raised her head. ‘Aren’t those padlocks on the bridges supposed to be love tokens or something?’
‘People call them love locks. They leave names or messages on them.’
‘Hmm, I’d never think to do that.’ She twirled a thread on her shorts around on her finger until it snapped.
‘Is there something wrong, Miss Bradfield?’ Mitchell asked her cautiously.
‘Oh, just call me Liza.’
‘Told you,’ Poppy chirruped.
Mitchell shook his head to show her this wasn’t the right time. ‘Okay, Liza. And please call me Mitchell.’
‘Well, Mitchell.’ She found a small smile. ‘The thing is, Yvette went missing almost twelve months ago. Vanished.’
His forehead wrinkled. ‘Um, missing?’
‘She disappeared in July last year. And you’re the only person I know to have seen her since.’ She said it as if it was an accusation or a challenge to him.
Mitchell closed his eyes, trying to make sense of this. ‘Disappeared?’ he repeated.
‘Walked out of her life without a word. Didn’t let Mum, Naomi or me know about it.’
He searched for something to say. ‘Do the police know about this?’
She sighed, exasperated. ‘The police won’t treat her as a missing person because she writes to me sometimes. So, they wouldn’t be interested that you saw her. Too busy with burglars and petty theft and fights in bars…’
‘Liza, Liza.’ A voice rang through from the back garden.
‘Duty calls.’ Liza shrugged. ‘Will you get back in touch with me if you think of anything—’ Her words choked up. ‘Anything at all that might help me find her again?’
‘Of course, though I’ve told you all I know,’ he said.
She nodded slightly. ‘In two weeks, Yvette will have been missing for exactly twelve months. I want her home by then. I promised Mum. A year is too long without my sister. We’ve got to get her back.’
Mitchell’s head ached as he tried to think what he could possibly offer. ‘Yvette attached a padlock… There could be something written on it.’
Her eyes lit with hope. ‘Really?’
‘Sometimes there are only initials on the locks, or nothing at all,’ he reconsidered out loud, not wanting to raise her hopes.
‘But if there is, it could be a clue.’
‘Finding it again will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
Liza rubbed under her eye. ‘Will it even still be there?’
‘It may have been cut off,’ Mitchell said. Then he thought about how slowly Barry worked. ‘But yes, it probably is.’
‘Then I need to see it.’ Liza sat upright. ‘You’ve brought us a fresh lead, Mitchell. Will you help me to find that lock?’
Mitchell shifted uncomfortably at her ask, a knot forming in his stomach. He didn’t need any more complications in his life. But when he looked over at Poppy, her eyes urged him to say yes. Her words about no one being there to help her mum felt branded into his brain. Maybe he could do something this time around.
‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Mitchell was usually like a coiled spring, ready to take up his bolt cutters and get to work. However, today his movements were slower because of his sore back and aching limbs. He felt glum rather than determined when he saw all the locks stretching out in front of him. When he trudged over to Redford, he found Barry working there.
Barry cut through a shackle and kicked the lock across the pavement. He rubbed his neck and stared at his mobile phone before he noticed Mitchell. ‘I can’t work in this heat,’ he groaned. ‘Just look at the amount of locks now. We need a drastic solution here.’
Mitchell surveyed the railings and for the first time ever, the size of the task removing the locks felt overwhelming. ‘A stick of dynamite might be the only option,’ he said.
‘It’s all down to you and me, mate. Russ isn’t going to help us.’
The word impossible appeared in Mitchell’s head and he ordered it to go away. All he could do was set to work and keep going. ‘Do you have any spare bolt cutters I can use?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, but they’re a bit rusty. I’ve asked around about your missing toolbox, too, but no luck. We could stick a note to the railing and see if anyone replies. I’ve got paper, a pen and sticky tape.’
‘That’s very organized, for you.’
Barry shrugged self-consciously. ‘Tina the artist said I should try out some landscape drawing, but that’s not going to happen.’
As the two men walked along Redford, Mitchell glanced at the river, and a shiver ran down his spine. The water wasn’t gushing as quickly today, but it looked cold and gun-metal grey. He thought of Yvette Bradfield’s smile and the gold heart-shaped padlock glinting in her hands.
We did share a connection, didn’t we? How does she know me?
‘I found out the woman I helped is Liza Bradfield’s sister Yvette,’ he told Barry. ‘But she’s been missing for almost a year, and the family have no idea where she is.’
Barry blew from the corner of his mouth. ‘Wow. Mind blown.’
‘I know. And now Liza wants me to find Yvette’s lock. She hopes it might provide a clue to her sister’s whereabouts.’
‘Can’t they put something on Facebook?’
‘I think they want to keep things in the family.’
Barry stared at the thousands of locks on the railings. ‘Hmph, you’ve got no chance.’ He picked up a thick black pen and wrote on a piece of paper ‘Lost toolbox (shiny metal). Award for safe return.’ ‘We should add your phone number to this,’ he said.
‘My mobile’s not working, and I don’t want to put my home number.’
Barry rooted around in his toolbox and handed a gnarled plastic mobile to Mitchell. ‘It’s a spare one, a bit bashed, but it works okay. You may get calls from
