Carmel Harrington - Every Time a Bell Rings

‘I’ll be back next week to check in on you, Belle.’ And then, like that, she’s gone.

‘We can’t wait,’ Dee-Dee says, ‘we miss you already, Mrs Reilly.’

I giggle, Dee-Dee is so funny.

‘So this Dee-Dee, is she your favourite doll?’ Tess asks, making me jump when she walks back into the room. She walks over to me and picks her up. ‘Isn’t she a beauty? What a lovely dress she’s wearing too. Mrs Reilly told me all about her, that you don’t like to go anywhere without Dee-Dee.’

I nod and I’m happy that she knows the lie of the land.

‘Would you and Dee-Dee like to see your bedroom?’ Tess asks and without waiting for me to answer, she beckons me to follow her as she huffs and puffs her way upstairs.

A white wooden door opens to a small room with a single bed in it. It has a pink duvet cover on it and lots of little pink and purple cushions piled up high over the pillows. A pine bedside locker has a pink lampshade on it and Tess shows me how to switch it on and off.

I really like the walls. They have little pink roses on them with green leaves and there’s a wardrobe in the corner that looks a bit like the one from The Chronicles of Narnia .

Tess opens the double doors, but there’s no fur coats in there. Instead there are a couple of outfits hanging up and a row of shelves, with items folded neatly on them.

‘I popped into town earlier and went into Penny’s to get a few bits for you. Underwear, socks, pyjamas, a few tops and a pair of jeans. But we’ll get some more things when we work out what you need.’ Tess tells me. ‘I never know what a child will have until they walk through the door. And I think I’ve got your size all wrong. Look at those lovely long legs you have. I might have to get a bigger size in the jeans.’

I peek at her, expecting to see irritation on her face, but she doesn’t look upset at all by the length of my legs. She’s smiling as she pulls out a dressing gown and a plastic pack with a pair of brand-new pyjamas in it. They are fluffy pink ones with big red hearts on them. I decide I like them a lot.

‘I’m pretty sure these are your size, though. Would you like to get all comfy and put them on?’ Tess asks me. ‘I like to do that of an evening. You know, when there’s nobody due to visit, nothing nicer than to get cosy in a pair of pyjamas. Then we can put on the TV and have our tea on our laps. As a special treat to celebrate you arriving here.’ She smiles at me expectantly.

I blink twice and nod, feeling overwhelmed. She’s being so kind and I don’t know how to respond. I want to cry, but I know without Dee-Dee telling me that I shouldn’t do that. Don’t frighten Tess, she seems really nice. But I can’t find any words to say either. They’re all stuck in my throat.

‘Come here,’ Tess says and leads me to the bed. She pats the spot beside her so I sit down on the edge.

‘I know you’re scared, Belle. Good Lord, I would be too, if I was in your shoes. But I promise that if you give me a chance we can be happy here. You’ll be safe in this house, I give you my word on that and we might even have some fun together, you wait and see.’ She looks at me and smiles and I am overjoyed. Her smile reaches all the way up to the crinkles in the corners of her sockets. I’ve not seen one of those in a long, long time.

‘I like her,’ Dee-Dee whispers to me.

Me too.

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.’