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 chili.”
The worry wrinkles in her forehead dissolved. “Chili? 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 chili 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 chili 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 rumor 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 favorite 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 colorful 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 chili 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 stocky,” 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 chili. 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 knobby 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.
“Sorry, Mum. I ran out of the fizzy stuff. You’ve got Upchester’s finest tap water there.”
“That food smells very spicy.”
Liza flitted around her mother, straightening a knife, setting down a plate of bread. “I made us a big pot of chili con carne. Nice and fresh.”