The Secrets of Sunshine

by Phaedra Patrick

  ‘It certainly feels that way. Harold’s got the whole shebang, everything you can think of. I tell him he’s a greedy git and should save some ailments for other people, but he’s intent on having them all.’ He fiddled with his bow tie. ‘I do hope you don’t mind me telling you this. You must let me buy you that Mars Bar.’

  Mitchell found he’d lost his appetite at the thought of poor Harold. ‘It’s fine, I—’

  ‘Maltesers are the only chocolates Harold can eat now, because they melt in his mouth. He says other small ones, for example Smarties or M&M’s, get stuck. I keep looking for others, but there’s a limited choice here. Maltesers are the only thing he truly enjoys.’ His eyes glistened and he stuck out his hand. ‘By the way, I’m Alan.’

  Mitchell put his Mars Bar back on the shelf and returned Alan’s handshake. ‘I’m Mitchell,’ he said.

  ‘I sit next to Harold’s bed all day, playing sudoku and reading the paper. So, buying that chocolate bar for you would mean a great deal to me.’

  Mitchell felt lucky he only had a minor injury. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your friend.’

  ‘There’s no point in apologizing, that won’t do anything,’ Alan said. ‘Harold says the worst part about dying is remembering how good it feels to be alive, but I’m not sure there’s any positive bit. What are you in hospital for, anyway?’

  ‘I’ve had stitches taken out, and now I’m trying to track down a doctor.’ He looked around him helplessly. ‘This is such a big place.’

  ‘What’s his name or specialty? Harold might know him. He’s encountered a lot of them.’

  ‘I only know what he looks like. He might not even work here.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, pass me the chocolate. I’ll pay and we can talk as we walk.’

  When they reached Ward F21, Alan turned around. ‘Why do you want to find this doctor? Harold will ask me. He likes to hear stories about other people being ill. Makes him feel less alone.’

  ‘It’s not about me. It’s about a woman. I’m trying to find her again…’

  ‘Aha.’ Alan tapped his nose. ‘You’re in love. I understand.’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘I can see it in your eyes. Harold and I have been together for thirty-nine years,’ he said knowingly before heading into the ward.

  Mitchell paced up and down the corridor. He looked at the paintings on the walls done by schoolchildren, of people in hospital beds with watermelon slice smiles. He caught sight of himself in a mirror and studied his own face. He didn’t have love in his eyes, that was ridiculous. He just looked a bit brighter after having his stitches removed.

  After a few minutes, Alan returned. ‘Harold says to try the General Surgery department. There’s a consultant called Grey who works there who fits your description. If it’s not him, it’s a good place to start, anyway.’

  Mitchell thought this sounded a good step forwards. ‘Thank you. I hope Harold gets better soon.’

  Alan gave a small nod. ‘Love can be a great healer. Or so I try to convince myself.’

  Mitchell made his way to the General Surgery department, where he found photographs of twelve doctors on the wall. The nurse with the hair flick was right, that there was much of a sameness about their appearances. However, the third photograph down was of the man who had helped Yvette on the riverbank. His name was printed below his image, consultant Ernest Grey.

  Mitchell made his way to the consultant’s waiting room where he loitered for a while, unsure of his next move.

  When the receptionist called out, ‘Mr Pinkerton to see Mr Grey, please,’ Mitchell looked furtively around. After there was no response, he held up his hand. ‘Um, here.’

  ‘Second door on the left,’ the receptionist told him. ‘Ask Mr Grey to check your hearing, while you’re in there.’

  Mitchell entered the room and the doctor who helped Yvette on the grass verge sat before him. He felt like he was encountering a film or TV star, that he couldn’t quite believe was here in the flesh.

  ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mitchell sat down and pressed his fingers together in his lap.

  Mr Grey pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose and studied some papers. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Pinkerton? How have you been since your hernia op?’

  ‘I’ve not had one,’ Mitchell said. ‘I’m not actually your patient.’

  Mr Grey lowered the papers and stared at him intently. ‘Do you have the wrong room?’ He reached to pick up the phone receiver on his desk. ‘I’ll ask the—’

  Mitchell leaned forward. ‘My name is Mitchell Fisher and I helped a woman who had fallen into the river six days ago. She wore a yellow dress and you came to her assistance.’

  Mr Grey moved his hand away from the phone. He slid his glasses farther up his nose. ‘Oh, yes, I recognize you now. Didn’t you bump your head on the pavement afterwards?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mitchell said with a whoosh of relief that he had found the right man. ‘A cyclist rode into me. I woke up in hospital and I’m trying to find out what happened to the woman we helped. Was she admitted into hospital?’

  ‘I recommended she come with me to get checked out, but she insisted she was fine. She was in a hurry, said she had to leave straightaway. She used my phone to make a call.’

  ‘So, the last time you saw her was on the bridge?’

  Mr Grey nodded.

  ‘Do you have a record of what number she rang?’

  ‘Sorry, no. I got a new phone two days ago.’

  Mitchell knew that Liza wouldn’t mind if he shared more information, if it helped to trace Yvette. ‘I found out the woman in question, Yvette Bradfield, walked away from her family, and I’m helping them to trace her. I’m the first person to see her for almost a year, and you saw her, too. Did she say anything to you that might help us to find her?’

  ‘That is a distressing situation,’ Mr Grey said softly. ‘I’m presuming you’ve covered off all other options, spoken to her friends and family, etc.’

  ‘I think the family have tried everything. Yvette gets in touch from time to time, they just don’t know where she is, or why she won’t come home.’

  Mr Grey thought for a while. ‘I overheard some of the call, and she said Connor was waiting for her.’

  ‘Connor?’ Mitchell repeated. ‘Not Victor?’

  ‘She definitely said Connor. And that’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid. Our conversation was very short. I think she was rather stunned by what happened.’

  ‘It’s a good piece of information,’ Mitchell said, pleased he had found out something to share with Liza. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Very glad to be of assistance. Though, I suggest you don’t try to impersonate other patients in future.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mitchell said. ‘Now I’m here, may I ask you a medical question?’

  ‘Is it about a hernia?’

  ‘No. After I bumped my head in the accident, I’ve been feeling, well… different.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  Mitchell hmm’d, thinking about his strange emotional pull when it came to the locks on the bridge and the strangers’ letters. ‘Since my accident, I’m feeling everything more deeply,’ he said.

  ‘And you had checks when you came in?’

  He nodded. ‘Everything looked fine.’

  ‘Well,’ Mr Grey said, ‘saving Yvette could certainly have triggered your emotions. It’s a big thing you did, jumping in the river to help her. Your mind and body will have experienced stress, anxiety and relief. It’s totally natural to feel emotional after going through something like that. Even minor injuries can disrupt the brain function, changing the way a person thinks, acts or feels. They don’t always show up straightaway. Perhaps you should make an appointment to see your own doctor and ask to be referred to a neurologist. Or there’s something else to consider…’

  ‘What?’

  Mr Grey smiled. ‘Maybe you’re a nice guy who cares about others.’

  Mitchell looked
away, embarrassed. ‘It’s good to hear I’m not going mad.’

  ‘You did a courageous thing, and exposure to cold water can cause hypothermia, even on a hot day. You should give yourself a pat on the back. Make sure you take care of yourself, as well as looking for Yvette.’

  ‘Hmm, I’ll try,’ Mitchell said before leaving the consultancy room.

  While Mitchell sat on the bus, heading into Upchester centre, he called Liza a couple of times but got her voicemail. He left a message saying he was heading into the city and would be on the redbrick bridge at one o’clock, if she and Poppy wanted to meet him there.

  When he reached and walked along Redford, he again felt the unlikely tug towards the padlocks hanging there and the stories they held. At least Mr Grey had given him a reason why his emotions might be playing up.

  Mitchell spotted Barry working on the other side of the road. Or at least, he thought it was Barry. The person crouched next to a toolbox and brandishing bolt cutters had close-cropped hair.

  Mitchell crossed over and stood behind him. ‘Um, Barry?’ he said.

  His friend looked up sheepishly. His chest curls were missing, as well as the hair on his head. ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘That’s a drastic haircut.’

  Barry’s cheeks flushed. ‘Enid bought some new dog grooming equipment and wanted to try it out.’

  ‘On you?’

  ‘A trial run,’ he said. ‘The electronic clippers worked well, but I think she preferred dogs to me. I’ve been messaging a lady called Amanda and she wants to go ice skating.’

  ‘It sounds less risky than grooming.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Barry smiled tightly. ‘How did things go at the hospital?’

  Mitchell touched his head. ‘All fine. I’ve had my stitches out and a doctor confirmed I’m not going crazy, so now it’s official. Any news on my toolbox?’

  ‘Not a thing. Any luck in your search for Yvette?’

  Mitchell gave him a very brief update, not mentioning Connor’s name until he’d spoken to Liza. ‘And how’s work?’

  ‘The usual. Locks and more locks.’ Barry nodded towards the new white bridge. ‘The celebration preparations are all well underway, so Russ’s stress levels are sky-high. Stay away from him.’

  Mitchell looked upriver towards the Yacht bridge and saw Liza walking and Poppy half skipping along the street towards Redford. They met him in the middle of the bridge.

  ‘I got a new dress, and a headband and shoes,’ Poppy said before he could even say hello. ‘And a necklace with a pug dog pendant.’

  ‘That sounds like a productive morning.’

  ‘It was,’ Liza said. ‘We had lots of fun in the sales, trying stuff on, and I got my green shoes, though maybe not quite the shade I was looking for. Poppy and I went for a burger, after our debate about whether Burger King or McDonald’s is better.’

  ‘Burger King,’ Poppy said.

  ‘Who won?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Who do you think?’ Liza fixed Poppy with a pretend glare. She then turned her attention to Barry and squinted at him. ‘Oh, hi, it’s you. You look so different without your hair.’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘How did your appointment go?’ Liza asked Mitchell. ‘All good?’

  ‘It was okay. I had my stitches out.’ It was too awkward to talk further, with Barry and Poppy being here. ‘Do you still have the paper and pens Megan gave you?’ he asked Barry.

  Barry nodded. ‘Yeah, in my toolbox.’

  ‘Poppy, do you fancy doing a bit of drawing while I tell Liza about the hospital?’ Mitchell asked.

  She nodded readily and jumped over to Barry’s side.

  Mitchell and Liza walked over to the spot where Yvette had fallen from the bridge. He bent down and located her heart-shaped lock again, among all the ones hanging there. He thought of Yvette in her yellow dress and again felt a connection to her somehow.

  Liza crouched down. ‘My heart is always yours,’ she whispered as the noise of the gushing river almost drowned out her words. She peered through the railing at the water, then up at him. ‘Yvette was so lucky you were here. I dread to think what might have happened to her if you weren’t.’

  Mitchell looked over the railing, too. ‘I managed to track down the doctor who attended to Yvette at the river edge,’ he said.

  Liza sucked in a breath as she stood up. ‘You did?’

  ‘His name is Ernest Grey. He tried to persuade Yvette to get checked out at hospital, but she was in a hurry to leave.’ He cleared his throat. ‘She said a man called Connor was waiting for her.’

  Liza frowned, as if she had a migraine setting in. ‘Connor? Are you absolutely sure about that?’

  ‘That’s definitely the name he gave me. Does it mean anything to you?’

  Liza chewed her bottom lip for a while, before nodding. ‘It’s my father’s name.’

  ‘So, he might have been waiting for her?’

  She gave the smallest laugh. ‘It’s highly unlikely, Mitchell. My dad died five years ago.’

  They glanced at each then away again, confused.

  Mitchell’s mind went momentarily blank. ‘Could Connor perhaps be a friend, or Yvette’s boyfriend?’ he tried.

  ‘But he was supposed to be called Victor,’ Liza said wildly, the colour in her cheeks draining. ‘It sounds like Yvette was confused. She thought she knew you, and then said Dad was waiting for her. Maybe she has some kind of amnesia. It’d explain why she went missing. She might not know who she is any longer. A friend of mine had early onset dementia. Perhaps it’s that… Oh, I just don’t know.’

  Mitchell spoke calmly to reassure her. ‘Yvette wrote to you, and to Jean. If she had amnesia or dementia, I doubt she’d remember your addresses.’

  Liza took a moment to think about this. ‘Yes, yes, you’re right.’ She placed her hand over his on the railing. ‘She wrote to Naomi, too. I just can’t make sense of all this.’

  She looked so lost Mitchell gently slid his hand out from under hers and slipped it around her shoulder. She leaned in towards him and tucked her head under his chin for a while. When he breathed in, her hair tickled his nose. A warmth filtered through him and he wondered if she felt it as well. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but that didn’t matter. She needed him and, for a few moments, he needed her, too.

  A couple of girls’ voices sounded behind them, and Mitchell smelled violets in the air. It made him think of Anita, and his arm fell suddenly away from Liza’s shoulder. He inched awkwardly away from her.

  Liza picked at a piece of paint flaking off the railing. ‘I think I need to speak to Mum and Naomi,’ she said. ‘I need to tell them you saw Yvette, especially if she mentioned Dad. I can’t keep this to myself any longer. Perhaps I could invite them over to dinner. I can tell them all about you and come clean about what I know.’

  ‘Let me know how you get on,’ Mitchell said.

  She pursed her lips, considering. ‘Will you join us? I bet they’d like to talk to the man who helped Yvette.’

  A family meal, Mitchell thought to himself. When was the last time he, Anita and Poppy ate together? It was probably a sandwich in front of the TV, or even McDonald’s. He wished he could say it had been significant and lovely, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

  Anita always said her last meal on earth would be warm crusty bread, lots of cheese and a glass of cider. He didn’t even know what she’d eaten at Mazzo’s. Had she had tiramisu without him?

  The thought made his chest tighten and he curled his fingers over the railing, like he was clinging on.

  Dinner parties had never been his thing. He hated smiling stiffly, eating fancy food and the one-upmanship of snobbery as conversation turned to who had seen the most obscure theatre production. He supposed Liza’s family gathering would be different than that. ‘I have met them already, at your house,’ he reminded her.

  ‘So, is that a yes?’

  Mitchell thought
how it was easier to agree to her invitation, rather than excuse himself. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll come along.’

  ‘Great.’

  Her face was still and he felt the need to reassure her again. ‘We’ll keep trying to find Yvette, okay? We won’t give up.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Footsteps approached them and Poppy arrived, waving a piece of paper. ‘I drew the new white bridge, Dad.’

  He looked at it. ‘That’s wonderful. Very detailed.’

  ‘Are we going home yet? I can show you my new dress.’

  ‘Yes. I’m ready to go. Liza and I were just, um, talking.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I saw that.’ Poppy smiled knowingly.

  15

  Mosaic

  That evening, after Mitchell and Poppy had eaten, he tugged his coffee table to the side of the sitting room and shook out all the letters from the plastic shopping bag onto the floor. Poppy insisted on lining them up to make a large mosaic square of colourful correspondence. He welcomed the opportunity to focus on something else while Liza spoke to her family. And he could spend time with Poppy, too.

  A few envelopes were addressed to Mitchell by name, some to the Hero on the Bridge, and others to Upchester News. Several were blank, but were of a nature (pink paper, stickers, doodles of padlocks) to suggest they weren’t official.

  ‘Cool,’ Poppy said as she walked around them in a circle.

  Mitchell scratched his head as he looked down at them. The thoughts, ideas and secrets of strangers were all laid out on his stripped floorboards.

  Poppy stooped down and picked up a zebra-striped orange envelope from the middle of the square. ‘Can I read this one, Dad?’

  ‘Let me take a look first, just in case.’ He took it from her and slid out a peach sheet of paper.

  Dear Man on the Bridge,

  What a good person you are! I was close by when I heard the fracas of the woman falling into the water. I was rushing home to take delivery of a parcel – a new hairdryer for my wife’s birthday! I was so impressed by your kind deed and wish I’d performed such a demonstrative act of love in my past. You see, my lovely wife wasn’t my first choice because I was secretly in love with someone else. I tried to tell my wife, before we married, but my words shrivelled up.