Every Time a Bell Rings
‘Your head is full of nonsense from all those fairy tales you read,’ Tess says, as she walks into the kitchen. I jump at the sound of her voice. Despite her considerable size, she has always had this uncanny ability to sneak into rooms without making a sound.
‘What, you mean there’s no such thing as fairy godmothers?’ I say feigning mock horror.
‘The only fairy you’ll find around here is the one on top of the Christmas tree,’ Tess says, laughing at her own joke.
‘Fairy tales are magic. And magic exists. I’ve seen it. You just don’t believe any more. It’s not your fault, all adults stop believing, it’s out of their control,’ I say.
‘Is that so?’ Tess says.
‘Yes. Fact,’ I reply. ‘But I’ll not stop. No matter how old I get, I’ll always believe.’ I don’t care what anyone says.
‘Well, magic me up my fags, there’s a good girl,’ Tess says, laughing again. She’s a regular comedienne, my foster mother. ‘So one day my prince will come, what?’
She coughs up half her lung laughing again at her quip. I don’t see what’s so hilarious, I mean why can’t there be true love in her future? Tess has always been quite vocal about her feelings on love. She doesn’t believe in it, not one bit. Not the romantic kind, anyhow. In fact, in the two years I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen her go on a single date, now that I think of it.
‘Love only exists in fairy tales and Disney movies. In the real world, here in North County Dublin, there’s no such thing,’ she laments.
I shouldn’t take the bait, I don’t know why I bother arguing with her, because she’s proven to be unmovable in her opinions in the past.
As she plonks herself down into one of the kitchen chairs, her bum spills out on either side of it. I wonder if it will break, it seems to groan at the weight. She lights her cigarette, inhaling and releasing smoke with a satisfied smile. I fill the white kettle with water and stick it on. If she’s having a smoke, she’ll want tea.
Waving her cigarette in my direction, she tells me, ‘There’s no Prince Charming in my life, Belle. Love doesn’t happen to the likes of me.’
‘Why not?’ I refuse to believe her. ‘You know, Tess, Prince Charming could be just around the corner, waiting to bump into you.’
She snorts with laughter at this and her belly jiggles up and down, like a bowl of jelly. I giggle as I hand her a cup of strong tea and watch her as she stirs in three heaped teaspoons of sugar.
‘That’s too much,’ I admonish. We’ve been learning about healthy eating in school and all that sugar isn’t on the list of recommended foods in the pyramid.
She ignores me, by stirring the cup and then taking a big slurp. ‘I’ve met a fair few princes in my time alright. I even married one. His name was Prince Liar Liar.’ Her pale-green eyes fill and she dabs her tea towel over her face. I can’t tell if it is tears or sweat that she is wiping away. She sweats a lot. Jim says it’s because her body is weeping at the weight of heaving around what must be at least twenty-odd stone.
I’m a bit worried about her weight. And she smokes too much. I decide that I’m going to hide the biscuits. I push the fruit bowl towards her, pointedly. I want Tess to have her own Prince Charming. She’s lovely and everyone should have their own special someone, like I have my Jim.
I just have to make her believe.
I pick up my book and flick to the last page. Cinderella is iridescent in a flowing white wedding dress, with flowers entwined through her golden hair. She looks up adoringly at her Prince, his head tilted towards hers, as if they are about to kiss.
Yuk. Something just occurred to me. Kissing. That could be a problem. I mean I want to marry Jim. Everyone knows that. But I don’t want to kiss him. That would be gross.
I’ll have the white wedding dress and the flowers and the castle to live in, alright, but I’m not ever, no way, kissing him. I better make sure he knows that, just in case he’s under any illusions of my lips ever touching his.
I trace the words ‘and they lived happily ever after’ written in fancy script on the last page. And bam, I realise something humongous.
‘The happy ever after only happens on the last page.’ I say to her, pointing to the words. ‘You’ve just not got to your last page yet, Tess.’
Ha. I am triumphant and for a moment my words seem to make an impact. The look of disdain that normally lives on her face when talking about love is replaced with something that could be described as hopeful. But it doesn’t last long, it’s just a fleeting moment and disappears in a haze of cigarette smoke.
She rasps, ‘Go away out of that’ and snaps her tea towel at me. She pushes herself up from her chair, muttering to herself about silly girls as she walks out of the room.
I look out of the window at Jim, who is trying to dribble his football in and out of a row of flower pots he’s lined up. It doesn’t matter what Tess thinks, because as long as I believe, I can help make it all happen. And I’ve read enough books to know that me believing is the crucial part in this whole ‘living happily ever after’ malarkey. It all goes pear-shaped the moment you stop believing.
I’m not delusional. I do know that things are not picture-perfect for me. Like, for example, Jim and I didn’t do so well in the whole parents’ lottery. But I also know that it could be a whole lot worse.
It has been a lot worse. I rub the backs of my legs, as if doing so I can erase the stinging memories of my early childhood at home.
I’m not thinking about that now. I’m going to focus on here and now, because since I got to Tess’s, life has been great. She’s right at the top of my cool list, aside from her chain-smoking. I need to do something about that, I vow again. Hiding cigarettes doesn’t work; she just gets another packet.
She keeps telling me that she has few comforts in life. How can I remove one of them? Especially when she’s so good to us two.
A few months ago, Tess let us both pick new wallpaper for our bedrooms. Anything we wanted, she said. It was the first time in my whole life that I got to have a say about how to decorate my bedroom. We all went to Woodies and spent ages looking at all of the papers and paints. Jim, of course, has no imagination and has footballs all over his walls, his bed, his floor. It gives me a headache just sitting in that room.
I looked at every colour chart and pondered for ages. But jumbled up in my head were all the rooms I’ve ever slept in, a hodge podge of every colour in the spectrum. And then it came to me. I knew exactly how I wanted my room to look.
White. Every single part of it. Pure white.
Tess said I was mad, it would be a nightmare to keep clean. But I really wanted it to be that colour. So she made it happen. Even painting my wardrobe and pine bedside lockers white. She replaced the bookshelves with a new set, in white of course.
The bed linen is broiderie anglaise and so pretty. I love it so much in there. And even Tess has to agree that I’m really good at keeping it clean.
Actually, I think I’ll go up there now to finish my book. I’m halfway through The Lord of the Rings. Dinner won’t be for ages anyhow. I’m still stuffed from lunch. It was one of Tess’s specials: deep-fried everything, with a side of fries.
Jim catches me watching him from the window. He starts to show off then, his skinny legs moving quickly as they weave the ball in and out. His wavy red hair flops over his forehead and he brushes it back before taking aim at the back fence again.
‘He shoots, he scores, back of the net.’ He shouts at his imaginary fans and then he turns to me. ‘And the crowd goes wild …’ He pulls his sweatshirt up over his head and runs around the garden.
‘You big eejit.’ I shout, laughing, and he takes a bow.
I know I’m lucky. Up until Tess and Jim came along, I’d never known proper love. But Jim’s arrival seemed to have a knock-on effect all around me. When he came here, a ripple of fun, love and joy spread into all areas of my life. Sometimes I can’t remember how bad things were before. And I don’t want to. I’ve nearly managed to block out what it felt like back then. Nearly.
Every now and then I remember the fear, that feeling of being so scared all the time that I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide in a corner.
But there’s something else that I remember even more than the fear.
The loneliness. What if she forgets all about me and leaves me here, locked up in my room? What if she never comes home?
I pick up a biscuit and nibble on it, looking at my best friend through the window. All I ever really wanted was someone to play with me. And being really greedy, I wanted that person to love me and me to love them too.
Jim Looney. My best friend.
I’ll read later. Frodo and Samwise will have to wait.
Shouting to him as I run out the door, ‘Get ready to cry, ’cos I’m going to take you down, all the way to Chinatown,’ and I catch him off guard, grab the football from him and take aim at the back fence, our makeshift goalpost.
‘That’s how you do it.’ I laugh and we both run towards the ball.
6
And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.
Libba Bray
December 1990
I can’t listen to him for one more minute. He’s driving me mad with his constant chatter about the big visit. You’d swear it was the Pope coming. I mean, I know it’s a big deal. He’s not seen his mam for a few weeks now, so of course he’s excited. But come on. Enough already.
And it’s not like we don’t go through this every time she comes. Now that I think about it, she’s been visiting more often recently. I think this could even be her third visit this month. It used to be only once a month at the most.
Don’t get me wrong, she’s alright – for someone who is as mad as a bag of cats, I suppose. And she loves Jim, so that makes her alright in my books. It’s just you don’t know what version of her she’s going to arrive with, when she does call round. It could be the ‘happy normal mammy’ or the ‘crazier than Michael Jackson and his pet monkey’ version.
She’s been okay for a while now, but last month when she brought the crazy with her, well, Jim was in bits for ages afterwards.
We were upstairs on the landing. There’s this big window ledge, which we’ve put cushions on, so it’s like a seat. We often hang out there and watch the world go by. Tess says we’ll take root there one of these days.
Anyhow, there we were, waiting and watching for his mam to arrive. As it happens, we heard her high heels clipping the crazy pavement before we even noticed her arrival, because we were busy monitoring the slow trail of a spider up the wall.
So we look down and Jim is all excited, he’s practically bouncing on the seat, but then his smile disappears. I knew without even looking that it must crazy mam time. I looked down and sure enough there she was doing this ridiculous zig-zag dance all the way up to the front door.
She was clutching a brown paper bag to her chest for dear life and her eyes darted to and fro around the driveway, as if she was expecting something awful to happen.
‘What is she doing?’ I asked, incredulous by the display below. I’d never seen anything quite so bizarre in my life before.
‘She doesn’t like cracked pavement slabs,’ Jim replied. ‘I haven’t seen her do that for a while. I thought she’d gotten over it.’
His whole demeanour changed, gone was all his excitement and instead now his face looked worried and anxious.
My laughter at his mother’s expense disappeared when I saw his face. He went downstairs, shoulders slumped and I followed on behind. She was as white as a ghost by the time she got to the front door and a line of sweat was over her forehead, matting her hair to it.
‘Are you okay?’ Tess asked kindly.
‘I think I managed to avoid them all.’ She answered. ‘But they are everywhere. You need to get them fixed. It’s dangerous. Anything could happen if you were to stumble on a crack.’ She looked back at the driveway, as if she’d just managed to circumnavigate her way through a minefield.
‘What happens if you stand on one of the cracked ones?’ I asked. Tess kicked my ankle hard. ‘Ow,’ I yelped in pain. I thought it was a fair question. I was interested. I mean, it must be something bad if she went to so much trouble to avoid them.
‘Stepping on a cracked pavement slab is unlucky. You could unleash some really bad luck forevermore into your life, with one false step,’ she answered, starting at something on the wall behind my head.
The maddest thing of that whole episode was, that after all the effort of the bunny hop hop to the front door, when she got inside, she stayed all of five minutes, then hopped her way back down the drive again.
Told you, mad as a bag of cats. So as you can imagine, I’ve not got high hopes for this visit, I think crazy mam is due, we’ve not seen her for a few weeks.
And it’s me who has to clean up the mess after she goes. When she left that time, Jim hid in his room for hours, wouldn’t let me in. I wasn’t going to say one smart word about her either. I knew that he was upset and didn’t want to talk about it. I was upset too, upset for him. I wanted to go to him, comfort him, tell him how sorry I was.
‘Leave the lad be. His mam isn’t right yet,’ Tess said, catching me as I was about to break into his room. She tapped her head three times. ‘She suffers terrible with her nerves you know that. It’s an awful affliction.’ She shook her head sorrowfully and heaved her groaning body down the stairs again, with a purple snack in her hand, half-eaten.
I felt like crying for him that day. But I knew that would make him even sadder. So I bit down hard on my lip instead and sat outside Jim’s door on the patterned hall carpet. I was there for so long waiting my bum went numb and I had pins and needles all the way up my two legs. But there was no way I was moving. I had to be there, so that when Jim did come out, he would see me and know that I loved him.
I couldn’t make his mother’s nerves any better, but I could make sure he knew he had a best friend. When he did come out, he looked down at me and said nothing. I didn’t mind, though. I understood, more than anyone, that sometimes there are no words.
He was silent, sullen and I knew the reason why that was his heart was smashed into a hundred million pieces, again.
I didn’t try to make him talk, I just fell into silent step with him, then we walked downstairs. I followed him outside and played football for ages with him and the garden was silent, bar the sound of our ragged breaths, as we ran and ran.
Then Tess shouted for us to come in for our tea. She had gone to a lot of trouble, makings all of Jim’s favourites, to try and make him feel better. And by the time we were in the living room watching TV that night, he started to smile a little bit.
So here we go again, waiting to see which version of his mother turns up today. And to make matters worse, the big eejit has gotten it into his head that this time is the time that she’s come to take him home. Something else we go through every single time. He always thinks the same thing, and each time he ends up disappointed.
Tess told me once that her grandmother suffered from her nerves too. She used to take to her bed for weeks when they were kids. I asked her if she ever got better and she just shook her head sadly. Maybe his mam can change. Maybe she can get better, unlike Tess’s gran.
I just want him to be happy. And I know that if I’m thinking about the last disastrous visit, so is he, no matter how much he prattles on about how this is going to be different.
‘How’d I look?’ he asks, walking into the room. He’s plastered down his hair to one side with half a bottle of gel, by the looks of it, and he looks pure ridiculous. He’s also got on a grand-daddy shirt, in a blue stripe. It looks like a pyjama top. What is he thinking? His Irish jersey looks much better on him.
‘You look stupid,’ I tell him and as my words bounce off him, his face crumples.
Why did I say that? I feel awful. I want to take the words back, stuff them into my mouth again, but it’s too late.
‘Will I wash it out?’ He asks, frantically rubbing his hair with the sleeve of his shirt and I feel like crying, the guilt is so strong.
Tess always says that jealousy is a shocking thing and she’s right. Because I know that I’m being horrid all because I’m jealous. I’ve never ever got to feel the excitement of seeing my mam come to visit. Not that I’d necessarily want her to, I suppose. But even so.
Because despite the fact that Mrs Looney is off her head loopy-loo style, at least she comes to see Jim. At least she makes an effort to stay in touch and there’s no denying she loves him. It’s written all over her face.
I’m not being a very good friend and I know it.
‘No, leave it alone, let me fix it. You don’t really look stupid, I was just joking. You just used too much gel, that’s all.’ I run my hands through his glooped-up hair and restyle his wavy locks into a halfway decent style, using my fingers as combs. He looks like Jim again and I tell him, ‘There, that’s perfect. Your mam will love it, don’t be worrying.’
‘I just want it to go well,’ Jim says for the one hundredth time, pulling at his shirt. He glances at the bouquet of flowers sitting on the hall table. He bought them out of his savings for her. I hope she knows how lucky she is, having him love her like he does.
‘It will go well,’ I assure him, even if I don’t believe a word of it. She’ll more than likely do another crazy dance all the way up the path, just to disappoint her son once more before turning around to go home.
I vow to myself that I’ll be right by his side to pick up the pieces again. I already have two bars of his favourite Tiffin chocolate hidden in my top drawer upstairs, ready to console him.
After the last time, Tess has forbidden us from watching out for her upstairs. So instead she has us all sitting around the kitchen table, listening to Jim tapping his knee with his fingers.
Tess is on her third cigarette and it’s freezing because she has the doors and windows all open to let the smoke out.
I’ve got to find a way to stop her smoking. Not just because she’ll freeze us all out, but because that wheeze in her chest is getting louder all the time.
When the doorbell rings, we all jump and look at each other. Tess stubs out her cigarette and hides the ashtray under the sink. Jim fixes his shirt – again – and I take a deep breath.
I stand side by side to him when Tess opens the door. And we all hold our breath, waiting to see which Mrs Looney will walk through the door.
She looks nervous, but she’s not out of breath. Maybe there was no crazy zig-zagging this time. Without looking at Jim, I can feel the relief seeping from his very core.
I look her up and down, taking in her bright-pink batwing jumper and her tight, white trousers. She’s got on white high-heel shoes and I wish I had a pair like them. She’s had her hair done and it looks glossy and swings onto her shoulders, like one of the models in a l’Oreal advert. Last time she was here, it was streaked with dark roots and she was wearing an awful blue and grey shell tracksuit.
She’s practically unrecognisable.
This version is a new one. She didn’t look like this the last visit.
It’s great that she’s smiling and when she pulls Jim into a big hug, I could burst with happiness for him.
Why is my stomach flipping about and why do I feel so uneasy?
‘You’ve grown so much,’ she says to Jim, her eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head. ‘You’re almost a man now, up to my shoulder already.’
‘They’re like weeds, the two of them,’ Tess moans. ‘I’m going to put a block on their heads one of these days. I can’t keep clothes on them,’ she quickly adds, ‘Not that I mind, of course.’
‘Of course,’ his mam replies and they both look awkward.
‘What’s in the bag?’ I ask, changing the subject. I wonder if it’s the same bag that she had the last time she visited. She was clutching it like it was the crown jewels, but we never got to find out what it contained because she didn’t stick around long enough.
Jim’s mam smiles at me and thrusts the brown bag to Jim. ‘It’s for you both.’
We both smile in anticipation and peer into the bag when Jim opens it. Bars, in bright wrappers, purples, pinks, yellows all gleam up to us, accompanied by the most wonderful sweet smell of cocoa.
‘I didn’t know what your favourites are, so I bought a few of everything,’ she tells us.
‘Jim loves Tiffin.’ I say, feeling superior. I know him better than you, I wanted to say. But I don’t.
‘Belle loves caramel bars,’ Jim says.
‘Oh, I don’t think I bought any Tiffin.’ She looks upset about that.
‘It’s okay. I love Star Bars too,’ Jim says and pulls one out, ready to pull the wrapper off.
‘I’ll take them,’ Tess says, swooping in and confiscating them. ‘I am very careful with their diet. Just one bar each as a treat at the weekend. I’m all about their five a day. Healthy eating and all that.’
Jim and I snigger under our breath. Yeah, right. Five bars of chocolate a day, she means.
Tess does this all the time whenever the social workers come by. Pretends to be super-perfect or something. And the thing is, she is perfect. She doesn’t need to pretend.
She tells his mam that she’ll hand them out over the next few weeks, one bar a day, but Jim and I know that’s rubbish.
‘Let’s leave Jim and his mam be,’ Tess says, giving me a dirty look. She knows we’re teasing her. She ushers me up the stairs to my bedroom. ‘You go on into the living room, Mrs Looney. I’ll send in some tea.’
‘You’d swear she had servants, the way she’s speaking,’ I whisper to Jim. ‘Good luck. She looks well, it’s a good sign.’ I squeeze his hand quickly before I run upstairs.
Did I mean that? I’m not sure. I know that I want Jim to be happy, but I’m scared of what his happiness might mean for me. It’s all so complicated. His mam looks much better than the last time and that has to be a good thing, right?
Then there’s that nasty voice in my head again.
When he asks her to take him home today, she might say yes, then what will you do?
I’ll be on my own again.
I swallow back a lump of putrid, acidy sick that has burned its way up my throat. I don’t want him to go. I feel ashamed again that I am being so selfish, putting my own needs ahead of his. He’s my best friend. I should be on his side. End of. Jim has been talking about going home ever since that first day he arrived here. He loves her, crazy bits and all.
I quickly cross my fingers that she’s well again and vow that I will be a better person if Jim gets his wish. I’ll not say a word, I’ll not cry. I’ll just hug him and tell him I’m so happy. And I’ll be okay, if he goes, because I have Tess.
I glance at Dee-Dee sitting on the end of my bed amongst an array of stuffed toys. I haven’t played with her in a long time. She doesn’t talk to me any more, but then again, I don’t really talk to her. I pick her up and hug her, but I don’t feel any comfort the way I used to.
Now that I’ve had a real best friend, I don’t want a doll.
I perch my bum on our windowsill and flick my way through a battered 1983 Bunty annual. It’s years out of date, but even so, I still like reading it. I envy Bunty’s life and sometimes pretend that I’m her.
I’m living in a big house, blonde, pretty, rosy-cheeked and I’m living a normal, carefree life, with my mam, dad and little brother.
I forget about Jim and his mam for a while, as I get immersed into Bunty’s latest escapade on a snowy mountain side.
I’m not sure I could pull off the cute ski gear she’s donning, though. I’m so tall, my legs seem to be too long for everything. Tess goes mad every time I go up a size, she says that it’s impossible to find a new pair of jeans for me that fit, so she has to get out her sewing kit to make some alterations.