Every Time a Bell Rings. Carmel Harrington

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ