you are?’
‘In prison?’ He eyed the pills with suspicion. ‘I’m totally fine, genuinely. Do I really need to take these? Don’t I have to sign something to agree to it? What are the rules about these things? I just want to leave.’
She looked at him disparagingly. ‘Just take the tablets, please, Mr Fisher. You’re not going anywhere until I say so. Those are my rules.’
Half an hour later, Barry arrived. He wore faded double denim and his chest hair spewed out from the open neck of his shirt. ‘I’ve seen you looking better, mate. You feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Mitchell strained forward. ‘But how’s Poppy? Is she okay? Was she upset?’
Barry moved the bag off the chair and sat down. ‘No need to worry. The school called me when you didn’t show up and they couldn’t reach you. The hospital found some council ID in your pocket and rang me, too, to say you’d been brought in. I collected Poppy from school and told her you’d been in an accident but were fine. She was a bit shaken, though still wanted to go to her music lesson rather than for a burger with me. She had an appointment card with the teacher’s address on it.’ He reached in his pocket and handed it to Mitchell before looking around him. ‘God, I hate these places.’
Mitchell did, too. He refused to think about the last time he was here in the hospital with Anita. The memories were beginning to seep back and he tried to banish them by talking quickly. ‘Thanks. I’ve not met Miss Bradfield properly yet, just spoken to her on the phone.’
‘She’s really nice and said it’s no problem if you’re late to pick Poppy up. She’ll feed her, too.’ Barry leaned down and deposited a pair of shoes on top of Mitchell’s bedsheets. ‘I’ve brought you some dry ones.’
Mitchell turned one over. ‘Thanks. Um, they’re two sizes too small.’
‘They’re good shoes, though, got nice laces. I’ll leave them anyway. Do you know you’ve been on the local news?’
Mitchell gaped at him. ‘On TV?’
‘Online.’ Barry located a photo on his phone of Mitchell sitting on the riverbank dripping wet, his head bowed. ‘The reporter called you the Hero on the Bridge.’
‘That’s rubbish, anyone would have done the same.’ Mitchell pictured the woman in the yellow dress standing on the bridge, wearing her enigmatic smile. He wondered again why she thought she knew him. ‘What did they say about the woman? Is she okay? What’s her name?’
‘It only really mentions you. This stuff gets updated all the time, though.’ He put his phone away. ‘You really don’t need this drama in your life, do you?’
‘I’ve spoiled your evening and lost my toolbox,’ Mitchell said glumly. ‘You had a date lined up.’
‘Nah, it’s fine. I had a quick beer with Mandy before I got the call about you. She was nice, but…’ He squirmed. ‘I’m seeing Megan later. I’ve met her before, but it was messy. We had a great time, until her husband rocked up and wanted to take the party back to his place. Totally awkward.’
Mitchell stared at him in disbelief.
Barry held a palm up. ‘I didn’t go,’ he said defensively. ‘Anyway, I’m meeting Tina tomorrow. She’s an artist.’
The number of women’s names spilling from Barry’s lips made Mitchell’s temples throb. ‘Good luck, Casanova,’ he said.
Barry stayed with Mitchell a while longer before excusing himself to meet Megan. ‘I’ll ask around about your toolbox,’ he said. ‘Make enquiries.’
‘Thanks, the tools cost me a packet.’
After Barry left, Mitchell lay in bed, stewing and urging Samantha to reappear. When she eventually returned with a clip file and paperwork, she removed the tube from the back of his hand and stuck a plaster on it. ‘Yes, you do have to legally sign these papers to discharge yourself,’ she said and handed him a pen. ‘You have an appointment at the clinic here next week to have your stitches removed. I’ll give you a leaflet about concussions to read. Your back is bruised and might be sore for a while.’
Mitchell closed the curtains around his bed and sat down heavily on the mattress. His polo shirt still had patches of dampness and felt strangely stiff. After pulling on his trousers, he stuffed his keys, wallet and phone into his back pockets.
The realization of what he’d done was beginning to dawn on him.
He wasn’t a hero at all. He was a stupid person for putting himself in danger, when the outcome could have been a lot worse.
If he hadn’t felt a flicker of interest for the woman in the yellow dress, he would have walked on by and not seen her fall. He wouldn’t have spotted the padlock in her hands. Helping her had triggered a chain of events he wished hadn’t been set in motion.
A sob suddenly reared inside him, threatening to break out like a lion’s roar, and he gulped it away. He dropped Barry’s shoes to the floor and tried to stuff his foot inside one of them, even though he knew it wouldn’t fit. When he bent down to pick them back up, tears blurred his eyes and he clutched the shoes to his chest like a child with a teddy bear.
It was his job to put Poppy first and he’d let her down.
As he pulled back the curtain from around the bed and stepped beyond it, he took a pained breath.
When he shuffled off the ward, guilt clenched his gut that he’d been able to help a stranger, but not Anita.
Mitchell eased himself into a taxi outside the hospital and asked the driver to take him across the city to Miss Bradfield’s house. Anita had always spoken of arranging for Poppy to take extra music lessons and the teacher came highly recommended by another parent. She gave independent lessons in the evening, as well as her daytime job teaching in several local schools, including Poppy’s school, Hinchward primary.
As his damp trousers squeaked against the leather car seat, Mitchell watched the red illuminated digits of the taxi fare rolling higher and higher. The cost distressed him almost as much as his aching body.
Budgeting for him and Poppy was always tight. Things like family days at theme parks, lunch without thinking about the bill and popcorn buckets at the cinema were resigned to the past. Now he scoured the internet for cheap things for them to do together. He had discovered that strolls in the countryside, making cheese sandwiches and attending free events in libraries were just as much fun, and provided the opportunity to chat with Poppy more. Or it meant he could try.
Sometimes Poppy still swung his hand in hers, chitchatting away about school and new songs her friends had downloaded. Other times she wore a cloak of sadness that he couldn’t break through.
‘I
