‘I’m definitely single,’ Mitchell replied quickly.
‘Rosie has friends, lots of them. Interesting types.’
Mitchell was quiet for a while. ‘There’s still Anita…’
The two men sipped their tea. ‘She’d want you to be happy,’ Graham said eventually. ‘You going to stay single forever?’
To Mitchell, it felt like the simpler option. ‘Maybe.’
‘If you don’t use it, you lose it,’ Graham said seriously.
Mitchell laughed into his tea, and a bit slopped onto his T-shirt.
‘Good to see you smiling, mate.’ Graham stood up. ‘Come and see what Rosie’s done with the garden. You won’t recognize it.’
The small rockery remained, but Mrs Gates’s concrete fairies and rabbits lay piled in a heap in the corner. The garden shed had been painted lilac, and the oak tree that stood in the middle of the lawn was decorated with wind chimes. Around the base of the tree lay a series of upturned milk crates and tyres, to be used as seats.
‘I got the tyres from a gaming buddy who’s a farmer,’ Graham said.
‘Remember Spider and Birchy in the woods?’ Mitchell said. ‘When we made the swing that day.’
‘Yeah, Spider didn’t know what hit him when you pounced. That was the day I knew we’d be best mates. Some people you meet and they drift in and out of your life, but others are like solid gold, precious.’ He shook his head slightly at his own words. ‘Ha, that was profound. I have no idea where that came from.’
Mitchell smiled. ‘Rosie?’
‘Must be.’
Mitchell looked up into the tree. A curl of rope sat like a cobra on one of the branches. Thoughts of that day in the woods dropped back into his head, and he recalled how it felt to play outside until the sun went down. It was a youthful freedom you didn’t realize you had, until it was gone. ‘We could make a swing now if you like?’ he said.
The two men looked at each other. Unspoken thoughts transmitted between them, of how this wasn’t a grown-up thing to do.
Graham stepped forward anyway. ‘Now you’re talking,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’
Mitchell climbed the tree, much more slowly and carefully than he did when he was a teenager. He took hold of the rope and let it drop down into Graham’s hands. The two men fashioned a swing and Mitchell took the first go. He swung and twirled, and the light twinkled through the leaves of the trees. He closed his eyes and felt his cheeks flush. The swooning feeling, peaking and dipping as he spiralled around, allowed him to escape to the past, a more innocent time for a while. He laughed and kicked his feet back against the tree trunk until he felt a little nauseous.
‘I heard you’ve been busy saving damsels in distress,’ Graham said.
Mitchell groaned. ‘You know about that?’
‘Rosie does. She always keeps an ear to the ground. So, what happened?’
Mitchell twirled around some more until his lightheadedness made opening up feel easier. With some reluctance, he told Graham about how he had seen and helped Yvette, before finding out she was missing. He explained how he was forming a friendship with her sister Liza.
‘You’ll find her,’ Graham said as Mitchell slid off the tyre and held it steady for his friend to climb on. ‘If I know you, you’ll have already written a plan of action and devised a strategy. Have you got a map on your wall with pins sticking out of it?’
Mitchell sat down on a nearby milk crate and shook his head. ‘Not this time.’
‘I didn’t even realize I was stuck in my life,’ Graham said. He pushed off the ground and leaned forward to gain momentum with his swinging. ‘I was so comfortable living with Mum, with her chatter and cups of tea and toast, I didn’t notice I was missing out on stuff. I mean, I loved her, but I was kind of in a comfy nest, so I didn’t even attempt to fly out of it. It’s like Rosie’s shown me my wings.’
Mitchell picked up a twig and scratched it into the grass. ‘A lady in my apartment block, Vanessa, invited me over to her place to share a bottle of wine. I thought it was weird, and Poppy called me lonely. I disagreed with her, but now I’m not so sure. Vanessa was probably just being nice.’
‘Maybe it would be good for Poppy if you did meet someone new,’ Graham said. ‘Or were at least open to it. Maybe she’s feeling stuck, too.’
Mitchell hadn’t considered things from Poppy’s perspective before. He thought he was protecting her, offering stability, with just the two of them. She was opening up with Liza, and perhaps she might with someone else, too. ‘Maybe,’ he said.
‘Could there be anything between you and Liza, or with Yvette?’
The question caught Mitchell off guard. Even though Yvette had caught his eye on the bridge, it felt wrong to admit to it, because she was missing. And Liza was, well, Liza. Sometimes he felt funny around her, and it was kind of nice and weird at the same time. He avoided answering Graham’s question.
‘You won’t know until you try. What’s your next step in your search for Yvette?’ Graham pressed his feet to the ground to bring the swing to a stop.
‘She left a padlock with a message on it, attached to a bridge in the city. Liza thinks it’s a clue, though we haven’t sussed out what it is yet. There are other leads, too, a couple of men’s names.’ Wanting to forget about it all for a while longer, Mitchell took hold of the rope and pulled it towards him. ‘Now, it’s my turn on the tyre again.’
At the end of his visit, Mitchell batted grass off the legs of his jeans and hung a wind chime back in the tree that had fallen onto the lawn. His cheeks were ruddy and the heels of his palms were green from pressing into the grass. He followed Graham back through the house.
‘You know the drill by now, Mitchy Boy,’ Graham said as he opened the front door. ‘Here’s where I remind you I still owe you for rescuing me from Spider.’
‘You don’t need to do anything.’ Mitchell gave him a small push. ‘You’re like a brother to me.’
Graham gave him a rough hug. ‘I’ll see you at my wedding, mate. Bring a lady friend, if you like…’
‘One step at a time,’ Mitchell laughed as he walked away. ‘One step at a time.’
Back at Angel House, Mitchell found Carl sitting at his desk, folding a tiny yellow crown out of a sticky note. ‘I’m still writing my letter, Mr Fisher,’ he said. ‘Susan is being a great help to me, though.’
‘Good. It will be like a novel by the time you finish it,’ Mitchell joked.
Carl’s face reddened. ‘Hopefully it won’t be that long,’ he said. ‘Have you opened all the letters in the bag yet?’
Mitchell shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’ve not had time.’
‘Spending time with your girlfriend?’
‘Um, girlfriend?’ Mitchell swallowed uncomfortably.
‘Liza. She’s very nice.’
‘Oh, Liza isn’t my—’ Mitchell started to protest, but Carl stood up and picked up his mop. He whistled as he pushed it across the floor.
Later that night, Poppy sang loudly as she got ready for bed, and Mitchell couldn’t ever recall her doing that in the apartment before. It was the song she’d performed around the campfire, but this time she injected it with more oomph and joy. She mimed picking up a watering can and sprinkling pretend flowers.
She’d been full of life since she returned from her day out with Rachel at the park. The Jackson Pollock-like splats of ketchup and ice cream on her skirt offered proof of her enjoyment.
‘I’m glad you had a great time,’ Mitchell said.
‘The bouncy castles were amazing, and we had hot dogs and candy floss and, oh, Rachel’s mum invited me to sleep over tomorrow night. If it’s okay, can you call her?’
‘Sure, and we’ll have to take Rachel out somewhere in return.’
‘Ice-skating would be great!’ Poppy said.
Mitchell laughed. He agreed to ring Rachel’s mum, and he told Poppy how he’d spent the day with Graham. ‘We’re both going to his and Rosie’s wedding, and he’s invited m
e to be his best man.’
‘Cool,’ Poppy said. She jumped up onto her bed. ‘I can wear my new stuff.’
Mitchell went to the kitchen and took a small bag of oats from the kitchen cupboard. Back in Poppy’s room, he stepped up onto the mattress to join her, and opened the window in her ceiling.
They sprinkled the oats on the roof slates for the pigeons, and Poppy giggled as the birds cooed and pecked at them.
Mitchell watched, a pleasant feeling of happiness and well-being enveloping him. For once he felt things could be changing for the better. They were moving forward.
He didn’t know what the future held and if he’d ever find Yvette, but when he looked up at the stars he swore they somehow looked brighter tonight, almost as clear as they did from Jean’s forest habitat.
17
Dinner
The next morning, Mitchell received a text message from Liza inviting him and Poppy over that evening. I’ve told Mum and Naomi everything we know, she said. My place at 6, for dinner with us?
Her words made him feel nervous as he wondered how Sheila and Naomi would react to his and Liza’s visit to see Jean, and to the names Connor and Victor.
Poppy has a sleepover, but I’ll be there, he replied. See you later.
Mitchell phoned Rachel’s mum and arranged for her to collect Poppy that afternoon. He offered to take the two girls ice-skating the day after that. When Mitchell told Poppy he was going to Liza’s house without her, she was disappointed.
‘You’ll have a much better time staying over at your friend’s place,’ he assured her. ‘Do you remember Liza’s mum had lots of questions for you?’
‘Yeah, she was a bit bossy.’
‘We’ll be talking adult stuff.’
‘About Yvette?’
‘Probably.’
Poppy picked up her bag and looked inside it. It was still half packed after their trip to Jean’s place. ‘You said you’d find Yvette…’
‘It’s only been eight days. I’m doing my best to help her whole family.’
‘I know, Dad. Do you think she’ll come home?’
He didn’t want to lie to her, but the more he got involved with the Bradfields, the more he worried he wasn’t going to find Yvette after all.
‘I hope so.’ He wrapped his arm around her. ‘I really do.’
Liza appeared distracted when she opened her front door to him. She wore jeans with embroidered roses on the thighs, and a coral-coloured T-shirt. Her hair was half in a ponytail and half out.
He handed her a bottle of Chardonnay. ‘How’s things?’ he asked.
‘Okay… well, not really. I called Mum and told her about Yvette mentioning Dad’s name, Connor. It freaked her out that Yvette might think Dad’s still alive, and she’s not happy I went to see Jean. It brought on one of her anxiety attacks and I wish I hadn’t said anything. I spent ages on the phone talking to her until she calmed down. I persuaded her to still come over tonight.’
‘You’re only trying to help,’ Mitchell said.
‘I know.’ Liza’s voice wobbled. ‘And now I’m behind on cooking dinner. I haven’t even started, and they’ll be here in an hour.’
‘I can help you. I’m great at muesli,’ he said, trying to cheer her up.
‘It might come to that. I’m not kidding.’
Mitchell followed her into the kitchen, where the worktop was covered in utensils and open recipe books.
‘I was going to make a cottage pie, but my potatoes are past their sell-by date and have all these sprouts coming out of them. I’ve tried to think of something else, but my mind keeps wandering off and I can’t follow any recipes. Perhaps we’d be better going out to a restaurant or something?’
‘Will that be okay if your mum is feeling stressed?’
‘Hmm, yes, you’re right. That’s not a good idea. I’ll have to try to rustle something up here. Or order in.’
Mitchell thought for a while. ‘If you have all the other bits and pieces for cottage pie, you could make spaghetti Bolognese, or a vegetarian chilli.’
The worry wrinkles in her forehead dissolved. ‘Chilli? That’s a great idea. I can make it a bit milder than usual for Mum. I know it’s July but I love to eat it all year round.’
‘Me, too. And I’ve made chilli before, so I won’t poison anyone.’
‘Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.’
Liza took more ingredients out of her cupboards and fridge and set them down on the worktop. Mitchell found a recipe in one of her cookbooks, then washed his hands and chopped a red chilli pepper into tiny slivers. Liza donned her aviator sunglasses to tackle an onion.
Mitchell tried to think of something to talk about that wasn’t to do with Yvette and her disappearance to keep conversation light before Naomi and Sheila arrived.
‘I’ve heard a rumour that Word Up might be playing at the bridge opening ceremony,’ he said, thinking of something Barry told him.
‘Oh, yes. I heard that, too. I bet Poppy will love it. I wouldn’t mind seeing them myself. They use this chord in one of their songs and it reminds me of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.’ She sang one note and held it. ‘Do you hear that?’
‘I don’t know their music,’ he admitted. Poppy had excitedly jumped up and down on her bed when she heard the boy band might be playing in Upchester. But whenever Mitchell looked across the river at the finishing touches being done to the Yacht bridge, memories flooded back of his late nights and meetings. He imagined Jasmine Trencher striding around with drawings clamped to her chest. ‘We might be busy that day,’ he said.
‘Just let me know,’ Liza replied. She rubbed away tears under her sunglasses with the side of her wrist and tipped the chopped onions into a saucepan. ‘It’s sure to be fun, whether the band plays or not. I bet there’ll be food stalls and face painting, stuff like that, and I love the new bridge. Poppy told me you worked on its design.’
‘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 favourite 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 colourful 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 chilli 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 st
ocky,’ 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 chilli. 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 knobbly 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.
The Secrets of Sunshine Page 14
