LITMIR.BIZ

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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 about 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

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