Carmel Harrington - Every Time a Bell Rings

A shiver ripples through me as I remember what happened only this morning when I brushed past him on my way into the bathroom.

Twice.

Who would have thought that Jim Looney had that in him? I’m telling you, it’s ridiculous how sexy he is.

He is, no other word for it, but a fecking ride.

You’ll notice that I’ll find any excuse to say that.

Jim Looney, the big ride, my boyfriend.

I feel a bit giddy with it all, to be honest. It’s like it’s five o’clock all the time and I’m half drunk. The mad thing is, I’ve not had much to drink in weeks. Jim’s not a big drinker and that in itself is charming, because all the guys I’ve dated recently seem to be more in love with a pint of lager than me. Kind of refreshing to be with a guy who gets that there are more things to do in life than prop up a bar.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Jim asks, with a raised eyebrow.

‘Ah, that would be telling,’ I say with a grin.

Thank goodness he can’t read thoughts. If I tell him what I’ve just been thinking, we’ll be in a taxi and on our way back to my apartment before the words are out of my mouth. And as tempting as that thought is, it will have to wait.

Because it’s Christmas Eve and we’re on Grafton Street, where its festive delights await us.

‘So, tell me about this tradition of yours, the one you do every Christmas Eve?’ Jim asks.

‘This is my tenth year. Started because of Joyce O’Connor,’ I say.

‘Why do I get the feeling there’s a story there?’ Jim remarks.

‘Oh yes, there’s a story alright. She asked me to go into the city with her one Christmas Eve, when I was fifteen,’ I say.

I wonder what Joyce is up to now. We lost touch a long time ago. But she’s wrapped up in this particular tradition and standing here usually sparks a memory of her.

She wasn’t even a close friend. In fact, if I’m calling a spade a spade, she was a bit of a bitch. I don’t know why I said yes in the first place when she asked me to go with her. I mean, she’d been one of those passive aggressive wagons for years. The queen of making snide comments behind my back, giving inverted compliments that everyone knows is really an insult.

I spent half my childhood trying to dodge Joyce and her cronies in the hallways at school. Anything to avoid one of her ‘chats’.

‘I remember her. At least I think I’m remembering the right one. Blonde, small girl? Touch of the mean girls about her? She was one of the gang who used to give you a hard time,’ Jim says.

I laugh, yep, he’s got her number. ‘Good memory. She had her moments, for sure. And the only reason she asked me to go with her on that day was because she had no other options. Her usual cronies were busy and she needed a decoy. Her parents would never have let her go off to meet a boy on her own. But a nice innocent trip into town with a friend, well, that was different.’

‘Oh, I get it. You got to be a big, fat, green, hairy gooseberry,’ Jim says.

I nod. ‘I’d nothing better to do, so thought, why not? And it made Tess happy when I told her I was off gallivanting. She was always worrying about me being such a loner.’

‘Did you have fun in the end?’ Jim says. ‘Maybe she wasn’t as bad as you thought?’

‘No, we didn’t bond over hot chocolate or anything. She was true to form and remained a wagon. But despite that, I did have fun,’ I say.

The 16B bus had been jammers with lots of people with the same idea, to head into the city to soak up the festive atmosphere.

‘Joyce didn’t even bother keeping up a pretence that we were together for more than a few minutes. Once we jumped on board the bus she ran upstairs to the upper deck and within seconds was doing a round of tonsil hockey with a pimply, horny boy called Billy Doyle. I swear her arse hadn’t even hit the seat he’d saved for her before his tongue was down her throat,’ I say.

‘You can’t buy class.’ Jim says shaking his head.

‘A right dirt bird.’ I say and he laughs with me. ‘You know, they hadn’t even bothered to save a seat for me. As the upper deck was so full, I had no choice but to retreat back downstairs, tail between my legs and stand. Joyce didn’t give me a backwards glance, the cheeky mare,’ I say.

I marvel that I ever allowed myself to be treated like that.

‘Once we arrived at O’Connell Street, the two love birds headed to McDonalds to share a strawberry shake. It was clear I wasn’t included in their romantic date, so I left them to it. I suppose I should have been annoyed with her, but I didn’t mind in the slightest.’

Jim throws a sympathetic glance my way, but I’m quick to reassure him, ‘I was used to my own company back then, preferred it a lot of the time.’

It baffled me as to why they wanted to sit on plastic seats in a noisy fast-food restaurant, when they could be out, soaking up the Christmassy atmosphere in the city.

‘It was their loss. I got to explore Dublin, on my own. It was almost dusk and the city changes in that light. Everything seemed so magical.’

I pause, feeling embarrassed, ‘This probably sounds silly but, to me, it felt like I was looking at my city with new eyes.’

‘Not silly at all.’ Jim replies. ‘You know what I thought when we got to O’Connell Street? There’s a touch of Bedford Falls about it all now. You know, the town in It’s a Wonderful Life. ’

I smile and nod in agreement. I’ve always thought the same. ‘I love that movie.’

I jump as a badly dressed Santa roars in our direction. ‘Merry Christmas. Ho ho ho.’ He rings his bell and rattles a box loudly, collecting change for charity. He seems intent on frightening passers-by and is clearly delighted with himself when everyone jumps in shock.

I throw a few euro into his box and then Jim says, ‘So fill me in on how this tradition of yours works.’

‘Well, ever since that year, I’ve come back each Christmas Eve. I start off in O’Connell Street, then walk over the Liffey, past Trinity College, say hello to the Molly Malone statue in all her glory, stroll up Grafton Street, then head over to the Ha’penny Bridge, before going home,’ I say.

‘You ever mix it up and change the route?’ Jim asks.

‘Oh, God no. Has to be in that order,’ I say. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to say, I do have a quick pit stop in Captain America’s for hot chocolate and a slice of their, quite frankly, decadent Mississippi Mud Pie. Just to keep the energy levels up.’ I grin like a four-year-old.

‘Sounds like quite a nice tradition to keep.’ Jim says. ‘I’m glad I’m here to share it with you this year.’

‘I’m glad you’re here too. You know, I’ve had years of strolling up and down this cobbled street with boyfriends, girlfriends, school friends and, yes, I’ll even admit it – the shame – on my own a few times.’ I look at him, feeling a little shy. ‘But this feels special, more than any other year. That’s because of you , Jim.’

He grabs my hand and laughs, ‘I’m honoured. Come on then, Ms Bailey, show me what this great city of ours has to offer.’

My eyes greedily take in the view ahead of us, down Grafton Street. Red, flickering lights coil around luscious green garlands, which drape from one side of the street to the other. In the centre of each garland is a large red Victorian lantern and the light casts a warm glow over the busy cobbled street. Each shop window is alight with Christmas lights and resplendent baubles in rich jewel colours.

There’s something about the energy here … well, it is breathtaking.

I’m not the only one who feels that. I can see it on the faces of people as they rush by too, with their pre-Christmas festive highs.