Every Time a Bell Rings

2

Don’t let the past steal your present. This is the message of Christmas. We are never alone.

Taylor Caldwell

December 1988

We’ve been putting decorations up for the past four hours, all over Tess’s house. There’s not a single spot in the hall, kitchen, living room, even the bathroom, that doesn’t have something Christmassy pinned to the walls.

Tess has a lot of stories. Every time she picks up a new decoration, she starts a new tale, all about how she bought it, who she was with, what she was doing. She insisted that we both wear a Santa hat while we hang them all up. Tess sings along to all the Christmas songs which are on a tape deck, on loop over and over, in the kitchen. She’s so funny because she keeps making up her own words to them, getting them wrong all the time.

Her good sitting room now contains rows upon rows of Christmas music boxes and toys. Snow globes, which when you shake them, reveal little figurines skating on a blue lake, with the soft snowflakes falling at their feet. A Rudolph the reindeer cuddly toy that sings about red noses when you touch his antler. Music boxes that play every Christmas jingle and song I’ve ever heard, over and over.

My favourite, though, is Santa Claus, sitting on a wooden rocking chair. He’s wearing a green plaid shirt and bright-red trousers with black boots. His long white beard is like snow and he has little glasses that are perched on his nose. There’s these little books and when you clip them into his right hand, his chair starts to rock and he begins to read The Night Before Christmas.

I could listen to his voice all day. If I had a grandfather, I would want him to talk exactly like that and have him read me a bed-time story every time I visited. But I didn’t. I only had my mother.

My parents don’t want to know me. Disowned me. And you want to know why? Because of you, Belle. My life is ruined because of you.

My mother’s voice is never far from my thoughts. She keeps popping up, catching me unawares. There’s no grandfather for me and that’s my fault. I feel shame and guilt.

I turn my eyes back to the decorations, I start to turn on all the musical boxes, all at once, to try and delete her cruel voice.

‘Do you fancy helping me make my Christmas pudding?’ Tess asks, making me jump. She’s standing in the doorway, watching me. I wait for her to give out to me about the noise. But she holds her hand out to me and when I clasp it, she pulls me in for a hug, kissing my head. She keeps doing that. Hugging me for no reason.

I like baking, so I follow her into the kitchen.

Lined up on the table are bowls filled with raisins, currants, eggs, breadcrumbs, flour, sugar, treacle, loads of jars of spices and even a bottle of Guinness.

‘I’m a little bit late in getting this done this year but I was waiting for you to arrive, to help me stir it all together,’ she says. ‘Now some bakers, of course, prefer a lighter pudding, but for me, I like it dark and rich.’

I help her add all the ingredients one by one into a large ceramic mixing bowl. We take turns to stir them all together and she tuts and aahs as she adjusts the taste.

‘We have to get the right balance, or it could be a complete disaster on Christmas Day,’ she tells me. ‘Now time to add Mr Arthur himself.’ She giggles and I join in, even though I’m not sure who Mr Arthur is. She pours a large bottle of dark stout into the mixture.

One last dip of her little finger into the batter and she licks it and declares the batter to be just perfect. She then takes out her purse and pulls out a coin.

‘Can you wrap that up for me in a bit of foil?’ she asks.

I don’t know why it feels like such an honour to do this, but it does. She’s given me a job of grave importance so I make sure that the coin is completely covered, folding the corners of the foil carefully.

‘Now stir it into the bowl and make a wish as you do,’ she orders me, smiling and nodding in encouragement.

I close my eyes and wish with all my might.

‘I’m gasping for a cuppa now. That’s been a busy day hasn’t it?’ Tess says, putting the kettle on. ‘I think it’s time for the first mince pie of the season too. I made a batch last night when you were asleep. I’ll just give them a little heat in the microwave and we’ll have one with a dollop of cream.’

A few minutes later, with my mouth full of sugary mincemeat and shortcrust pastry, I look up to see Tess watching me intently.

‘Would you do something else for me, Belle?’ she asks.

I nod quickly. I would do anything for her right now. I’ve had more fun today than I can remember ever having. I like Tess and I want her to like me too.

‘Can you write a letter to Santa for me? I’ve asked you a few times, but you’ve not done it. I’d really like you to do it for me, even if you don’t want to. I know that Santa is always happy to make a guess as to what you want, but he prefers a letter, you know, if it’s at all possible. I happen to know that he enjoys reading every single one of them,’ Tess says.

She hands me a piece of paper and a pen and moves her chair closer to me at the table.

‘I can write it for you, if you tell me what to say,’ she says kindly.

I shake my head at this suggestion. I can write it by myself. I’ve written lots of letters to my mother. She just doesn’t ever answer me.

It’s just, I don’t know what to ask for. Joan and Daniel always said that we couldn’t ask for anything too big, that Santa didn’t have much money. So I used to just tell them that I wanted a surprise from him and they seemed to like that.

But Tess seems to think that Santa wants me to have a say about what I get. I look at Dee-Dee and ask her for advice on what I should write down.

Another doll? I tease her. She doesn’t find that one bit funny.

‘You know what you want,’ Dee-Dee tells me.

But I can’t ask for that, silly.

‘Why not?’ she replies. ‘Santa is magic, he can get anything you want. Everyone knows that.’

I start to write and concentrate so hard to make sure my writing is in a straight line. Sometimes I make my letters too big and it looks all wrong. I hate making a mess of it. But I’m determined to make this the most perfect letter ever. Because this letter is very important.

There, I’m done.

I fold it up and push it across the table to Tess, feeling shy and unsure of myself.

‘Can I read it?’ she asks me. I shrug and I suppose she takes that as a yes, because she unfolds it carefully.

‘Let’s see, what do we have here?’ She sticks on a pair of her glasses and exclaims, ‘Oh, look how neat your writing is.’

I’m chuffed with her praise and am so pleased I tried my hardest. She starts to read the letter aloud and I mouth along with her. I know it off by heart.

Dear Santa,

My name is Belle and I am eight years old. I live in a new house now with a lady called Tess. I don’t live with Joan and Daniel any more, they are a long way away now. I like Tess, she’s nice and gives me biscuits. Do you like biscuits too? I can ask Tess for some to give you on Christmas Eve.

This year, I would like to have a best friend for my Christmas present, someone to play with me. I don’t mind if it’s a girl or a boy, but I’d prefer a girl. Dee-Dee says she would love a new dress too, her favourite colour is gold.

Thank you,

Belle Bailey

I watch Tess’s face as she reads my letter and my stomach flips in disappointment. Oh no Dee-Dee I’ve done something wrong. Tess looks upset with me.

‘You shouldn’t have asked for a dress for me,’ Dee-Dee scolds me. ‘That was too much.’

‘Is that all you want, Belle?’ Tess asks me, looking down at my letter again, then back up to my face.

I nod. She picks up a magazine from the table and starts to fan herself with it and then blots her face with a tea towel too.

‘Well now. If this isn’t the nicest letter I’ve ever seen in my life … I have no doubt that you’ll find a best friend when you start school after the holidays. No doubt in my mind about that fact at all, a lovely, kind girl like you. But I’m going to have a word with Santa and ask him to put a few surprises in your stocking too. Maybe a few toys and games, what do you think? Because I know you’ve been a very good girl and you deserve to have a stocking full of presents. And I’m sure that he can find some nice new clothes for Dee-Dee and for you too. Oh and we can’t forget about some chocolate. A stocking wouldn’t be complete without some chocolate now, would it?’ Tess asks and when I smile at this, she looks happy and not upset any more.

She stands up and walks to the press and pulls out a plate. It has a picture of Santa on it and he’s smiling, his big blue eyes twinkling, just like the talking Santa in her good sitting room.

‘This is my special plate that I keep just for biscuits for Santa on Christmas Eve,’ she tells me. ‘You can put as many as you like on it this year.’

I trace my finger over Santa’s white beard and the smile on my face just gets bigger and bigger.

‘Ho, ho, ho,’ Dee-Dee says.

If Tess can talk to Santa about adding all of those things onto my list, well then she’ll make sure he knows where we live now too. All my worries about him not finding me vanish.

Maybe this Christmas is going to be special after all.

3

It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more.’

Dr Seuss

Christmas Eve, 1988

‘You know there’s only one thing that I really want for Christmas?’ Tess says to me.

We’ve been busy all morning already, making sausage rolls and mince pies. The kitchen smells like a bakery and it’s making me so hungry. A ham is bubbling away on her range cooker too and the turkey is defrosting in the sink.

She places a plate of sausages and toast in front of me at the kitchen table and my stomach rumbles hello to them.

I lick my lips in anticipation, but then as Tess’s words sink in, I look at Dee-Dee in panic. What are we going to do? We don’t have any money. We can’t buy Tess a present. And I have to get her something good. She’s so nice, she deserves something special. I reckon I’ve no more than forty pence in my savings, which would not buy much. I suppose I could get her a bar of chocolate.

‘She loves chocolate, that’s for sure,’ Dee-Dee says. ‘You have that picture you drew too.’

I did take ages and ages to make sure I coloured it all in. But I’m not that good at drawing Christmas trees, I think it looks a bit wonky and more like a Christmas cracker.

‘I’ll let you in on a little secret, Belle. All I want this year is to hear your voice,’ Tess says. ‘I bet it’s just as pretty as you are.’

Oh.

‘You should say something,’ Dee-Dee says.

And I nod. I want to, but I can’t seem to make my mouth co-operate. I don’t want to upset Tess, though.

Yesterday, when we were watching that movie, I wanted to say something to her. I was so cross with Jack Frost trying to take over Christmas, but I couldn’t get the words out.

‘Maybe she’ll throw us out, if you don’t talk,’ Dee-Dee tells me and I start shivering at the thought. Where would we sleep, Dee-Dee? She doesn’t have an answer for that and I hold her in close to me again.

‘Don’t be getting upset,’ Tess says, reading my mind. ‘I have lots of patience for you, my little butterfly. You speak when you are good and ready. I can wait.’ She kisses my head and goes back to the frying pan to plate her own breakfast.

Maybe it’s going to be okay. I think I’ll draw a butterfly on her picture, though. With lots of bright colours on its wings. Because she’s always calling me that. She must really like them.

‘Who’s that on the phone at this ridiculous hour?’ Tess says when the phone rings out, filling the house with its shrill sound. She shuffles in her slippers out to the hall, to answer it.

These sausies are good. I ask Dee-Dee if she wants some, putting one up to her face so she can have a nibble.

When Tess comes back a few minutes later, she’s singing in her off-key voice, ‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas’ and I start to hum along with her. I like that song a lot.

‘Well, it appears that you really have been a good girl this year, Belle. Santa has arranged it so that one of your presents will arrive early. This very afternoon, in fact. So eat up your sausages, we’ve lots to do. I have to go down to Tesco to get a few last bits for our special surprise.’ Tess is beaming at me and I feel a thrill of excitement.

I’ve never had an early present before. I beam back at her.

‘I bet it’s my dress,’ Dee-Dee says. ‘A big, gold sparkly one.’

‘Answer the door, there’s a good girl,’ Tess tells me, when it buzzes. She jumps up and quickly stubs her cigarette out. Then she starts waving her magazine around the place to disperse the smoke. As I walk out the door, she’s sticking the ashtray under the sink to hide all the evidence.

‘What Mrs Reilly don’t know, won’t kill her.’ She winks at me.

I wonder, is this my present at the door? I’ve waited all day for Tess to give it to me. But what has Mrs Reilly got to do with it? Why is she talking about her? I get my answer and see her standing on the porch.

The problem is that I’ve come to realise that whenever Mrs Reilly arrives, so does bad news.

Oh no, Dee-Dee, she’s come to take us away. I move backwards towards Tess, and I want to scream at her, let me stay, I like it here. Tess is smiling, though, and nodding towards the door, telling me to look in that direction. She doesn’t have that look that I’ve come to recognise on grown-up faces that they all get when they are about to tell you that it’s time to go.

She places her hands on my shoulders and directs my eyes towards the door again. And then I notice that standing just behind Mrs Reilly is a boy.

A tall, lanky, thin boy with hair the colour of a fox. It’s wavy and it’s falling over his eyes. He’s got his head looking down, though, and I notice his fists are clenched by his sides. He doesn’t look very happy, I realise. My heart contracts. I know that feeling.

‘Hello, Jim.’ Tess says, moving towards him. She welcomes them both inside and closes the door behind them. ‘Belle, will you come over and say hello to Jim. He’s coming to stay with us for a while. And he’s eight years old, too, just like you are. Imagine that.’

She gives me a triumphant look and I get it. Even before Dee-Dee screams at me, ‘this must be Santa’s present,’ I get it.

‘He’s not a girl, though,’ she laments. I agree that’s a pity, but he looks okay, for a boy, that is.

He looks up through his hair and I see the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen before. Freckles are scattered densely across his nose too.

Then he looks up and shoots me a dirty look, as if to say, what you looking at? He looks me up and down and sneers.

‘He looks a bit cross,’ Dee-Dee says, stating the obvious.

‘There’s not a pick on you,’ Tess declares, taking him in too and I sneak another glance at him.

Yeah, he’s skinny alright.

‘Well, there’s a challenge for me. How quick can I sort that out for you, young man? I reckon I can put some meat on those bones, quick smart. I’ve enough food in to last us a lifetime in there,’ Tess jokes, thumbing the kitchen.

‘I’ve a boy at home the same way. All legs and not an ounce of fat. He eats me out of house and home,’ Mrs Reilly says to Tess and they both tut at the misfortune of it.

‘Sure I only have to look at a bun …’ Tess says and I giggle.

‘She does more than look at buns,’ Dee-Dee jokes.

‘Do you want to put your bag up in your bedroom?’ Tess asks the boy. ‘You’ll be sleeping in the room at the top of the stairs, first door on the left.’

He looks upwards and suddenly his face doesn’t look cross any more, instead he just looks scared.

I recognise that look. Something in my heart contracts again in sympathy and I feel myself moving forward towards him.

I don’t think about it or plan it, but somehow or other, the words tumble out of my mouth with ease. ‘I’ll show you where your room is if you want me to.’

Before he has a chance to answer, Tess rushes over to me and pulls me into her, so that I’m squished into her big boobs. It feels nice, even though I can’t really breathe. I take in her smell, her Tess smell, which I reckon is the not-unpleasant concoction of onions, sausages, chocolate and tobacco.

‘I knew your voice would be pretty, my little butterfly,’ she says. I think about pulling away from her, but it feels nice and safe here. So I put my arms around her waist, as far as I can make them go and think that I could stay here like this a long time.

‘You do like it here,’ Mrs Reilly says in approval. ‘I told you so.’

‘I like it a lot,’ I say to her and turn to Jim, who looks a bit bewildered by the scene that just unfolded.

I want to show him that I understand how he feels right now, that I know that he’s scared. I want him to know that I feel the same way, most of the time too. But even though it’s scary, it’s going to be okay here. Tess is okay. More than okay. I’ve worked out that she’s kind of wonderful.

‘I know how you feel,’ I whisper to him. I stare into his eyes and he looks at me, our eyes locking. Neither of us moves a muscle and it feels like he gets that I’m trying to tell him something important.

‘Okay,’ he says and smiles for a second. I run up the stairs and can hear him running up behind me, two steps at a time.

When we get to the top, I say to him. ‘You’re my Christmas present, you know. I asked Santa for you. And look, here you are.’

And even though he must think I am barmy, he doesn’t say anything, he just looks away. I can tell that he’s all embarrassed by my declaration. But I don’t care.

‘I’m in there.’ I point to my bedroom on the other side of the landing, then open the door to his room. Tess was up in here for ages earlier, I didn’t know what she was doing. But I can see that she was getting the room ready for Jim. It’s like mine, but it has a blue duvet on the bed instead of pink. There aren’t any cushions, but there is a mat on the floor in the shape of a car. And the wallpaper has blue stripes on it.

I thinks it’s pretty cool.

‘It’s a boy’s room,’ I tell him and he sits down on the bed, trying it out for size. ‘Mine is a girl’s room. In pink.’

He looks at me, head cocked to one side, as if he’s trying to work me out. ‘Do you have to stay here too?’ he finally asks.

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I suppose I do.’

‘For how long?’ he asks.

I shrug. I don’t know the answer to that. But then I surprise myself by saying, ‘I hope it’s forever.’

He doesn’t like that answer, though. He’s starts to shake his head and the angry look is back on his face again. I didn’t mean to upset him. I’m not sure what I said wrong.

‘I’m going home soon. I won’t be here for more than a day or two, you wait and see. My mam says she will come get me when she feels better and gets herself sorted. It will be any day now.’

‘Oh, you’re a temporary.’ I say. I’ve seen lots of them over the years. Boys and girls who come for a few days, sometimes as short as one night, until some family member comes by to take them home.

I haven’t met as many like me, who stay for a long time.

‘You’re lucky so. I don’t have a mam,’ I tell him.

‘Everyone has a mam,’ he replies, looking doubtful at my statement.

‘Not me,’ I say, as my mother’s face jumps into my thoughts, making me a liar.