The Secrets of Love Story Bridge, page 15
“I did, for a while.” He was about to change the subject, uncomfortable talking about the structure that contributed to his loss of Anita, but then he reconsidered. It was something he had been passionate about, once. Liza liked to explain about music and he wondered if she might be interested in architecture, too.
“It’s a cable-stayed bridge,” he told her. “Probably the most modern and elegant type. Cables span out from the two white masts and secure to the road, to hold the weight of pedestrians and traffic. The design is beautiful, responsive and flexible, but it can struggle in high winds. The cables need a lot of maintenance so they don’t corrode.”
“Impressive. You know a lot about it. And I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say about anything.” She cut the pepper in half. “Which is your favorite bridge?”
Mitchell knew his answer straightaway. “The old redbrick one. I call it Redford.”
“What, after Robert Redford?”
“I never thought of that. I just give them all nicknames. Silly really.”
“I think it’s cute.”
He blushed at her word choice. “Arch bridges have been around since Roman and Ancient Greek times, because their simple design works well. That old red bridge doesn’t have ornate colorful panels, like the Victorian bridge, or showy white masts. People probably walk over it and don’t even notice it’s there. But if they took the time to look closely, they’d see how strong and durable it is. When you’re rushing around, you don’t always notice the thing beneath your feet that supports you.”
Liza opened a can of kidney beans, drained off the water and tipped them into the saucepan. “It’d be boring if all the bridges were the same. I mean, they do the same job even if they look different, right? It’s nice to have different designs—adds to the aesthetics of the city.”
Mitchell used a knife to slide the chili pepper slices off the chopping board. “You’ve got to be open to change.”
He took a moment to digest that he’d actually said that.
“When I was a girl, I couldn’t play the piano because my hands are stocky,” Liza said. She held up a hand, fingers splayed, that looked perfectly normal to him. “Mum said I’d be better learning the guitar and violin, because of my strong fingers. She never did know how to give a compliment. Instead of telling me I looked nice, or was kind, or clever, she said I had a guitar-player’s fingers. I listened to her for ages, before teaching myself the piano.”
Mitchell shrugged a shoulder, wondering what this had to do with the bridges. “You have nice hands.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “When did you know you were interested in architecture?”
“I was always fascinated by buildings and used to make Lego constructions with my friend, Graham. I’d study those numbered diagrams for hours and I liked to create and test structures, to see which could take the most weight.”
“Oh.” She looked at him curiously. “That’s, um, interesting.”
“And nerdy?” he asked with a smile.
“Well, now you mention it. I didn’t say it first.”
They returned to sliding their ingredients into the pan.
“Everything’s done now,” Liza said. “I just need to add some water, stock and spices and let this simmer for a while, then we should have the perfect chili. Not too spicy but with a little kick. Good teamwork, eh?” She wiped her hands on a pot towel and raised her palm for a high five.
“Yes, we made this happen,” Mitchell agreed, and his hand met hers.
They held them together midair for a couple of seconds longer than necessary and Mitchell felt an intriguing prickle in his fingertips. He clutched his hand away.
Liza cleared her throat and looked around her. “Mum and Naomi will be here soon,” she said. “I’ll set the table, and I need to think about drinks, too. I think I’ve got a nice bottle of merlot somewhere.”
“I’ll help,” Mitchell offered, too quickly. “Where do you keep your knives and forks?”
* * *
Half an hour later, Sheila bustled into the dining room, Naomi trailing behind. Sheila wore a flowing purple dress and long white cardigan. She took a seat at the head of the table and her knobby knuckles looked like tree bark as she picked up a glass of water. “Oh, this is still, not sparkling?” She studied it, then peered up at Liza.
“Sorry, Mum. I ran out of the fizzy stuff. You’ve got Upchester’s finest tap water there.”
“That food smells very spicy.”
Liza flitted around her mother, straightening a knife, setting down a plate of bread. “I made us a big pot of chili con carne. Nice and fresh.”
“It tastes delicious,” Mitchell told Sheila.
“But it’s July—”
“Oh, Mum,” Naomi interrupted. “We’re all here, and we’re all eating together. It’s not easy for me to leave the kids behind and get out of the house.” She pulled out a chair and sat down with a thump. Her hair was messy and she had a smudge of green paint on her cheek.
Liza eyed her with concern. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Naomi replied sharply.
“We’re not all together. Yvette isn’t here,” Sheila said. “I had no idea what had been going on, about her showing up on the bridge and then falling into the river like that. You’ve kept me in the dark.”
“It was with the best intentions, Mum. You know how you get all worried and panicky,” Liza said firmly. “Only eight days ago, we’d reached a dead end looking for Yvette. We now have a sighting and a couple of names as clues. It’s a big leap forward, and it’s a relief Mitchell was there to come to her rescue.”
“I bet there’s a lot more I still don’t know about this,” Sheila said.
Naomi glanced at her and toyed with her fork.
“Let’s enjoy our food, then talk properly. It’s great we’re all here,” Liza said with exaggerated cheeriness.
While the four of them chatted about the heat wave, Liza spooned the chili out of a big bowl sitting in the center of the table.
Sheila made a show of looking around her. “No rice?” she asked.
“Just bread,” Liza said.
“It looks delicious.” Naomi attempted a smile. “A nice change. I swear I eat so many spaghetti hoops my skin is turning orange.”
Sheila side-glanced at her. “You should feed those children properly. I managed it, even when I was working. It’s all junk food these days.”
Naomi’s lips pinched. She stared at her plate.
There was silence until Sheila started up again. “Why on earth would Yvette use Jean’s lyrics on a padlock anyway?” she asked. “It’s not even a good song.”
“It’s a lovely song,” Naomi replied. “Perhaps there’s no meaning in her use of it. She might just like the words.”
Mitchell noticed how Liza didn’t tell her mother that Yvette had visited Jean before her disappearance. He wasn’t sure if she was protecting Jean from her mum’s wrath, or trying to prevent Sheila from having another panic attack.
“Is there anything else anyone wants to tell me?” Sheila asked.
Naomi dropped her fork onto her plate. Her hand shook as she picked it back up.
Sheila studied her. “What is it?” she demanded.
“Well, we know that Yvette had a boyfriend,” Liza said slowly.
“I didn’t know that.” Sheila frowned. “Did you know, Naomi?”
Liza turned to her sister.
Naomi looked down at her coffee cup and hesitantly shrugged. “A couple of months before Yvette vanished, I bumped into her in a café. When she waved at me, she knocked over the salt pot and this man she was with shot her a look, as if she was useless. She introduced him to me as Victor, someone she knew through work. There was something in the way he looked at her that was really intense, as if he owned her. I never saw him again after that, and Yvette never spoke about him. I didn’t think to mention him to the police.”
Liza studied her. “Is there anything else...?”
“Um, no.”
“Are you sure?”
Naomi rubbed her chin. “Um, I don’t know if...”
“If you know something, just say it,” Sheila cut in. “Stop dillydallying.”
Naomi shrank back. “I remember Yvette said Victor’s surname was Sonetti. So last night, after I got off the phone to Liza, I looked him up online. It took a bit of searching around, but I found an article about him...”
“What was it?” Sheila asked.
Naomi took a deep breath. “Victor was sent to prison for embezzlement. He stole funds from the company he worked for. It was discovered just before Yvette vanished and, after a court case, he got sent down for six months.”
“To prison?” Sheila gulped.
Naomi nodded.
Mitchell remembered Jean’s words, about Victor’s photograph having a bad aura. He was relieved his imprisonment wasn’t for anything violent, but wondered why Jean was so worried about him.
Liza sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s good. If he’s been locked up, Yvette can’t have been with him during that period of time.”
Naomi frowned, seeming to wrestle with her thoughts. “I believe Yvette was the one who discovered he was skimming off the funds.”
Liza narrowed her eyes. “How on earth do you know that...?”
Naomi looked quickly away. “Um, I believe Victor was released two weeks ago,” she mumbled.
“You didn’t answer my question—”
Sheila let out a gasp and her cup fell, splashing coffee on the table and Mitchell’s shirt. She clutched at her neck. “What if he finds Yvette?”
Liza rushed to get a cloth. Naomi dabbed her mother’s place mat with a napkin and Mitchell patted his chest dry.
“Everything is probably okay,” Naomi said quickly, though her face suggested she thought otherwise. “As I said, I only saw Yvette and Victor together the once.”
“What if Yvette was trying to escape someone on the bridge?” Sheila’s hands began to shake. “What if her fall wasn’t an accident? Someone might have pushed her.”
Mitchell remembered Yvette smiling at him and her trying to reach for something. “I’m sure that wasn’t the case,” he assured her. “I saw her fall, and she was alone.”
“But her lock...those song lyrics...and Victor out of prison, too,” Sheila stuttered.
“Please try to stay calm, Mum,” Liza pleaded.
However, Sheila clamped a hand to her chest. Her breathing quickened until she was gulping for air. “My heart,” she cried out.
Liza sprang up. “It’s okay, Mum. Are you having one of your attacks?”
Sheila nodded, her head lolling.
Mitchell rushed to the kitchen to fill a jug with more water.
“My heart is breaking... I can’t take this much longer,” Sheila’s words tumbled out.
“It’s okay, Mum. Close your eyes and take long deep breaths,” Liza said. “Remember what the doctor told you. Nice and gentle. Come on, you’ll be okay.”
“Her padlock. I want to see it for myself...”
“I’ll take a photo of it for you,” Liza said. “No problem. Just try to relax.”
Naomi’s face paled and Liza huddled up to her mum. Sheila began to cry, tears plopping onto her skirt.
Mitchell surveyed the scene and clenched his fists. He longed to do something to help. “I can bring Yvette’s lock to you, Mrs. Bradfield,” he said rashly. He filled her glass with water. “I’ll find it. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Sheila met his eyes and nodded slightly. Her breathing eventually slowing. “Can you do that?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. I promise I’ll find it for you.”
She reached out to grasp his arm. “You’re a good man,” she said, her voice full of relief. “Thank you.”
A little later on, when Mitchell helped Liza carry the empty plates to the kitchen, she whispered to him, “Mum will hold you to that. There’ll be no getting out of it. I shouldn’t have told her about Victor, especially as Naomi knew more than I did. I realize Mum’s attacks are getting worse.”
“I want to help,” he said firmly. “I thought your mum was having a heart attack.”
“They’re really scary.” Liza sipped a glass of water but it slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. She dropped into a crouch and plucked at the shards on the lino. “What a mess. Ouch.” She studied her palm as a tiny bead of blood appeared.
Mitchell knelt down beside her. “Is your hand okay?”
“It’s fine, really. I think.”
They both reached out for the same piece of glass, and the fronts of their heads brushed together. Mitchell felt a tickle through the roots of his hair and the air felt thick around him. He tentatively took her hand in his and examined it for glass splinters. “Don’t risk cutting your fingers. You won’t be able to play the guitar wearing plasters.”
“You’re right. That’s really thoughtful of you. I had a bandage on my hand once, right across the middle, and it was very restrictive when I played the violin.”
“Do you have a dustpan and brush?”
“Yes, and I’ll get a cloth for the water.”
Mitchell swept the floor. He slid the broken glass into a piece of newspaper and folded it up. His breath felt inexplicably short when he was close to Liza. He glimpsed his watch and realized how much time had gone by. “Sorry, but I have to go. I need to get home for Poppy.”
“It’s okay. Thanks for coming over. Apologies it’s been so dismal.”
“It’s been fine,” he fibbed. “I’ll go and say goodbye to your mum and Naomi.”
They stood up awkwardly together, as if there was a knee-high fence around them, hemming them in. Mitchell found he wanted to circle his arms around her waist and, disconcerted by this feeling, he held them stiffly by his side.
They walked together toward the dining room. “Tell Poppy I said hi.” Liza made a crown behind her head with her hand. “It would have been nice to see her. But I’m glad she didn’t witness our family drama.”
He dawdled in the hallway. “I’m taking her ice-skating tomorrow.”
“Ha, I’ve not been skating for years. I bent my little finger back once and Mum banned me, said it could mess up my entire music career. A bit overprotective, if you ask me.”
“Join us?” Mitchell suggested, before he could think about it. He wanted to make amends for the upset of the evening, even though it wasn’t his doing. “Poppy will be with her friend most of the time.”
“Liza,” Sheila called from the dining room.
Liza studied her fingers and her eyes flashed with defiance. “The small girl in me wants to rebel against Mum by going skating. Is that really childish?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Not after tonight.”
“I could do with a break,” she said. “We have clues about Yvette, but none are fitting together. The cool air at the rink might help me clear my head. They play music, too, while you skate and it’s a bit like a daytime disco.”
“Come with us,” he said, really meaning it this time. “Poppy and I will be there tomorrow at noon. We can talk more then. Wear gloves to protect your hands.”
In the dining room, he picked up his jacket and gave Sheila and Naomi a peck on their cheeks. For some reason, he avoided doing the same to Liza. “It’s been lovely,” he said as he headed back into the hallway. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for coming.” Liza performed a small curtsy. “And for offering to find Yvette’s lock for Mum. I’m sure it will help her to feel a bit better.”
“I said I’d get it for her,” Mitchell said firmly. “I’ll keep you posted.”
18
ICE-SKATING
When Mitchell unpinned the next day’s itinerary from the wall, the black rectangles of the spreadsheet looked rigid, like the bars of a cage.
He took a pen from his pocket to cross out his and Poppy’s original planned trip to the library, intending to replace it with their outing to the ice rink. Instead, he stared at it for a while. He thought about Liza’s words about defying her mother, and he felt a jolt of boldness that he didn’t want to comply with his own rigid plans.
He ripped the paper into small pieces and, clutching them in his fist, he carried them into Poppy’s room to show her.
She took them from him and stood on her bed. She let them flutter down inside her room, so they looked like blossom petals falling from a tree.
Mitchell stepped up, too, and the bed creaked as they both poked their heads out of the sloping window. Mitchell crooked his fingertips over its frame and felt the roof tiles were already warmed by the sun. There was cooing as five pigeons strutted around next to a nest in the gutter.
“Can we feed them again?” Poppy asked. “Please, Dad.”
Mitchell brought another small bag of oats from the kitchen, that he’d planned to make healthy muffins with.
Poppy poured them onto the roof in a heap, so they looked like a melting snowman. The pigeons flocked toward it.
“Liza is joining us at the rink today,” Mitchell said as casually as he could so Poppy wouldn’t get too excited.
“Ace.”
“The heat is making everyone want to cool off. Barry even mentioned meeting a date at the rink.”
“If he’s trying to find a girlfriend,” Poppy said. “He might like Liza.”
Mitchell took a moment to digest this thought.
He pictured Liza and Barry taking Sasha for a walk along Redford, chatting together and holding hands. He supposed they’d make an attractive couple, and they’d probably get along. It should give him a warm feeling to imagine two people he knew getting together, but somehow it made the back of his neck itch. “Maybe,” he said, and left it at that. “Now find some extra socks, so your skates won’t rub your ankles.”
