“Her padlock. I want to see it for myself...”
“I’ll take a photo of it for you,” Liza said. “No problem. Just try to relax.”
Naomi’s face paled and Liza huddled up to her mum. Sheila began to cry, tears plopping onto her skirt.
Mitchell surveyed the scene and clenched his fists. He longed to do something to help. “I can bring Yvette’s lock to you, Mrs. Bradfield,” he said rashly. He filled her glass with water. “I’ll find it. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Sheila met his eyes and nodded slightly. Her breathing eventually slowing. “Can you do that?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. I promise I’ll find it for you.”
She reached out to grasp his arm. “You’re a good man,” she said, her voice full of relief. “Thank you.”
A little later on, when Mitchell helped Liza carry the empty plates to the kitchen, she whispered to him, “Mum will hold you to that. There’ll be no getting out of it. I shouldn’t have told her about Victor, especially as Naomi knew more than I did. I realize Mum’s attacks are getting worse.”
“I want to help,” he said firmly. “I thought your mum was having a heart attack.”
“They’re really scary.” Liza sipped a glass of water but it slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. She dropped into a crouch and plucked at the shards on the lino. “What a mess. Ouch.” She studied her palm as a tiny bead of blood appeared.
Mitchell knelt down beside her. “Is your hand okay?”
“It’s fine, really. I think.”
They both reached out for the same piece of glass, and the fronts of their heads brushed together. Mitchell felt a tickle through the roots of his hair and the air felt thick around him. He tentatively took her hand in his and examined it for glass splinters. “Don’t risk cutting your fingers. You won’t be able to play the guitar wearing plasters.”
“You’re right. That’s really thoughtful of you. I had a bandage on my hand once, right across the middle, and it was very restrictive when I played the violin.”
“Do you have a dustpan and brush?”
“Yes, and I’ll get a cloth for the water.”
Mitchell swept the floor. He slid the broken glass into a piece of newspaper and folded it up. His breath felt inexplicably short when he was close to Liza. He glimpsed his watch and realized how much time had gone by. “Sorry, but I have to go. I need to get home for Poppy.”
“It’s okay. Thanks for coming over. Apologies it’s been so dismal.”
“It’s been fine,” he fibbed. “I’ll go and say goodbye to your mum and Naomi.”
They stood up awkwardly together, as if there was a knee-high fence around them, hemming them in. Mitchell found he wanted to circle his arms around her waist and, disconcerted by this feeling, he held them stiffly by his side.
They walked together toward the dining room. “Tell Poppy I said hi.” Liza made a crown behind her head with her hand. “It would have been nice to see her. But I’m glad she didn’t witness our family drama.”
He dawdled in the hallway. “I’m taking her ice-skating tomorrow.”
“Ha, I’ve not been skating for years. I bent my little finger back once and Mum banned me, said it could mess up my entire music career. A bit overprotective, if you ask me.”
“Join us?” Mitchell suggested, before he could think about it. He wanted to make amends for the upset of the evening, even though it wasn’t his doing. “Poppy will be with her friend most of the time.”
“Liza,” Sheila called from the dining room.
Liza studied her fingers and her eyes flashed with defiance. “The small girl in me wants to rebel against Mum by going skating. Is that really childish?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Not after tonight.”
“I could do with a break,” she said. “We have clues about Yvette, but none are fitting together. The cool air at the rink might help me clear my head. They play music, too, while you skate and it’s a bit like a daytime disco.”
“Come with us,” he said, really meaning it this time. “Poppy and I will be there tomorrow at noon. We can talk more then. Wear gloves to protect your hands.”
In the dining room, he picked up his jacket and gave Sheila and Naomi a peck on their cheeks. For some reason, he avoided doing the same to Liza. “It’s been lovely,” he said as he headed back into the hallway. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for coming.” Liza performed a small curtsy. “And for offering to find Yvette’s lock for Mum. I’m sure it will help her to feel a bit better.”
“I said I’d get it for her,” Mitchell said firmly. “I’ll keep you posted.”
18
ICE-SKATING
When Mitchell unpinned the next day’s itinerary from the wall, the black rectangles of the spreadsheet looked rigid, like the bars of a cage.
He took a pen from his pocket to cross out his and Poppy’s original planned trip to the library, intending to replace it with their outing to the ice rink. Instead, he stared at it for a while. He thought about Liza’s words about defying her mother, and he felt a jolt of boldness that he didn’t want to comply with his own rigid plans.
He ripped the paper into small pieces and, clutching them in his fist, he carried them into Poppy’s room to show her.
She took them from him and stood on her bed. She let them flutter down inside her room, so they looked like blossom petals falling from a tree.
Mitchell stepped up, too, and the bed creaked as they both poked their heads out of the sloping window. Mitchell crooked his fingertips over its frame and felt the roof tiles were already warmed by the sun. There was cooing as five pigeons strutted around next to a nest in the gutter.
“Can we feed them again?” Poppy asked. “Please, Dad.”
Mitchell brought another small bag of oats from the kitchen, that he’d planned to make healthy muffins with.
Poppy poured them onto the roof in a heap, so they looked like a melting snowman. The pigeons flocked toward it.
“Liza is joining us at the rink today,” Mitchell said as casually as he could so Poppy wouldn’t get too excited.
“Ace.”
“The heat is making everyone want to cool off. Barry even mentioned meeting a date at the rink.”
“If he’s trying to find a girlfriend,” Poppy said. “He might like Liza.”