“Me, too,” Beatrice murmured with a smile in her voice.
Mitchell paused, wondering what the etiquette was here, if he should ask to see her again. But Beatrice spoke first. “Please make sure the front door is closed properly when you leave.”
“Yes, of course.”
“It sticks sometimes.”
“Sorry,” Mitchell whispered, stubbing his toe against her bed as he slipped out of her room. And when he hurried away from Beatrice’s apartment, he said, “Sorry,” once more, this time to Anita.
Now he gripped Vanessa’s card in his hand. “I won’t go around for coffee. She might be a serial killer,” he joked at Poppy, trying to get her to agree. But she shook her head at him very slowly.
“She might just be lonely, Dad,” she said. “Like you.”
Mitchell stared at her for the longest time. “How can I be lonely when I have you?” he said and kissed the top of her head.
* * *
Later that night, Mitchell moved stiffly around Poppy’s bedroom, putting her books away, reminding her to put her worn clothes in the laundry basket and to choose her clothes for the next day. As she changed into her pajamas in the bathroom, he picked up his favorite family photo of him, Anita and Poppy at the top of Conwy Castle. Poppy had insisted they climb each of its towers, and afterward they’d rewarded themselves with huge ice creams.
After Poppy finished cleaning her teeth in the bathroom, she jumped up onto her bed. “Hop on, Dad,” she said, and Mitchell placed the photo back down.
Poppy’s bedroom had ceilings that met in a point, so it resembled the shape of a tent. A large window built into the slope of the roof opened outward, so she could stand on her bed and poke her head and shoulders through it.
They stood on the bed next to each other and looked out of the window at the night sky and the twinkling lights of the city. Laughter rang from the late-night cafés below, and at the edge of the silvery rooftops a pigeon lay huddled in the nearby gutter.
After they’d breathed in the night air for a while, Mitchell said, “Come on, Pops, it’s bedtime.”
She walked her fingers along the warm roof slates. “I miss our garden.”
“This is kind of outside space,” Mitchell said, his eyelids growing heavier.
“I could make daisy chains, and friends came over to play.”
“I loved it, too, but we go to the park. You see your friends at school.”
“It’s not the same.” She dropped down to her knees on her bed and sat with her head bowed. She picked up her floppy black cat, the last toy her mum had bought for her. “Can we go home one day, Dad?”
Mitchell shut his eyes and felt the same way. He missed their house and how Anita’s bras tangled up with his socks in the laundry basket. She sang when she smoothed new sheets onto the bed. He wished he could lounge outside on warm evenings and drink cider with her again.
He shut Poppy’s window, leaving a small gap, and sat down on the bed beside her. He took her hand in his, knowing the city apartment wasn’t ideal for a young girl. “I couldn’t afford to pay the rent on the house with only my wage coming in, especially after I switched jobs. Plus, living here I get to spend more time with you.”
She cocked her head and played with the bow around the cat’s neck. “One day, I’ll get a job. Then I’ll buy our old house,” she said with a wobble in her voice.
It was his impossible dream to buy one, too, and he turned off her main bedroom light. “Come on, Pops, it’s been a long day. You get some beauty sleep.”
“I’m beautiful enough. Mum says so.”
“And I agree, but you still need to sleep.”
Poppy turned and lay on her side. When she pulled her sheet up over her nose, her eyes shone with tears.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He dipped his head closer to her.
She gave a small sniff. “Will the woman you helped be okay?”
“Yes, she’ll be as right as rain,” Mitchell said, trying to convince himself as well as Poppy. He picked up her plait and gently brushed the end of her nose with it. “I left her with a doctor.”
She peered up at him. “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. I wished I’d asked her. But look, get some sleep and we’ll chat in the morning.”
She was quiet for just a second. “Was she pretty?”
Mitchell cleared his throat. “I didn’t notice.” But in his head, the woman smiled at him on the bridge and he saw the sunlight kissing the tip of her nose. He thought of Barry’s words, not to invite drama into his life, and knew it was good advice. He tugged Poppy’s sheet down to expose her face and her words tumbled out.
“I thought you weren’t coming to get me from school. You said you’d never be late, but you were, and Mum did the same thing...”
Her words made him sway. “The woman was in danger, and I was there.”
“I know, but...” She swallowed a sob.
Mitchell gathered her into his arms and they sat together in the dark. He held her until she grew drowsier and heavier in his arms. When her breathing slowed, he kissed her forehead and helped her settle under the covers before he stood back up.
As he moved away Poppy said quietly, “No one saved Mum.”
Her words felt like a thump to his gut, and he gripped the door frame. “People tried to...”
He waited for her reply, but it didn’t come as she drifted off to sleep. His footsteps were leaden as he walked back to his own bedroom and fell onto his bed, fully clothed. He took Anita’s sealed lilac envelope out of his bedside drawer and held it to his chest, still unable to open it.
After pulling out his notepad from under the bed, he clumsily took the top off his pen. He propped his head up with his hand and began to write.
Dearest Anita,
Something happened today and I wish you were here, so I could talk to you about it. I helped a lady who fell, but I wasn’t there for you...
His words stopped as a fog descended on his brain. Mitchell pushed himself to write more, but could only manage two additional words.
Love always
Then the pen slipped from his fingers, and his eyes fell shut as he slipped into a deep slumber.
6
EARRING
The next morning, Mitchell woke with alarm. His bedroom was brighter than usual, and his eyes shot open when he saw the time on his watch. He was already two hours late for work. He was still wearing his clothes and, when he kicked off the bedsheets, his writing pad skidded to the floor.