Carmel Harrington - Every Time a Bell Rings

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.’

‘She still sticks out, though. Not that many black kids in our schools yet over here. Maybe in the UK …’ Mrs Reilly says.

Black. There they go again, Dee-Dee. Always going on about me being black.

‘Oh and she has nightmares too. She won’t say what they are about, but don’t be surprised if you hear her screaming in the night,’ Mrs Reilly continues.

My stomach flips again and I start to worry that Tess will tell Mrs Reilly to take me away. She’s not saying very nice things about me.

I can’t hear what they say next, because they start to whisper really low. But after a moment or two, Mrs Reilly sticks her head into the door of the kitchen, fake smile on again.