Across the corridor, Poppy snored lightly as he hobbled into her room.
“Pops,” he hissed. “Poppy.”
When she didn’t stir, he reached out to touch her shoulder. He calculated he could make her a late breakfast, rush her to school and make it there before lunchtime. Then he could go into work.
But tomorrow was the last day of the school year and the lessons would be winding down. He knew deep down that, last night, Poppy wasn’t okay.
And he wasn’t okay, either.
He had leaped from a bridge, saved someone, been knocked unconscious and woken in hospital. He tried to survey it all technically and without emotion, but he couldn’t deny his body felt like it was filled with wet sand.
Even though his brain urged him to wake her, Mitchell brushed a lock of hair off Poppy’s cheek and he decided to leave her in bed. He made himself a bowl of muesli and sat alone at the dining table to eat it. He noticed the light bulb that hung down above his head was dusty and didn’t have a shade.
Whenever Anita used to visit, she would say the place looked like a bachelor pad. At the time he thought it was amusing, but now it felt rather tragic.
Instead of browsing the national news on his iPad as usual, Mitchell opened the Upchester News website. If Barry had seen a photo of him online, there might be an image of the woman in the yellow dress, too. He felt a desperate need to find out if she was okay.
On the main page, there was a photo of the bridge and he read the large sub headline: Man Saves Woman from Raging River.
He shook his head at it in dismay. I didn’t save the woman, I helped her. The water wasn’t raging.
The piece was written by someone called Susan Smythe and was full of theatrical words such as selfless and courageous and dashing—words he didn’t associate with himself. Thankfully the article didn’t mention his name, but it didn’t give the name of the woman in the yellow dress, either.
He read through it twice and his concern increased. Perhaps she’d ended up in hospital, too. He felt annoyed with himself for not making inquiries while he was in there.
When he scanned the last sentence of the article, he sucked in a breath.
Have you attached your own padlock and why? What would you say to the Hero on the Bridge? Write in and you could win £200.
There was another square image below this, featuring a large red triangle. When Mitchell clicked it, a video played. The air around him chilled as he watched himself sitting by the river edge. His polo shirt clung wet to his body and he hadn’t realized how slim he’d become.
The woman in yellow sat in front of him and bent her head, so he couldn’t see her face. The film ended with a zoomed-in frozen image of her eye and ear on the screen. Her earring was the shape of a large gold cactus that he hadn’t noticed when he’d helped her.
Somehow, she seemed to look straight at him and Mitchell rubbed his fingers together, wanting to reach into the screen. “I hope you’re okay,” he said quietly. “Who and where are you?”
His thoughts were broken by footsteps thudding along the hallway. “Aargh, Dad,” Poppy yelped, her dressing gown hanging off one shoulder. “I’m late for school.”
He waved a hand to calm her down. “It’s okay.”
“But I’ve missed my bus.”
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“Tell Miss Heathcliff that.”
He gently took hold of her shoulders. “I don’t feel well enough to go into work today,” he said, the words sounding alien to him. “I’m taking the day off, and so are you.”
Poppy gaped at him. “What?”
“I was going to wake you, but you needed to rest after last night.”
She chewed the side of her cheek. “Sorry, Dad.”
“You don’t need to apologize. How do you feel today?”
“Starving.”
“Well, why don’t you have some cereal while I call the school? I’ll tell Miss Heathcliff you’ll be back in tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“Will she?”
“Leave it to me. You could take a nice bath after breakfast.”
Her words were cautious. “But don’t we have a plan?”
Mitchell glanced across at his schedules in the hallway. “Not even one action point,” he said, ignoring his uneasiness.
“Great.” Poppy grinned as she picked up the muesli box.
Mitchell’s mobile phone screen was still blank, so he used his landline to call his boss. He explained he’d been in an accident and needed to rest up.
Russ already knew about Mitchell’s hospitalization from Barry and agreed with his time off. He was committed to the city council’s mantra of providing a supportive working environment for all, and he loved to win trophies and awards to prove it.
“Has the woman I helped come forward?” Mitchell asked.
“No, and let’s hope she doesn’t,” Russ said. “We don’t want any negative stories kicking around before the centenary celebrations. Someone falling from a bridge is not good for the city’s image, might raise health and safety concerns. So do not, I repeat, do not say anything to the press, or put stuff on Twitter or Facebook. We need it to settle down, nice and quiet. You got that?”
Mitchell decided not to mention the online news article. “Loud and clear,” he grumbled, shifting on the sofa. “I never use social media anyway.”
After her bath, he let Poppy eat a bowl of Coco Pops for her lunch, just this once. He insisted she drink a glass of milk.
He sat next to her at the table and jiggled his leg, unused to convalescing.
Poppy pushed her empty bowl away. “I got some homework yesterday and it’s deadly boring.” She began to recite the assignment in a singsong manner. “Produce a piece of work during the school holidays to celebrate Upchester’s centenary of city status. It has to include photos and more than one quote.”
Mitchell liked projects, especially the planning stages. He secretly relished helping Poppy with her schoolwork, and his juddering leg stilled. “You could write a story about the architecture of the city bridges,” he said. “Did you know the concrete one is called a beam bridge? It’s the simplest kind, like a tree chopped down and placed across a river.”
“You’ve told me before.” She rolled her eyes teasingly. “It’s my homework. Did you look for the lady on the internet?”
He nodded. “I found a short video.” Mitchell played the clip and showed Poppy the text about the competition.