Every Time a Bell Rings Read online

  HarperImpulse an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers

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  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

  Copyright © Carmel Harrington 2015

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

  Cover design by Rebecca Glibbery

  Illustrations by Dawn Cooper

  Carmel Harrington asserts the moral right

  to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is

  available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

  The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

  the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

  entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International

  and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

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  written permission of HarperCollins.

  Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

  Ebook Edition © September 2015 ISBN: 9780008156541

  Version 2015-09-23

  Acclaim for Carmel Harrington

  ‘Will make you see life in a different way’

  Woman’s Way

  ‘Heartwrenching and heartwarming’

  Evening Herald

  ‘Guaranteed to brighten your day’

  Novelicious

  ‘Carmel Harrington has done it again! Brilliantly written … it surpasses all expectations’

  Chicklit Club

  ‘A bittersweet, quietly brilliant novel that will make you cry, laugh and cry all over again’

  Female First

  ‘Funny, poignant and bursting with heartfelt humour’

  I Heart … Chick Lit

  ‘Completely stunning’

  Reviewed the Book

  ‘It will stay with you well after, you have turned the last page’

  Bleach House Library

  For my family – the H’s,Roger, Amelia, Nate & Eva.

  Epigraph

  Your children are not your children.

  They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

  They come through you but not from you,

  And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

  Khalil Gibran

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acclaim for Carmel Harrington

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  PART TWO

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  PART THREE

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Tess’s Christmas Pudding

  A Q & A With Carmel Harrington

  The Life You Left extract

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.

  Hamilton Wright Mabie

  Christmas Eve, 2005

  ‘Happiness is …’ I exhale a long, deep, satisfied sigh, and the cold breath of winter floats out of my mouth up into the air.

  ‘This is the best Christmas street lighting yet.’

  I know I say the same thing every year, in this very same spot, at this very same time. I’ll probably say it again next year too.

  In this moment, I’ve never seen anything more perfect. The Victorian-inspired decorations are from a bygone era that shine with goodwill to all men. I know, I know, that sounds all cheese on toast, but when it comes to Christmas, that’s allowed. With extra parmesan on top, as far as I’m concerned.

  My city, my beloved Dublin, is sparkling in a festive glow. And its inhabitants are collectively holding their breaths, because Christmas is almost here.

  And this year, I’ve been delivered an early Christmas present. The fact that it’s the same one I received when I was eight years old isn’t lost on me. Coincidence, fate, magic, I don’t know what forces are at play to make this happen, but I’m grateful.

  Just two weeks ago, I was single, happily so too, living my best life, teaching kids in St Colmcille’s. I honest to goodness didn’t wake up each day lamenting the lack of love in my life. Because I had a good life, boyfriends coming and going. I figured that one day I would meet Mr Right. But now that he is here, I cannot believe that I ever got through each day without him by my side.

  Here I am, at the foot of Grafton Street with Jim Looney of all people. If you would have suggested such a thing to me a mere few weeks ago, the words ‘look up’ and ‘flying pigs’ would have been uttered.

  Jim Looney.

  I sigh again as I take him in, standing beside the statue of Molly Malone, laughing at the tinsel that someone has draped over her cleavage.

  An image of Jim strutting down a runway pops into my head and I giggle at the thought. He could give any male model a run for their money, but I think he’d rather pull his nails out one by one than do that.

  I grab my phone and take a photo of him. I’ve already taken at least a dozen this evening. He could be modelling a new line in men’s winter clothing, he looks so good. I mean, not many could get away with that multi-coloured Dr Who-inspired scarf wrapped around his neck over and over. But on him it looks quirky and cool.

  And, this is the bit that I still can’t quite believe.

  He’s my boyfriend. All mine.

  Don’t go getting too used to this, Belle. It never lasts.

  I quickly banish the little voice inside my head. Go away nasty mean voice.

  I know full well that I’m punching above my weight. I mean, for goodness sake, he’s even got a chiselled jawline. Seriously, I’m telling you, he’s fecking gorgeous. I can’t find ways to describe him to you without sounding like a big sap. But trust me when I say this. He’s, as we are want to say in Dublin ab
out a good-looking man, a ‘ride’.

  When I look into his big blue eyes, I’m done for. I keep forgetting what I’m about to say when he directs those baby blues at me.

  And don’t get me started on his hair. That’s always been my Achilles heel. It makes me feel all protective and full of love. You see, it has this habit of just flopping over his right eye. I’m sure most would say it’s red or ginger, maybe even auburn. But I like to call it foxy.

  Jim McFoxy Looney.

  When it does that flopping thing, it’s as if my hands have a mind of their own and they involuntarily reach up to brush it back off his forehead. But there again, I’m not complaining about that, because I don’t need any excuse to touch Jim. And I’ve realised that when I do touch him, it seems to have a delicious knock-on effect. One minute I’m lightly touching his forearm, then the next we’re kissing.

  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.

  Okay, maybe not so much on that guy’s face, I giggle, as a harassed man in his forties rushes by. Last-minute shopper, I decide. Poor sap. I’ve mine all done and dusted since October. I wouldn’t dream of leaving it to now. But aside from the odd scowling face, the street is awash with a sea of shiny, happy people.

  ‘Look over there,’ I shout in excitement as I spy a window display with a group of reindeers nibbling on fake grass in the snow. Then another scene catches my eyes and I’m darting over to the other side of the street, pulling Jim behind me.

  ‘Earlier, when you said happiness is …’ Jim waves his hand around the Christmas-card view in front of us, ‘is all of this what you meant by happiness?’

  ‘Well, obviously lots of things make me happy. But this, well, it’s up there with the best of them. I love everything about Christmas. You must feel it too? Doesn’t it feel like we’re in a Christmas movie right now?’ I exclaim.

  ‘Oh, a blockbuster for sure.’ He drawls. ‘Aside from twinkling lights, which I know you’re a sucker for, what else makes you happy?’