Liza jerked her head back as if struck. ‘“My heart is always yours?”’ she repeated. ‘Those words exactly?’
‘Yes. Do you know them?’
‘Uh-huh. They’re a song title,’ she said. ‘Our Auntie Jean was a singer in the 1970s. She had a few hit songs in Germany, but nothing big here. I don’t know why because she was really good, like Stevie Nicks or something. Even better in my opinion. That song was her most popular one.’
‘I don’t think I know it.’
She glanced shyly at him then began to sing, her voice sweet and mesmeric. The hairs on the back of Mitchell’s neck stood up to attention.
‘The days ahead might be long, my friend,
Sometimes we’ll think they’ll never end,
But together we’ll make it, we’ll be strong,
My heart is always yours.’
She shook her head, embarrassed. ‘Auntie Jean sings it much better than me. She’s got soul, that woman. She wrote it after a doomed love affair, when she hit rock bottom. The emotion in her voice, when she sings, cuts you to the core. So, why would Yvette use it? She’s an accountant and married to her job. I’ve never known her to bother much with relationships.’
Mitchell shrugged. ‘It sounded, um…’ He struggled to find the right word. ‘Otherworldly, in a good way. I think I might have heard it before.’
Lisa gave him a quick smile of thanks. ‘I have so many questions running around in my head about Yvette,’ she said. ‘They won’t keep still. I don’t know where to start.’
‘Well, what happened on the day she went missing?’
She clasped her hands together tightly. ‘Everything was so normal. It was hot, like today. That nice kind of heat when everyone is happy, not the sticky type. The three of us were supposed to go to Mum’s house for tea, the four Bradfield ladies together. Naomi was going to drive and pick up Yvette first, and then call for me. Except when Naomi got to Yvette’s apartment, she wasn’t home. Then she didn’t pick up our calls. After a while, Naomi drove over to my place. She was already really worried. We phoned Mum in case Yvette had gone straight there, but she hadn’t turned up. And we all waited and waited. I remember looking out of the window and watching the sun dipping lower and lower. The sky grew red, like fire, and she still didn’t arrive. Naomi had to get back to her kids…’ Liza looked down and fiddled with a ring on her little finger. ‘Later that night, I called the police.’
‘What did they say?’
She clenched her jaw. ‘They asked for Yvette’s details, a photo of her, stuff like that. They suggested I phone around her friends and relatives, obvious stuff I’d already done. I spoke to people she worked with, too. I let myself into her apartment, but couldn’t spot anything untoward. Yvette’s a bit of a minimalist, can’t stand clutter, and everything looked tidy and normal. I think some clothes were missing from her wardrobe and a few bits and pieces.
‘She’d been missing for a couple of days when a letter from her arrived.’ She patted her purse. ‘I was so relieved to get it. I mean, you hear these stories, don’t you? About people disappearing, and you worry that something bad has happened to them. I still carry it around with me. Would you like to read it?’
Reluctant, Mitchell chewed his lip. Annie Rogerson’s letter had stirred a myriad of emotions inside him. He wanted to know Yvette was safe, not be privy to her private correspondence.
In the few seconds he deliberated, Liza took the letter from her purse anyway. It was pale blue and the paper looked delicate, like it might fall apart when handled.
She held it out to him. ‘You read it,’ she said firmly, though the letter shook in her hand. ‘You might see something I haven’t.’
Mitchell felt he had to take it from her. When he opened it up, the fold lines were almost transparent. Still full of apprehension, he started to read.
Dear Liza,
I’m sorry. I know you, Naomi and Mum will be worried about me. I felt I had no choice but to escape from everything. I’ve done something I can’t undo. Please believe me that I searched deep in my heart and couldn’t find another way forward.
I’ve hidden things from you all for a while. I’ve plastered on a smile, so please don’t berate yourself if you didn’t notice it was fake. It’s my fault, not yours.
My head is full of things I want to say to you, and everything I can’t.
Please don’t try to find me. It will make things so much more difficult. One day soon, I hope I can tell you everything.
Love,
Yvette x
As Mitchell handed the letter back to Liza, she wiped a finger hastily underneath her eye. ‘She said to not try to find her?’ he questioned.
‘Yes, and I’ve tried my best to resist, but it’s been so long,’ Liza said. She placed the letter back in her purse. ‘I’ve had other things from her, too, another letter and a couple of postcards. But they didn’t have postmarks to indicate where she might be. I told the police about them, but because Yvette’s disappearance sounds voluntary they won’t set up a search. The thing is, Yvette isn’t a mysterious type of person. She’s the serious sister, the straightforward one. I worry myself sick about her being gone, keep running over in my mind what might have happened. I don’t like the things I invent. Then I get something in the mail from her, and I tell myself she’s okay. But she still doesn’t come home or say where she is.’
Mitchell tried to think of different scenarios in his head about where Yvette could be and why she left, but he found himself at a loss. He had no idea what might have gone on within the Bradfield family. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. While he and Yvette had shared a dramatic experience together, she was still a stranger to him.
‘Does your mum know I saw Yvette on the bridge?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Not yet. Not from me. If she knew, she’d inundate me with questions, and I won’t know the answer to any of them. I don’t want to raise her hopes, either. She gets these nasty anxiety attacks, a racing heart and dizziness, and they’re getting worse. I worry she’ll keel over one day.’
‘Won’t she see Yvette’s image online?’ Mitchell said. He felt like he was morphing into Carl, asking too many questions.
‘She refuses to learn how to use a computer. She says the news depresses her and will only watch the national updates at teatime and the fun stories at the end of the report. Naomi is usually up to her eyes in nappies and toys. She probably watches kids’ TV more than the local news. I doubt anyone else would recognize Yvette from the footage. Just me, because of her earring. Maybe Auntie Jean will know something about the song on the padlock…’
‘Will you ask her?’
‘Hmm, she’s really difficult to reach. When she’s not on tour, she runs a retreat for musicians in North Yorkshire. A kind of hippie place. She insists that phones and the internet are banned, so they don’t disrupt the flow of creativity. If you ever want to see Jean, you have to go and find her. She has some show dates coming up soon in Germany.
‘Jean said she hadn’t seen Yvette for a couple of months before she went missing, but she can be a bit unreliable sometimes. I’ll probably have to drive up there to see her.’ She placed her purse back in her bag then suddenly grew more animated as an idea seemed to form in her head. ‘Hey, maybe you could join me? You could tell Jean how you saw Yvette in person… It could be a day out.’
Her suggestion caught him off guard, and he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. ‘The school holidays start tomorrow and I have Poppy to look after.’
She pursed her lips a little sourly. ‘I understand. Poppy told me about your intensive itinerary.’
‘I wouldn’t call it that, just a few plans. It’s good to keep busy.’
There was a sound of a bell ringing. Doors opened and children flooded into the corridor, chattering.
‘I get it. Family time is important,’ Liza said, her voice loaded with disappointment.
Mitchell scraped back his chair. ‘Will you let me
know if there’s any progress with Jean?’
‘Sure.’ Liza stood up and stiffly held out her hand.
He stared at it, wondering what she was doing.
She kept it outstretched. ‘Thanks for helping Yvette. She could have drowned, like that young man did last summer. It’s good you were there, Mr Fisher. I understand if you can’t assist me further.’
He noticed how she’d dropped his first name, and how her voice lost its lyrical quality. A handshake would signal they were about to become strangers once more. They might nod and smile at each other politely in the school corridor, or exchange small talk, if Poppy continued her guitar lessons. Mitchell would become the nice man who helped Liza’s sister out once, but who wanted to keep his distance and not get involved any further.
But he could hardly drop everything and go on a trip with Liza to speak to her aunt, could he?
As he held out his own hand in return, Poppy popped her head around the door and stared at their awkward handshake. ‘I heard your voice, Dad. Are we going home?’
‘Yes, Pops. Just a minute.’
‘How did the quiz go?’ Liza asked her brightly.
‘I won! I need to collect my prize.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ Mitchell said. ‘Clever girl.’
As Poppy turned on her heels and skipped out of the room, Mitchell thought about his plan of action for tomorrow – a visit to the library and baking healthy vegetable muffins together. He guessed his daughter would prefer a trip out someplace with Liza instead, and Miss Heathcliff said Poppy should have some fun.
Liza grabbed her violin case and stood. ‘Well, I should go, too. Have a truly fabulous summer,’ she said, walking towards the door.
Mitchell got to his feet and reached out a hand. He couldn’t let her go, not like this. ‘Wait.’ His fingers brushed her elbow.
She turned, her expression questioning but hopeful.
‘When you go to see your aunt, Poppy and I will join you. If you like?’
She eyed him, as if assessing whether he really meant it, before she broke into her usual smile. ‘Yes. Yes, please. That would be super. Then she can hear the story directly from you. If you text me your address, I’ll pick you both up from your place in my car. How about tomorrow at noon?’
‘Um, tomorrow?’ he said.
Liza manoeuvred her violin case through the classroom door. ‘It’s urgent because of Jean’s tour.’
‘Well, okay. We live in an apartment building, so we’ll meet you in the lobby.’
‘Great. Oh,’ she added before she headed out into the corridor. ‘Bring an overnight bag. It’s kind of a long drive up there.’
When she’d gone, Mitchell stared after her. ‘Long drive?’ he repeated to himself, wondering what he’d just agreed to. ‘Overnight bag?’
9
Green Bottles
Over supper of porridge that evening, Poppy’s mouth fell open when Mitchell told her they were accompanying Liza on a trip the next day and staying overnight, too. He also told her about the letters Susan had given to him to read.
After rushing her last mouthfuls of food, Poppy sprinted to her bedroom where she rummaged in her drawers and wardrobe, gathering things to take with her.
‘Slow down,’ he said, following her.
‘You might change your mind.’
He sighed to himself, hurt at how she perceived him. ‘I promise not to. Liza is picking us up at noon tomorrow.’
She picked up a pyjama top. ‘This will be great, Dad, won’t it?’
He doubted she was right, but he nodded anyway. When he thought of his carefully mapped-out schedules in the hallway, he felt a pull towards them. ‘Of course, it will,’ he said.
‘You can take the letters to read.’
‘Yes, I suppose I can.’ If he was going to be sitting in a car on a long journey, he didn’t really have an excuse not to. And he did wonder what the unopened ones might reveal. ‘Now, don’t pack too much stuff, and remember your toothbrush.’
Poppy was still wearing her pyjamas the next morning when a knock on the apartment door came at 11.10 a.m. Mitchell stood in the bathroom, mid-teeth clean, with white paste dribbling down his chin.
It can’t be her, can it? Not this early. Perhaps it’s Carl instead.
He spat into the sink, wiped his mouth on a towel and went to his front door to unlock it. He found Liza standing there, wearing lime-green-and-white pumps with pale jeans and an embroidered top. Her toadstool earrings had been replaced with pink Perspex triangles.
‘You’re extremely early,’ he said, rather annoyed.
‘Hello to you, too,’ she laughed.
As she followed him into the hallway, she put her hands behind her back and examined the sheets pinned to the wall. ‘Hmm, interesting. So, are you planning a military operation or solving a crime? Or both?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is all so regimented. You’ve even written down times for taking out your rubbish.’ She squinted. ‘Do you schedule in watering your plants, too?’
‘I don’t have anything in the apartment that needs looking after, or that’s nonessential,’ Mitchell replied tartly. ‘I thought we were meeting you in the lobby at twelve.’
‘I got here early and the blond caretaker guy told me your door number. When you walk up the stairs, do you like to look out of the windows and see the city getting smaller and smaller?’ She didn’t wait for his reply. ‘You’ll never be burgled up here, will you? I mean, thieves would just target the lower floors. Unless the lift was working, of course. Which it’s not. There’s a sign on the doors.’
Her talk made Mitchell feel weary. He never looked out of the stairwell windows. He concentrated on his feet and the bannister to avoid stumbling. Wouldn’t anyone do the same? ‘Come into the sitting room,’ he said. ‘Poppy’s getting ready.’
When Poppy appeared from her bedroom, she was trying to stuff a scarf into her bag. He had already seen her packing her floppy cat, three lip balms and an atlas.
‘We’re only going away for a night,’ he said, sensing the excitement radiating from her. ‘It’s too hot to take a scarf.’
‘It can protect me from the sun.’
‘That’s good strategic thinking,’ Mitchell relented.
Liza looked around the room, at his sofa, coffee table and tiny TV. ‘Nice. Have you just moved into this place?’
‘Dad’s been here for ages,’ Poppy said.
‘Really?’ Liza looked at the bare light bulb hanging above the dining table. ‘It’s… a bit naked.’
Poppy giggled at her choice of word, and Mitchell picked up the batch of letters from his coffee table. ‘We have most things we need,’ he said.
‘Except lightshades?’ Liza shrugged.
‘And a garden,’ Poppy added.
Mitchell managed a small wry smile as he picked up his overnight bag. ‘Hopefully, Jean’s place will have both,’ he said.
Carl sat at his desk in the lobby, his head bent and his fingers working nimbly on a small square of white paper. Within seconds, he’d transformed it into a delicate lotus blossom. ‘Have you finished school for the summer holidays now?’ he asked when he saw Poppy. He offered her the flower.
‘Yep. And now we’re going on a trip.’
‘Great. Where to?’
Mitchell and Poppy looked at each other. ‘I’m not completely sure,’ he said. ‘But we should be back by tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Righto.’ Carl’s eyes drifted to the letters, still in Mitchell’s hands. ‘Did you open the pink envelope I gave you, Mr Fisher? I have my own here, too…’ He patted his breast pocket where a turquoise envelope poked out. ‘Perhaps you could—?’
Outside, Liza beeped her car horn several times.
Mitchell spun Poppy around, so he could stuff the letters into the pocket of her bag. ‘Sorry, Carl. We really have to go. Let’s talk when I get back.’
They hurried out of the building and Mitchell got into the back
seat of Liza’s car, which was covered in dog hair. Poppy took the front seat because she often felt travel sick. There was a musty damp smell that Mitchell attributed to Sasha, who stared up at him with her amber eyes. When she repeatedly tried to put her head on his lap, he admired her perseverance.
Liza beeped her car horn again before pulling out into the road. A car behind her gave a long honk back and swerved around her. She screwed a finger into her temple. ‘Sawdust for brains,’ she shouted out of her window.
‘You didn’t indicate,’ Mitchell said.
‘The sun is so bright, he wouldn’t have seen my light anyway.’
‘The car manufacturer will have tested it, to make sure it’s visible in all weather conditions.’
‘You’re probably right,’ she said as she drove along the road and turned onto the Victorian bridge. ‘You look like the kind of guy who knows things like that. I bet you even iron your socks.’
Poppy looked over her shoulder and gave him a knowing smile.
Mitchell laughed defiantly. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘You clip them together in the wash,’ Poppy said. ‘With small pegs.’
‘Now that is organized,’ Liza said.
Mitchell cleared his throat and looked down at the dog. ‘It’s a communal laundry area,’ he replied defensively. ‘They can get lost easily.’
When Liza pulled onto the motorway after leaving the city, she shifted in her seat. ‘Shall we all sing a song? It will make the journey go quicker. How about ten green bottles?’
‘That’s for babies,’ Poppy said. ‘Mum used to sing one hundred green bottles.’
‘Now that’s a challenge. What about Taylor Swift or Ariana Grande instead?’
Poppy’s eyes widened. ‘You know their songs?’
‘Yep.’
‘I certainly don’t,’ Mitchell said.
‘Would you join in, anyway? Really?’ Liza asked him.
Mitchell rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. ‘Do you like the sound of cats fighting? That’s what my singing is like.’
Liza laughed. ‘Let’s not risk that while I’m driving – I need to concentrate on the road. I’ll put the radio on instead.’
The Secrets of Sunshine Page 7
