The Secrets of Love Story Bridge - Phaedra Patrick Page 0,1

a metal snake. He stopped for a moment and narrowed his eyes as a young couple strolled toward him. The woman glided in a floaty white dress and tan cowboy boots. The man wore shorts and had the physique of an American football player. With his experience of carrying out maintenance across the city’s public areas, Mitchell instinctively knew they were up to something.

After breaking away from his girlfriend, the man walked to the side of the bridge while nonchalantly pulling out a large silver padlock from his pocket.

Mitchell tightened his grip on his cutters. He was once so easy and in love with Anita, but rules were rules. “Excuse me,” he called out. “You can’t hang that lock.”

The man frowned and crossed his bulging arms. “Oh, yeah? And who’s going to stop me?”

Mitchell had the sinewy physique of a sprinter. He was angular all over with dark hair and eyes and a handsome dorsal hump on his nose. “I am,” he said and put his cutters down on the pavement. He held out his hand for the lock. “It’s my job to clear the bridges. You could get a fine.”

Anger flashed across the blond man’s face and he batted Mitchell’s hand away, swiping off his work glove. Mitchell watched as it tumbled down into the river below. Sometimes the water flowed prettily, but today it gushed and gurgled, a bruise-gray hue. A young man had drowned here in a strong current last summer.

The man’s girlfriend wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s waist and tugged him away. “Come on. Leave him alone.” She cast Mitchell an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but we’re so in love. It took us two hours and three buses to get here. We’ll be working miles away from each other soon. Please let us do this.”

The man looked into her eyes and softened. “Yeah, um, sorry, mate,” he said sheepishly. “The heat got the better of me. All we want to do is fasten our lock.”

Mitchell gestured at the sign again. “Just think about what you’re doing, guys,” he said with a weary sigh. “Padlocks are cheap chunks of metal and they’re weighing down the bridges. Can’t you get a nice ring or tattoo instead? Or write letters to each other? There are better ways to say I lov—well, you know.”

The man and the woman shared an incredulous look.

“Whatever.” The man glowered and shoved his padlock back into his pocket. “We’ll go to another bridge instead.”

“I work on those, too...”

The couple laughed at him and sauntered away.

Mitchell rubbed his nose. He knew his job wasn’t a glamorous one. It wasn’t the one in architecture he’d studied hard and trained for. However, it meant he could pay the rent on his apartment and buy Poppy hot lunch at school each day. Whatever daily hassle he put up with, he needed the work.

His workmate Barry had watched the incident from the other side of the road. Sweat circled under his arms and his forehead shone like a mirror as he crossed over. “The padlocks keep multiplying,” he groaned.

“We need to keep on going.”

“But it’s too damn hot.” Barry undid a button on his polo shirt, showing off unruly chest curls that matched the ones on his head. “It’s a violation of our human rights, and no one can tell if we cut off twenty or two hundred.”

Mitchell held his hand up against the glare of the sun. “We can tell, and Russ wants the bridges cleared in time for the city centenary celebrations.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “There’s only three weeks to go until then. Our boss should come down here and get his hands dirty, too. At least join me for a pint after work.”

Mitchell’s mouth felt parched, and he suddenly longed for an ice-cold beer. A vision of peeling off his polo shirt and socks and relaxing in a beer garden appeared like a dreamy mirage in his head.

But he had to pick Poppy up from the after-school club to take her for a guitar lesson, an additional one to her music class in school. Her head teacher, Miss Heathcliff, was a stickler for the school closing promptly at 5:30 p.m., and it was a rush to get there on time. He lowered his eyes and said, “I’d love to, but I have to dash off later.”

Then he selected his next padlock to attack.

* * *

Toward the end of their working day, Barry sidled up to Mitchell and wiped his brow. He crouched and packed up his toolbox