Dear Mr. Fisher,
We wondered if you might be available to officially open our school fete in September? There’ll be face painting, a coconut shy, stalls run by local businesses, and all proceeds will go toward repairing the school roof...
The thought of being regarded as some kind of celebrity made Mitchell shiver. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, even if it did help the school. He folded the letter back into its envelope.
The next one had an artsy card inside. It featured a small line drawing of the new white bridge, and his nostrils flared when he saw it. He recognized the drawing style and knew who it was from before he opened it up.
Mitchell!
Salutations. I heard through the grapevine you leaped from the old red bridge to help someone. That’s so incredibly selfless of you and I hope you’re doing well.
Look, it’s been on my mind since you left Foster and Hardman that you and I didn’t part on the best terms. My creative vision has always been both my gift and Achilles’ heel. Though, I do think the centenary bridge is looking totally wondrous, don’t you? The opening ceremony should be sublime.
No hard feelings, huh?
Jas
A ball of anger grew and burned inside him. Mitchell had to hold his breath until it subsided as a hiss through his teeth, so Poppy and Liza didn’t notice. Jas hadn’t even mentioned Anita, only thought of herself, as usual.
He crumpled her card in his fist, pushed it into his pocket and stuffed the remaining letters he hadn’t read back into Poppy’s bag.
Then he folded his arms, stared out of the window and allowed himself to think of Jasmine Trencher, and her contribution to him losing Anita.
10
OFFICE
Three years ago
Increasingly, as weekends approached, Mitchell felt like he was a parched man crawling toward an oasis in the desert, desperate for water. Seeing his family was the only way to quench his thirst, a brief reprieve from the intense pressure of his job.
Staying in his city apartment was losing its attraction. He’d been here for a year and was fed up with his weekday life of loneliness. The eighty-mile distance from home felt like an ocean.
Although Anita tried to support his long hours, he knew deep down she was growing disillusioned with their splintered family life. As his workload on the centenary bridge project intensified, his letters home dwindled. He was sluggish and tired, and didn’t want to bore Anita with details about pedestrians, traffic flow, safety and maintenance issues he had to address.
His once-healthy eating habits slid into a rota of cereal and takeaway pizza. He no longer had the zesty morning feeling of excitement he got from rushing around to help Poppy to pack her schoolbag and walking her to school. His mates gave up asking him to play football, after he missed out on too many matches. All he saw were the insides of his apartment and office.
Disappointed that he wrote home less often, Anita’s letters to him fizzled out, too.
One day, when Mitchell was home for the weekend, he and Anita stood drying dishes in the kitchen. “I have to work away next weekend,” he said miserably.
“Again?” Anita placed a glass down heavily on the draining board.
“I’m so sorry. I have to entertain some overseas suppliers.”
“I don’t know why you don’t just move into that bloody apartment permanently,” she snapped.
They stared at each other, both taken aback by her words. Mitchell picked up a plate to dry and Anita put it back in the cupboard. The air was sharp with tension as they carried on the task in silence.
“You’re right. It’s too much,” Mitchell said when they’d finished. He placed his hand on her back. “I took the job to help our family, but it’s no good if I don’t see you.”
“I know you try your best.” Anita softened. “But things aren’t working, Mitchell. You’re stressed and I am, too, trying to work full-time and look after Pops. She’s growing up so quickly, and you’re missing out.”
Since he was last home, she’d lost two teeth, and was a centimeter taller on the height chart in the kitchen. “I’ll do something about it,” he said firmly. “I promise you. I just need to find the right time to speak to Don.”
Two weeks later, as Anita’s birthday approached, Mitchell still hadn’t spoken to his boss about his workload. Don Hardman was difficult to pin down, flitting between the office, entertaining clients in posh restaurants, and his holiday home in Marbella.
One night, Mitchell woke in the apartment in the early hours of the morning. He’d had a nightmare about a bridge collapsing down on his family. He had managed to dash to safety, but in the dream, Anita and Poppy were buried under the rubble. He dug at it frantically, debris caking under his nails and bloodying his skin, but he couldn’t reach them.
The screech of twisting metal and falling stone had sounded so real in his head that Mitchell’s pajamas clung to his body in a fearful sweat. He staggered out of bed and into the bathroom where he gulped a glass of water. After entering Poppy’s empty bedroom, he clambered up onto her mattress, opened her window and thrust his head outside.
His brain was muggy, as if stuffed with cotton wool, and a pain pierced his chest that he hoped wasn’t serious. His own father had died of a heart attack, aged just forty-five. He didn’t want to go the same way.
As Mitchell’s pulse eventually slowed, and he shivered in his perspiration-soaked top, he knew he had to do something.
Enough was enough.
The next day at work, Mitchell tried to speak to Don again, but he was out of the office. So, Mitchell took matters into his own hands. He decided to take Anita’s birthday off work, that coming Friday, whether Don liked it or not.
“Are you sure about this?” Anita asked when Mitchell phoned and invited her out for lunch.
He heard the warning tone in her voice. There had been a few occasions he’d said he’d be home for the weekend, but then had to work. “Absolutely,” he said. “We need some time together and I want to treat you. I’ll call into the office on Friday morning to pick up my emails, then drive straight home. Shall I book a table for two at Mazzo’s, for twelve thirty?”
“I’ve always wanted to try there,” Anita said cautiously. “The tiramisu is supposed to be amazing.”
“We can spend all afternoon at the restaurant, then pick up Poppy together from school. The three of us will spend the entire weekend together.”
“And you’re sure you can take the time off?”
“Yes,” he said resolutely. “I know things have been difficult for us all, but things will change. I need to put you and Poppy first.”