Chapter 10 #4
He shakes his head.
‘Could you do something to the bridge that makes it stronger, so it can take the weight? Like steel girders or something?’
He laughs.
‘I don’t know what that means but it seems like something that should be on a bridge. Steel girder,’ she says, deepening her voice and tensing her muscles.
He shakes his head again, still chuckling.
‘Could we put the love locks somewhere else, on another bridge?’
‘Moving the locks to another bridge would have the same effect. The locks are too heavy, they compromise the bridge’s structural integrity, making it a risk for the bridge and anyone who walks across it. Even with your macho steel girders,’ he smiles.
Gosh he’s sexy when he talks about integrity, even if it is a bridge’s.
‘Look, I helped the team out, cutting the locks off with a bolt cutter. It took me hours to clear a tiny part of the bridge and fill a bag with locks that I could barely lift. That’s a lot of weight on the bridge.
Most locks weigh between fifty to ninety grams so let’s take a neat seventy-five grams as our average.
There were tens of thousands of locks on that bridge.
And it took you six flights of stairs to come up with that as a strategy? ’
‘There were actually three strategies there. One was get the locks back, two was to install the steel girders on the Grace Plunkett Bridge, and three was putting them on an entirely different bridge. That’s three separate thoughts I had.’
He puts his hands in his pockets and smirks.
‘You said in one of the newspapers that the locks were the weight of five elephants. Would that be baby elephants or …’
‘Big massive fat granddad elephants.’
She laughs. ‘But even that information could be helpful for the pod. The weight of a lock. That’s something I didn’t know. What is the weight of love …?’ She’s grasping at straws.
‘There was another problem I didn’t even mention.
The risk of grazes and cuts from protruding locks was an issue too, people sue for everything these days.
Even if the bridge didn’t collapse, somebody would lean on the rail and cut themselves.
And who’d get blamed?’ He lowers his voice and moves in conspiratorially, so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek.
‘Like they get blamed for everything around here?’
She swallows. ‘Corporate greed?’
He laughs. She likes the sound of his laugh. He opens his mouth wide, leans his head back, laughs up to the ceiling as though he’s trying to catch snowflakes in his mouth.
‘Could we at least give the padlocks back to the people? I’m sure you have at least forty addresses in your office right now.’
‘I was instructed by my boss to send them to a recycling centre.’
‘Are they going to come back out as tote bags reading I used to be a love lock? Sorry.’ She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.
‘I didn’t get any sleep last night, I’m delirious now, but I bought a tote bag that read I used to be a fridge, and I just can’t figure it out. Like, which part of the fridge?’
‘All valid thoughts,’ he says softly, which makes her smile.
He thinks deeply. ‘Even if I still did have the locks, they aren’t your property so I couldn’t officially hand them over to you.
And how would you get them back to each and every person who owns them? This seems to have international legs.’
‘That part would be my problem to worry about, not yours.’
‘They’re the property of Dublin City Council now. They took ownership of them when they were removed.’
‘Can I buy the molten metal? Give drops of them to my listeners?’
‘You would have to discuss that with the metal recycling company.’
‘Would Dublin City Council sell them to me?’
‘That’s not my area, I’m afraid.’
‘Who should I call in Dublin City Council? Give me a name.’
‘I’ll have to get back to you on that one.’
‘Would you like my phone number?’
He bites his lip and again those dimples appear. ‘Fine. What’s your number?’
‘Maybe you should give me yours in case you don’t call.’
‘Oh, I’ll call.’
Saying those words seem to take him by surprise, because he looks up, crinkled forehead, to check Melody’s reaction. She smiles and recites her number and he types it into his phone.
She studies him. Broad, muscular shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, she bets his thighs are as hard as rocks too. She studies his face, so handsome, beautiful blue eyes, which appear honest, apart from once when they looked up and to the right before answering her.
Suddenly her phone vibrates in her pocket.
‘That’s me,’ he says, ending the call.
‘I should let you get back to work. Thank you for your time.’
‘You’re welcome. I enjoyed it.’ A bubble of a laugh travels from his chest and escapes his lips.
‘I think you still have the locks,’ she says softly, starting to walk away.
He rolls his eyes. ‘How many times have I told you that I was instructed by my boss to send them to the recycling centre. Would you like to speak to him?’
She calls his bluff and stops walking. ‘Actually, yes. I have time.’
He laughs again. ‘Melody.’
The ease with which he says her name.
‘Al,’ she replies in the same tone as his.
Yes, now they are definitely flirting.
‘Okay, at least I tried. It was nice to meet you, Al. Thanks for taking me seriously.’
‘I didn’t really,’ he teases. ‘It was nice to meet you too, Melody. Good luck.’
‘I’ll hear from you soon when you send me the Dublin City Council phone contact details,’ she sings.
‘Okay,’ he sings back.
She’s about to go through the revolving door, which is now taped up with heavy-duty black tape, with the scooter in her hands, folded this time, when the security guard runs ahead of her and opens the wheelchair accessible door wide for her.
She hears Al laughing good-naturedly behind her, and she grins into the cold January air, feeling warmth from head to toe.