Phaedra Patrick - The Secrets of Sunshine

She wasn’t his usual type, with a round face and messy red hair when he was usually attracted to brunettes. But when she grinned at him, he liked how her eyes crinkled at the corners in a fan shape.

Mitchell asked for a cider, too, and they carried their drinks outside together, grumbling about the hot weather, and sat down at the only free table. She told him her name was Anita and she was waiting for a friend who was always late.

She raised her glass at him. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ He clinked his in return.

When Anita pressed her lips against the glass, she savoured every sip of the fizzy amber liquid as if it was the finest champagne, and Mitchell realized he actually fancied her. She was the kind of person who could find adventure in the simplest of things.

A delicious sensation tingled in his chest as he thought about where their conversation might take them both.

Mitchell closed his eyes as he drank his cider. However, when he opened them again, his glass had vanished from his hand. The table and the pub were no longer there. Anita had gone, too.

He woke up and found himself woozy and sore, lying on a hospital bed. There was an electronic beeping sound to his right, and a cannula tube taped to the back of his hand. He wore a starchy, patterned gown and a wristband with his name on it.

He forgot about his dream and tried to sit up. ‘ Poppy,’ he cried out.

A bag with an Upchester Hospital logo sat on a chair beside his bed and he could see his clothes were folded inside it. On top of the small table next to him, his keys, wallet and mobile phone were sealed inside a plastic bag that was foggy with condensation. He stretched to reach for it, but realized a nurse was pointing a finger at him from the end of the bed.

‘Leave that alone,’ she ordered.

Mitchell tried to sit up again. ‘You don’t understand—yow!’ A pain shot down his spine and he screwed his eyes shut.

‘What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?’

Mitchell opened one eye and took in the nurse’s blue uniform, tight black curls and steely brown eyes. ‘Sorry, but I need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘I’m late to get my daughter from school. She’ll be worried…’

‘Even if you have a dinner date with the queen, I’m not letting you go anywhere.’ Her name badge said Hello My Name is Samantha and it made her sound friendlier than she looked.

He clawed at the neck of his gown. ‘I’m absolutely fine, honestly.’

‘That’s for me to say, not you. As it stands, your oxygen levels, temperature and blood pressure are okay. You’ve had a CT scan, and the good news is you’ll be fine.’ She tapped the side of her own head. ‘You’ve had a couple of stitches.’

Mitchell felt like he’d been battered with a meat tenderizing hammer. He reached up to feel the spongy softness of gauze taped above his right ear. ‘Poppy’s only nine, and she has a guitar lesson. What time is it?’ When he saw a wall clock displayed 7.25 p.m., his insides cramped. ‘I have got to go .’

He imagined Poppy staring expectantly at her watch as the other kids were picked up from the club and she was left behind. She’d be twitchy, frightened even. Exactly the same as the fateful day Anita didn’t arrive to collect her.

‘You need to calm down,’ Samantha ordered. ‘Won’t her mum have things covered?’

Mitchell wondered why she’d assume this. He tried to reply, but the words stuck in his mouth. ‘No. She’s…’

Samantha crossed her arms expectantly.

‘There’s only me.’ Mitchell looked down at his hands. ‘Poppy’s mother… well, she died.’

Samantha unfolded her arms and fiddled with her name badge. ‘I’m very sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll find out what I can.’

Mitchell nodded. ‘Please.’

He’d never fully settled on how to describe Anita. She wasn’t his wife because they weren’t married, and they’d never got engaged. The word partner sounded like a business arrangement, and soul mate was too soppy. Girlfriend was too young, and the mother of my child suggested Poppy was the result of a one-night stand. He usually called her Poppy’s mum.

If he ever had to explain his circumstances, he often found himself consoling people, rather than the other way around.

‘You weren’t to know…’

‘I’m sorry to tell you…’

‘It’s one of those things…’

What he really wanted to say was, ‘Imagine being told you’ll never feel sunshine on your skin ever again. That’s what life is like without her. And every minute and hour of each day, I feel like it’s my fault she’s no longer here.’

But he kept this to himself.

He tried to picture himself as an armadillo, curled up against the world and displaying an armoured shell. Even though three years had passed, he still needed this protection.

Samantha returned a few minutes later. ‘Your friend Barry Waters is listed as an emergency contact at the school. I understand he picked up your daughter and took her to her music lesson.’

‘But that will have finished…’

‘That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.’ Samantha passed him a small paper cup that contained two round white tablets. ‘Are you allergic to paracetamol? Do you feel sick at all, or dizzy? Any memory loss? Do you know where 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?’