A padlock.
He gritted his teeth as the woman stepped towards the railing and stooped to secure her lock. After straightening back up, she tossed its key into the river and peered down at the water. She brushed her hair back with her hand then patted her ear. Her forehead furrowed and she spun around on the spot, searching on the pavement. She then looked over the railing at the narrow ledge on the other side.
Mitchell wondered what she’d lost, but told himself he didn’t have time to help her to find it anyway.
His view of her was obstructed by a young man carrying a large shiny shovel on his shoulder and a few other passersby. When he saw the woman again she was leaning over the railing on her tiptoes, reaching for something on the other side. Her fingers padded around and she raised a leg off the ground, pointing her foot to balance herself as if performing a ballet move.
A feeling of worry reared up inside him at her precarious position. ‘Hey, be careful,’ he called out.
His view was interrupted again by a large group of students traipsing along. When they had passed, Mitchell stared at the spot where the woman had stood. Except she was no longer there.
He saw a flash of her yellow dress through the railings, vivid in the rushing river below.
‘Damn,’ he said out loud.
And in that split second, all thoughts of Anita flew from his mind. He dropped his toolbox to the ground, ran and swung his legs over the railing with ease.
When the base of his back caught against the ledge on the other side, he knew a jolt of pain should accompany it, but Mitchell didn’t feel anything as he crashed down into the violent water.
Mitchell had never been a strong swimmer. He hadn’t been that great at any sports or classes in school, except for physics, where he loved learning about fulcrums, loads and motion. He and Poppy used to enjoy swimming sessions together until recently, when she got out of the pool after a couple of lengths, arms folded. ‘I like swimming with Mum better,’ she said. ‘This isn’t as fun. You always set targets for me.’ And she hadn’t wanted to go to the pool with him since.
As Mitchell plunged into the river, icy cold water gushed over his head and plugged his ears. When he stopped sinking, he pushed upwards and broke to the surface with a gasp. He squinted and saw the woman in the yellow dress was twenty metres or so in front of him, being sucked along by a strong torrent. She flailed her arms, clutching at the air, before her head disappeared underwater.
People along the street at the side of the river slowed to stop and watch, gaping down at the crisis occurring in front of them. Mitchell was only vaguely aware of them as he kicked off his shoes and began to swim.
He arched one arm and then the other, kicking his legs as quickly as he could. After every few strokes, he fixed his eyes on the woman as she was swept along. ‘Hold on,’ he called out, spitting out the bitter water that filled his mouth. ‘I’m coming for you.’
He urged himself onwards, but although he was using all his strength, it felt like he wasn’t moving anywhere. He clenched his jaw as the river tugged him backwards, like it had strong arms wrapped around his thighs. The young man who drowned last summer had lost his battle against the currents that swirled forcefully beneath the surface.
Mitchell pushed himself to swim harder, trying to find a rhythm with his limbs. One-two, one-two, one-two. He lost all sense of the geography of the city. All he could see was greyness sloshing around him, and a circle of yellow fabric in front of him like a beacon.
Fear made him focus. The dread of not reaching her, not managing to save her, pushed him onwards.
Pain seared across his shoulders, and his throat tightened so much his breath was shallow through his nose. He told himself he was getting closer to her, mind over matter, but he wasn’t really sure.
After what seemed like forever, he spotted a fallen tree, split by lightning in a storm, that hung over the river at a right angle. The flow of water suddenly pulled the woman towards it, and spindly branches stuck out like daggers to greet her. Mitchell watched as she became entangled in them, and then she was gone from his sight.
He thrust his face into the water, swimming harder than ever before. All he could see was blackness until he felt something sharp scrape his arm, and he was there alongside the tree. Next to her.
A section of her dress had snagged on a branch and the rest of it billowed around her.
He fought against the branches to reach her and took her into his arms. While treading water, he gently lifted her chin with his fingers. ‘Are you okay?’ he spluttered. ‘Can you talk?’
Her lips moved, but she didn’t reply. Her face was ashen and strands of her wet hair hung down over her eyes.
‘Try to hold on to me, if you can. I’m going to swim and get us both to safety.’
Mitchell unhooked her dress from the tree and managed to recall snippets of the few lifesaving sessions he’d watched Poppy have at the pool. He helped the woman to lie on her back and, after cupping his hand under her chin, he swam backwards, pulling her along with him.
Fortunately, he found a calmer current that assisted their movements.
The riverbank was lower on one side than the other, with a long grass verge in front of a series of waterfront bars. Mitchell headed towards them, his eyes intermittently flicking between the woman’s face and his destination.
‘We’re nearly there,’ he said. ‘Only a bit further. You’re doing so well.’
A few people stood, clutching pints of beer and staring at him as if he was competing in a swimming race. The edge of the river shallowed and Mitchell pushed himself forwards onto the grass and pulled the woman out of the water. She lay in his arms with the back of her head pressed against his chest. ‘You’re okay. You’re safe,’ he blurted with relief.
They stayed there together, his arms wrapped around her as the blazing sun warmed their cold bodies.
The woman’s eyes were shut, but her eyelashes danced against her cheeks and she smiled serenely.
This moment, being here with her, reminded Mitchell of the contradictory mixture of stillness and exhilaration he felt when Poppy was born, when he first held her in his arms. Anita had smiled at him weakly and he had wanted to burst into tears and laugh at the same time, as exhaustion, joy and responsibility sent his feelings into a tailspin. When he looked down at the woman, he pictured Anita with her damp curls pressed against her forehead. The closeness to this stranger, her body in his arms, was both tender and unnerving and his hand shook when he brushed her hair away from her eyes.
She squinted against the daylight. ‘What happened?’ she rasped. ‘Where am I?’
‘My name is Mitchell Fisher. You were standing on a bridge in Upchester, attaching a padlock. I think you dropped something and were looking for it. You leaned right over the railing and fell.’ He held his breath for a while. ‘You could have got yourself killed.’
She smiled weakly and reached up to take his hand. Their wet fingers entwined tightly. ‘I’m so clumsy recently. I don’t make a habit of this, honestly. I usually just knock glasses of wine over or forget my door keys.’
Mitchell liked how she managed