Mitchell scowled. “I’m absolutely fine. I’ll carry on.”
“You’re not hearing me. I know you’ve been through some tough times in your personal life. You saved someone and ended up in hospital. You’ve been acting rather strangely. Your well-being is important.”
“Yes, but—”
Russ held up a hand. “You know the council mantra—a supportive working environment for all. There are important celebrations coming up and our team is in line for a few awards. I need things to run smoothly, so I’ll see you back at work in seven days. Take more time off, if you need it.”
“No,” Mitchell protested. His fingers gripped the handle of his toolbox. His job gave structure to his life, holding it up like scaffolding around an unstable building. Without it, the structure might collapse. If he could work and fill his time, he’d feel okay again. He’d lost the Bradfields and he couldn’t lose his job, too. “I want to work. I have to be here.”
“Go home.”
“No.” He heard his own desperation in that one word.
Russ fixed Mitchell with a concerned stare. He tucked his clipboard under his arm. “Then you leave me with no choice. Mitchell Fisher, you’re officially suspended for a week.”
Mitchell mouth slackened. “You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can. We’ll pay you while you’re off. Now, take your toolbox, go home and sort your head out. It’s for your own good.”
Mitchell opened his mouth to protest, but Russ waved to a man in a yellow hard hat and strode away.
Mitchell sloped back across the bridge and found Barry had gone. There were no cars or couples, only him, alone.
When he reached the street, he trudged alongside the river past a florist booth where the heads of the blooms hung heavy with rain on their petals. A hole in the canopy of a fruit and vegetable stand allowed water to cascade down onto the melons. An earthy smell rose up from the river, and the grass verge was marred with mulchy black mud. He didn’t know where he was heading and felt like he was wading through a swamp.
He longed to go home, not to his apartment, but to the house he shared with his family, to make daisy chains with Poppy and watch TV cuddled up with Anita. For a while, he shut his eyes as he walked, imagining reaching out with a key in his hand. He always felt she was still at home with glittery, crafty things on her lap. His fingers twitched in his pockets, wanting to run his hand through her curls one more time.
When a siren pierced the air, breaking his thoughts, Mitchell stumbled over a pile of soggy boxes. His eyes snapped back open.
A police car and an ambulance were parked on the pavement, their blue lights spinning. A car had smashed into a wall and crumpled like a cereal box. Steam rose from its bonnet.
Mitchell came to an abrupt halt, as if he’d smacked into the wall himself. As he surveyed the scene, his eyes filled with tears so everything blurred.
A picture of Anita’s accident flashed into his head. He’d seen her crushed car in the pages of a newspaper.
And now, he swore he could hear her car tires squeal against wet pavement and the thud and hiss of metal hitting metal. He pictured her pretty face, pressed into an airbag. Granules of windscreen glass speckled on the road like salt crystals.
It felt so real to him that he shuddered, suddenly chilled to the bone.
His face puckered as he furiously blinked away the tears that spilled down his face. He wiped them with his wrist and straightened his back, trying to defy his emotions.
A policewoman eyed and then approached him. “Are you feeling okay, sir?” she asked. She was petite with dark skin and ebony eyes.
Mitchell stared ahead, not wanting to look at her. “Yes. Um, just something in my eye.” He moved away and could still feel her watching him.
“Sir?” she called out.
“I’m fine.” He waved a dismissive hand.
I’m just tired of letting everyone down, he thought. Including myself.
* * *
Mitchell had never felt so glad to see the white bricks of Angel House. The rain had soaked his clothes and small puddles shimmered on the top of his toolbox. His socks were soggy and squelched at the end of his shoes. He walked past the Dala café and caught sight of his reflection in the window. His clothes hung off him, wet and too large, and his hair was plastered against his forehead.
Just look at the state of you. What would Anita think if she saw you now?
Only three years ago, he was a family man, with everything he could ever want in life. He had a loving, supportive partner, a career, an amazing daughter and a family home. He had done a great job of ruining it all.
And now he’d stamped on a burgeoning friendship with someone who was simply wonderful.
Liza.
His chest felt like it was filled with sharp tacks.
Mitchell saw Carl ahead of him with a broom in hand, brushing vigorously at white stuff smeared on the pavement. It looked like a dozen ice creams had been dropped at the same time.
“Pigeon poo,” Carl said as he noticed Mitchell approaching. He gestured to the top of the building where the gutters were streaked with white vertical stripes, like stalactites. “I don’t know where all those birds have come from, or why they’re using our roof as a toilet. Any idea, Mr. Fisher?”
Mitchell pictured the piles of oats that he and Poppy sprinkled onto the slates. “Maybe they like the view,” he murmured. Not in the mood for any further conversation, he tried to edge away.
“Do you know your eyes are all pink, Mr. Fisher?” Carl asked.
“Hmph.”
As Mitchell neared the entrance doors to the building, his foot slipped on the white mess. His legs shot out from under him and he banged down onto the pavement, landing on his tailbone. Pain shot through his body and his toolbox crashed down onto his knees.
Carl dropped his broom and ran to his aid. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fisher. I should have cleaned this mess up sooner. Are you okay?”
“It’s not your fault,” Mitchell said through clenched teeth. “It’s mine.”
“How can it possibly be yours?”
Mitchell managed to get to his feet. He picked up his toolbox and limped toward the front steps, not wanting Carl’s sympathy.
“The lift has stopped working again,” the concierge called after him. “It was fine earlier on, then, kaput.”
Mitchell gritted his teeth.
“Oh, and something arrived for you this morning. I left it outside your door on the landing. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Mitchell blinked against the rain. “It’s all absolutely fine,” he grimaced. He opened the door to Angel House and maneuvered his toolbox inside.