LIZA’S LETTER
As Mitchell jogged across the city with Poppy, he looked out for a cab to hail on the way. However, at almost 11:00 p.m. on a Saturday evening, all the taxis were occupied. If he phoned for one, it might take half an hour to arrive.
When he and Poppy ran over Redford, Mitchell didn’t think about Yvette’s yellow dress or where she hung her heart-shaped padlock. He didn’t picture anything in his mind other than Liza.
At the end of the bridge, they stopped for a short while, panting together as they caught their breath. Then their feet were busy again, beating rhythmically against the pavement.
They passed late-night café bars where friends lounged around small plastic tables, drinking coffees and beers. They traversed around the street cleaners who were already tackling the day’s rubbish on the pavements. A queue of people snaked from a crepe van, and the sharp smell of lemon contrasted with the warm smell of melting sugar. On another night, Mitchell would have stopped and bought Poppy a sweet treat. But for now, they had to concentrate on their mission.
When they eventually reached Liza’s house, Mitchell marveled at how Poppy managed to look so calm and collected while he wheezed like an old man.
The lights were on both downstairs and up, and he saw a TV flickering in the sitting room that told him someone was home. There were no cars parked on the street to indicate that Sheila or Naomi might be visiting.
Mitchell took a moment to compose himself. He smoothed down his lapels and fastened a button on his suit jacket that had come undone. He made sure the white rose in his buttonhole was neat and tidy. Only then did he reach inside his breast pocket and take out the letter to Liza.
Mitchell’s heart thumped as he rang her doorbell. He listened for her footsteps in the hallway, or a jingle of her keys in the lock, but no one came to the door. There was a small thud from inside the house and Sasha jumped up onto the windowsill to stare at him, her breath fogging up the pane of glass as she made a wet smear with her nose.
Mitchell could see the expectation and hope etched upon Poppy’s face, and he felt it, too. He yearned for Liza to answer the door with a “Hey,” and a smile.
He pressed the doorbell again. A curtain twitched at the upstairs window, but after a few more minutes, Liza still hadn’t answered.
“I don’t think she’s home,” Poppy said, trying to sound chirpy, though he could tell she didn’t believe her own words.
Mitchell wanted to ring the doorbell again, but he didn’t want to harass her if she wasn’t ready, or interested in seeing him again.
“Are you going to post her letter instead?”
He nodded glumly. “It’s the only option.”
Mitchell took a pen out of his jacket pocket and rested the letter flat against the wall. He wrote an additional note to Liza on the envelope.
Dearest Liza,
Poppy and I called for you at 11:30 p.m. tonight. We’d hang around but I promised Graham we’d be back to the Jupiter Hotel by midnight, for his last wedding dance.
I hope to see you soon, and Poppy says hello, too.
Mitchell
He read over his note then inserted a small arrow on the line above his name. In very small letters, he added the word Love.
Then he posted the letter through her door.
When he looked back at Poppy, she looked smaller, standing in the shadows. “Come on,” he said. “Liza can read what I’ve written and take time to think about things.”
“I know. It’s just... Well, I miss her.”
He pursed his lips, understanding. “I know. And I do, too.”
He placed his arm around her shoulder and they walked back along the street together and onto a main road. Their footsteps were slower, more forlorn, and Mitchell glanced back intermittently at Liza’s house.
Poppy tugged his sleeve. “Come on, Dad. There’s nothing you can do. We need to get back for Graham’s dance.”
He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened. “We only have twenty minutes. We can’t make it on foot. I’ll have to try to hail a cab.”
Poppy looked around her doubtfully.
The traffic was busy and Mitchell felt as if he’d been dropped inside a computer game as cars shifted past him at speed. He lifted his head, up and down, to try to locate a taxi with its light on. He’d always meant to download Uber, but he and Poppy usually got around the city on the bus just fine.
“What are we going to do, Dad?”
Mitchell performed some calculations in his head. If they caught a bus in the next couple of minutes, they might just about make it. He held Poppy’s hand tightly. “Let’s hurry along to the bus stop.”
As they sped toward it, three beeps pierced the air above the noise of the other traffic. A car pulled up alongside them and the window wound down. Liza leaned over toward them. “Hop in,” she said.
Mitchell stared at her as if he’d seen an angel. “You’re here.”
“Yes. You’re not hallucinating.”
Poppy opened the rear door and slid into the car without question. Mitchell was slower at joining Liza in the passenger seat, still surprised she was here.
“We called at your house,” he said.
“I know. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see you at first. I hid upstairs, but then I heard my letter box rattle—and I read you have to get somewhere very quickly. I can take you there.”
He swallowed nervously. “Have you read my full letter?”
“Yes. And we have lots to talk about. But for now, fasten your seat belt.” She beeped and deftly pulled out, leaning forward in her seat so her nose wasn’t far from the windscreen. Rousing classical music played on the car radio. “This is a fantastic tune to drive along to.”
“Just so you know—I meant every word in my letter,” Mitchell said.
She didn’t reply, but gave him a quick smile that he couldn’t decipher. “Sorry I took a while to get to you. I mean, a girl needs time to choose her shoes, even in a rush. I went for the fuchsia pink ones.”
“Good choice,” Poppy said from the back.
“Thank you, kind miss.”
They drove past the five bridges, which looked so different at night, each lit up and seeming like they were floating above the river that flowed black, unseen, beneath them.
Liza glanced over at Redford. “I can see the appeal of that redbrick bridge more now,” she said. “Never noticed it before. It looks rather solid and handsome.”
“I’m getting to appreciate the new white Yacht one,” Mitchell said. “It’s different but stunning.”