper, with a brilliant white bow on top.

‘That’s one fancy-pants wrapping job there,’ I say to him.

‘I bought this earlier for you. It’s only one small part of your Christmas present. Don’t worry, there’s more. I was going to put it under the tree at Tess’s. But I think it might just work quite well now.’ He hands the box to me.

My hands are shaking so much I can hardly peel off the wrapping paper. I hold my breath as I unclasp the hook at the front of the box. I know it’s not a ring, he’s made that clear, but I have no idea what delights might be hidden inside.

A tiny silver bell. Nestled on red-velvet fabric within the box, with a red-velvet ribbon attached to it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more perfect.

‘Oh, Jim.’ I sigh and, I swear, the crowd sighs with me.

‘A silver bell for my Belle,’ he says.

I take it out and shake it once, twice and it rings out into the night air. The group around me all sigh again, louder this time, in unison.

I don’t blame them. For goodness sake, I’m about to faint with the beauty of the moment. I’ve read about moments like these, watched them in Christmas specials and now I’m actually part of one. Me.

He takes the bell from my shaking hands and unties the red ribbon.

‘It’s not a ring, but it can be a promise of one if you say yes,’ he says.

‘Appleby Jewellers is still open, love,’ a voice shouts out from behind me and the crowd laughs in appreciation of typical quick Dublin wit.

My head races around and around, like a spinning top, and I feel faint as blood rushes to my brain. I reach back to clasp the wrought-iron railing on the bridge.

For someone who has spent twenty-five years never ever feeling faint, I’ve been doing a good job of it lately, I realise. I close my eyes and take three consecutive deep breaths, until I feel steady once more.

Maybe I just imagined all of that. I look down, expecting to see nothing there, but a red cobbled street.

Instead, there’s Jim, my ride of a boyfriend, still on one knee looking up at me. And I can see only love in his eyes.

‘We’ve only known each other three weeks,’ I splutter to him. It has to be said. One of us needs to be responsible here. This elicits delicious and shocked gasps from our ever-growing audience.

He stands up and grabs my hands in his. ‘My darling, beautiful, courageous Belle. You know that’s not true. We’ve known each other all of our lives.’

PART ONE

1

Isn’t it funny that at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for — I don’t know what exactly, but it’s something that you don’t mind so much not having at other times.

Kate L. Bosher

December 1988

‘She’s not said a word. It’s not normal. Maybe it’s time you had her tested. You know, to see if there’s anything wrong with her.’ Mrs Gately, my about-to-be ex-foster carer, sniffs as she taps the side of her head.

‘She’s done this before. Stopped talking, I mean,’ Mrs O’Reilly replies, and sniffs in solidarity.

Mrs O’Reilly is my social worker, for as long as I can remember. She doesn’t look happy with me right now, either. I don’t want to make her cross. I never mean to upset anyone, but it keeps happening all the same. I made my mother angry a lot.

I hold my doll Dee-Dee close to me and stroke her black hair, trying to block out memories of my mother.

‘Have a good Christmas, Belle,’ Mrs Gately says loudly as she moves towards me. She almost hugs me, then seems to change her mind at the last minute. She ends up just patting my head instead.

I think I got off lightly because she smells weird. She wears this perfume that makes my nose itch and sneeze. I can see she’s delighted to see the back of me. I heard her telling her husband earlier that no money was worth it. Even though I’m only eight, I’ve worked out that it must be me.

‘Put your seat belt on, Belle,’ Mrs O’Reilly snaps over her shoulder. She’s definitely cross with me too. But then her face softens a little as she looks at me in the rear-view mirror. Her voice goes all high and strained as she tells me, ‘You’ll like this house, you wait and see. Tess is a good woman and this time it’s a permanent placement. That will be good, won’t it? Settling into a new home and unpacking your things.’

I look down at the small backpack that lies at my feet, which holds everything I own.

‘Belle,’ she snaps again and I realise she’s waiting for me to say something in return.

I nod and attempt a smile, even though I don’t feel much like it.

It seems to satisfy her, because she stops staring at me in the rear-view mirror and returns her eyes to the road in front of us.

What do you think Dee-Dee? Will this home be a forever one? Dee-Dee always tells me the truth. I think she’s the only person in the whole world who does.

She looks at me with her big brown eyes and says, ‘Well, Joan and Daniel’s house was supposed to be a forever home too.’

True, in fact Mrs O’Reilly has said that very same line to me loads of times now.

As always, whenever I think of Joan and Daniel, I feel scared all over again. All I want to do is go back to Dun Laoghaire, back to that house I’ve lived in for the past few years. Problem is, Joan and Daniel are not there any more. The house is for sale and locked up. My old foster parents are now somewhere called the Silicone Valley. I don’t know where that is, but I know it must be far away, because they had to go on an aeroplane to get there.

Why did they have to leave me behind, Dee-Dee? My stomach starts to flip.

Dee-Dee looks at me with her big sad eyes and I know what she’s thinking.

Everyone leaves. In the end, they all leave me behind.

‘It’s just you and me, kiddo, stick with me and we’ll be fine,’ Dee-Dee says.

I kiss her forehead and nod. Yes, we’ll be just fine.

Mrs Reilly starts to chatter on about how much fun I’m going to have in this new house in Drumcondra. It will be a new adventure, she keeps saying. And even though I don’t need to go on an aeroplane to get to this new place, I know it’s a long way away from everything I know.

‘Tess, your new foster mum, has been fostering for over thirty years. She has a room ready for you. All to yourself, too. Won’t that be nice? And you can walk to your new school every day, just like you did at Joan and Daniel’s.’ She smiles in the rear-view mirror.

I look at her eyes. The smile doesn’t reach them. Whenever people smile at me, I check out to see if the eyes crinkle up at the corners. I know it’s a real smile if that happens. I’ve noticed that there are a lot of people who fake-smile all the time. Mrs Reilly is a prime example.

The car stops and starts in splutters as she hits the usual rush-hour traffic. I feel a little bit sick, so I decide I’d better close my eyes in an attempt to stop the nausea.

‘It’s almost the Christmas holidays, so we all agree that it’s best you start your new school in January. That gives you a few weeks to settle in. New Year, new beginning. I think that’s best all round. Isn’t that exciting? You’ll love it there, trust me, you wait and see,’ she states in that high, strangled voice of hers.

Thing is, I don’t trust her. I’m only eight years old, but I already know that it’s safer if you don’t trust anyone. People lie all the time.

Dee-Dee nods in total agreement.

‘The traffic is heavy this evening,’ Mrs Reilly complains, looking at her watch.

I wipe the condensation from the car window and peek outside. We’re not moving, we’ve stopped at another red light. I know that it has to change to green to move. I learnt that in school. I can’t remember what amber means, that one always confuses me. Is it prepare to go or prepare to stop?

Oh, here we go again. We move forward a little bit, but just as quickly we’re at a standstill again.

As my stomach heaves, Dee-Dee says, ‘You better not get sick in Mrs Reilly’s car.’ I feel a little bit of vomit jump into my throat and my stomach flips again. Mrs Reilly will get so cross if I get sick. She might change her mind and not take us to this new house. And then where will we go?

I try to think of something else, anything, to take my mind off the possibility of being sick.

A red car inches up beside us and to distract myself, I count the people in it. One, two, three, four. Easy. I’m good at counting. I can count to one thousand and twenty-nine. I’m sure I could have passed two thousand, but I got distracted and lost my spot. Maybe I’ll try beat my record now.

A little girl stares at me through her car window and waves. I wave back and look at her family properly. At least, I think they must be a family. The daddy is driving the car and the mammy is beside him, but she’s looking back at her two children, a boy and a girl. And whatever the mammy is saying to them, they are all laughing.

I look at the mammy’s face. It’s soft and joyful and happy.

Why are you so stupid? Get out of my fucking way, you little brat.

Tears spring into my eyes as a memory pierces through my thoughts. I feel a pain in my side. It hurts like a stitch when I run too fast in the park. I blow on the window to make it steamy again, so that I can erase that happy, smiling family away.

I don’t feel much like counting any more.

‘Don’t cry,’ Dee-Dee tells me when she sees that I’m getting upset. ‘The grown-ups get cross when you cry.’

I sigh, pinch myself and look back down again, stroking Dee-Dee’s hair.

‘What are you getting from Santa this year?’ Mrs Reilly asks me, making me jump.

I shrug. Who cares? I mean, Santa won’t even know where I live. For the past two years he came to Joan and Daniel’s. And before that, well, I don’t think he came at all.

‘Santa is magic, he’ll find you,’ Dee-Dee reassures me. ‘Remember that.’ I kiss her head. She always knows what to say to me to make me feel better.

‘Now, let’s try to find a parking spot,’ Mrs Reilly says. We’re on a street with red-bricked houses on either side. It’s almost dark and the big trees are making shadows on the path. Some windows are already filled with Christmas trees, and fairy lights twinkle on the driveways.

‘Look, Belle, see that lovely red door? That’s your new house.’ Mrs Reilly points to the other side of the road.

There’s no Christmas tree in the window.

The house in front of us, well, it looks dark and menacing and I don’t think I’m going to like it here.

‘Remember you’re not to cry,’ Dee-Dee warns again, as we walk up the drive towards the door. When Mrs Reilly rings the doorbell, I hold my breath and Dee-Dee even tighter, as I watch a shadow coming towards the door, through the opaque glass panels.

‘You’re shivering,’ Mrs Reilly says, pulling me in close to her. ‘You’ll be inside soon, nice and warm.’

The door opens and I gasp and take a step backwards. Standing right in front of us is the big bad wolf dressed in a really bright-yellow dress.

The wolf looks like she’s ready to eat me.

‘She’s fat,’ Dee-Dee says.

That’s not nice, I admonish her. She always says it like it is. Thing is, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that size before.

‘She’s probably so fat because of all the children she eats,’ Dee-Dee continues.

That’s not helpful, Dee-Dee, and I look back towards Mrs Reilly’s car and wonder if I should make a run for it now.

But before I get the chance to make my getaway, the wolf smiles at me and I can see that she doesn’t have any fangs at all. Just slightly yellow teeth. And even Dee-Dee has to agree that she looks happy to see me as she ushers me in, telling me she has lots of treats waiting.

‘This could be okay,’ Dee-Dee says agreeably. We both like treats.

I sit down at a long rectangular kitchen table, which is covered in a bright-orange and red-patterned oil-skin tablecloth. The lady, Tess, has placed a glass of milk and some Penguin bars in front of me.

‘Tuck into these, pet,’ she says, smiling her big yellow teeth at me. But she doesn’t look so scary any more. And I quite like her yellow dress. It’s pretty. Then she disappears into the hall with Mrs Reilly to whisper about me.

‘Listen up,’ Dee-Dee tells me. ‘See what they have to say.’

‘She’s still not talking. It’s been weeks now since she uttered a word,’ Mrs Reilly sighs. ‘I’m at my wits ends with it all.’

‘Sure, is that any wonder? The poor thing must be scared out of her mind. How many times has she been shoved around from pillar to post?’ Tess asks. ‘She’ll talk when she’s good and ready, not a moment before.’

Mrs Reilly doesn’t answer her question, but I could. I’ve been to four foster homes since I left my mother’s. But I’m only eight and don’t really remember everything so good yet. So I suppose it could actually be more than that. And I’ve learned already that grown-ups don’t really like to talk to me about my past. If I mention my mother, they start to get real jittery.

‘I’ve tried everything. I’m on my last nerve trying to make her speak.’ Mrs Reilly moans. ‘I hope you’ve got the patience of a saint, Tess. You’ll need it.’

‘You know, you can chase a butterfly all over the fields and you’ll never catch it. But if you just sit still, he might just come over and sit on your shoulder,’ Tess says.

I don’t understand what that means. I look at Dee-Dee and she tells me she doesn’t know either. But she likes her, and I trust her opinion.

‘There was some bullying in her last school, so maybe it’s as well she’s moved from there,’ Mrs Reilly says. ‘Racial slurs, that kind of thing.’

I don’t know exactly what ‘racial slurs’ mean. But I have a fair idea. Children were mean to me, on and off, calling me names. They kept saying I should go back home to Africa and other such things.

Both Dee-Dee and me always get confused by those remarks, because I’ve never been to Africa before. I’ve never left Ireland. Dublin is my home. So technically I am home already. It’s just so complicated.

‘Oh, God love her. That’s awful,’ Tess replies. ‘You’d think in this day and age we’d be a bit more tolerant. It’s 1988, for goodness sake.’