He reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away.
“You still love Anita. I was here as a distraction and I totally get that now. You enjoyed helping my family because it made you feel better about yourself. None of this was ever about me or us.”
“That’s not true, Liza,” he pleaded. “I have felt things for you. It’s just that—”
Poppy reentered the room. She carried Sasha under her arm. “She’s eaten all her food, and I gave her water.”
Mitchell and Liza’s conversation halted sharply.
Poppy eyed them. “Are you two okay?”
You two. It was a phrase she used to use about him and Anita. Mitchell lowered his eyes, uncomfortable.
“Sure,” Liza said lightly. She crumpled Mitchell’s letter into a small ball. “Now before you go, have you had enough to eat and drink?”
Poppy nodded and picked up her bag.
Connor’s cry rang out from the stairway and Yvette entered the sitting room, jogging him on her hip. “I’ve tried to get him to settle, but he refuses to go to sleep.”
Liza pushed a hand through her hair. “Okay, I’ll see Mitchell and Poppy out and give you a hand.” She led them into the hallway. Poppy skipped toward the door and opened it. She jumped down the step onto the path.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Mitchell said quietly to Liza.
“Neither do I.” She pushed the balled-up letter into his hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve helped us with, Mitchell.”
Poppy fiddled with the strap on her bag. “Thanks for having me, Liza,” she said.
“You’re very welcome.”
Mitchell stepped outside, too. He tried to take Poppy’s bag from her, but she wouldn’t let it go. A pencil dropped out, and as he stooped to pick it up, his eyes grew watery.
“Bye now,” Liza said, and closed the door in his face.
Mitchell saw Poppy frown. She looked at him for an explanation, but he couldn’t give her one. He tightened his hand around the ball of paper. He had seen the letters he wrote to Anita as something that helped and supported him. But now his words had ruined something very special.
“Come on, then,” he tried to say cheerfully to Poppy as they walked down the path. “Let’s go home.”
28
PIGEONS
Before he even reached the Victorian bridge, Mitchell knew he didn’t want to be at work today. The sky was as heavy and gray as the gurgling river rushing beneath the bridge. Through the wire fences, he could see droplets of rain hanging from all the padlocks like tears.
Ha, people won’t try attaching them today in the drizzle, he thought, noticing that some of his grumpier old emotions toward the locks were resurfacing.
As he trudged across the city, he ran through yesterday’s conversation with Liza in his head. She had been a good friend to Poppy, and to him, too. She had welcomed him into her family and, although the Bradfields were a dysfunctional bunch, he had liked the feeling he was helping them. And now he had upset her greatly.
He recognized there was a switch in the air when he was close to Liza, but he hadn’t identified it as chemistry. That was something he’d shared with Anita when they sipped cider together for the first time and throughout their life with each other.
There hadn’t been anything instant with Liza. His feelings for her had crept up on him gradually after spending time with her. At first, he thought it was friendship and now it felt like much more. But whatever there was between them, he had spoiled it.
He told himself that Liza had found Yvette, and the Bradfield family was reunited. Mission accomplished. Perhaps he should also try to move on and let them be. He had schedules and plans to make for Poppy’s next school year—tennis shoes to buy, the new school bus timetable to learn, and they hadn’t been to the city museum for a good few weeks.
All would be fine when things returned to normal.
He just had to stop thinking about Liza Bradfield.
Mitchell found Barry at the end of the Yacht bridge. His friend held on to a huge roll of blue tissue paper.
“I’ve got new duties,” Barry groaned, as he tore off a wad. “Russ wants the bridge to be spotless when it opens. I’m cleaning it, checking it over, helping the contractors with whatever needs doing. I’m here to serve.”
“Russ hasn’t told me any of this,” Mitchell said, feeling prickly at being overlooked.
Barry shrugged. “You’ve not been in work.” He nodded over to the stage at the end of the bridge. There was a hive of activity, with people buzzing around and equipment being unloaded from the white vans.
“I can’t get to the padlocks to cut them off.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Barry said. “Russ is over there if you want to speak to him.”
Mitchell turned to move away, then he remembered to ask. “How are you and Trisha doing?”
Barry’s face flushed. “We’re doing great. She’s not weird at all. Progress, huh? Now we just need to get you fixed up. Liza is very—”
Mitchell held up a palm. “I know,” he said more snappily than he meant to. “But it’s complicated.” He began to walk over toward Russ.
“That’s life,” Barry called after him.
Russ gripped a clipboard and his hair was sticking up from stressfully running his hand through it. “Mitchell?” he frowned. “You’re back?”
“I’m reporting for duty.”
“Right. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Any reason?” Mitchell asked sharply, not liking the feeling that everyone and everything could function without him. “My holidays have ended.”
“Well...” Russ hesitated. “I just heard you harassed one of the contractors, desperate to get to a padlock. Then, very strangely, a whole panel of them went missing overnight. I wondered if you’re okay...you know, emotionally?”
Mitchell worked his jaw. He could feel his neck flooding with color.
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
“Um...” Mitchell said.
Russ raised an eyebrow. “I can watch the CCTV footage.”
Mitchell felt like he was sinking into quicksand. He furiously grasped for things he could say, that might get him out of trouble. But he was enough of a disappointment to himself already without resorting to lying, too. Instead, he found a sheepish shrug.
“I see. Well, I think you should go home, Fisher.” Russ glanced at his clipboard. “Take some time out.”