Page 18 of Love Unlocked

‘It’s a conspiracy theory,’ Ed says, because Prunella is not saying anything.

Something flickers across Prunella’s face. It’s like the robot is truly malfunctioning today. Maybe she and Jasper have a lock on the bridge and if Melody’s theory is true then Prunella and Jasper have split up, which would explain the tears before the podcast.

Melody continues. ‘For listeners who are confused, a love lock is a padlock, usually with initials and flowers and hearts and anniversary dates, and gooey lovely things all over it, and it’s secured to a bridge. The Grace Plunkett Bridge is a pedestrian bridge near Kilmainham Gaol known as a love bridge that people attach love locks to. People come from all over the world to lock their padlocks on the bridge, as a sign of their everlasting love, and then throw the keys into the river. I found a quote by the bridge guy who did a report about the effects of the love locks on the bridge. Obviously a man after my own stone frozen solid heart, Al Collins from Bridgespan, Ireland’s bridge maintenance service, said, and I’m paraphrasing, that the love locks needed to go before someone died as a result of some selfish people’s love.’

‘He didn’t say that,’ Prunella says, trying to grab the newspaper that Melody is reading from. Melody holds onto it.

‘No, he actually said …’ and Melody reads: ‘“While visitors find them romantic, the locks and specifically the weight of them, were not something the engineers thought about when designing the bridge. The thousands of locks were moved as part of Bridgespan’s perpetual battle for preservation.” They literally cut them all off with a bolt cutter, and in my opinion thereby severed the love of possibly thousands of people around the world.’ Melody looks at Prunella with a satisfied grin on her face. She might even have convinced herself. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think … it’s an interesting theory.’

‘I think I’m right. In fact even after saying it out loud, I believe it even more. If anyone is listening and has a love lock on the Grace Plunkett Bridge and has now broken up, please let us know. If you haven’t broken up, please explain why you bothered attaching a love lock to a bridge at all, because I can’t figure out why anyone does it. What value does it bring to a relationship?’

‘You’re such a love Grinch,’ Prunella finally says, finding her voice. ‘Please contact Melody and tell her why you’ve clamped your love lock to a bridge. Fill her dark cold heart with some love.’

‘And do you know what else you can do?’ Melody says. ‘Contact this bridge guy Al Collins at Bridgespan. Send him a good old-fashioned letter, I’ll provide his address for you at the end of the episode. Write to him – no emails – we want a good old-fashioned letter, we want bags and bags of your letters arriving to his office telling him you want your love lock back.’

They record on Thursdays and it airs on Monday. Instantly Melody has such a response to the episode she can’t believe it. There are a few emails from people to tell her about where in the world they left their love locks, and why. Some corny love stories and one devastating story about a couple who lost their baby and wanted to honour her by locking their love on a bridge. But the overwhelming response confirms her theory: on the day the love locks were removed from the bridge, hundreds of couples who had their locks on the bridge broke up.

She was awake most of the night reading through all of the DMs and messages she’d received on social media.

In the morning, Claire is sitting at the island counter, the marble surface covered in photographs. Melody sees ghastly photographs of body parts, with gruesome cuts and injuries. There are a selection of knives on the counter and a watermelon that has been sliced in half. Claire picks up a large knife and stabs it into the watermelon. It splashes its juice onto the counter. Claire studies the slice and then picks up the next knife. She stabs it again.

Wide-eyed, Melody walks at a distance around her. She takes a pot of plain Greek yoghurt from the fridge.

‘I had a love lock on a bridge in Amsterdam,’ Claire says, taking Melody by surprise.

She didn’t think that Claire even listened to her podcast. Her intellect intimidates Melody and she always feels like an idiot in her company. For the first few months living there, she used to switch her reality TV shows over to news stations when Claire came home.

‘It wasn’t my idea,’ Claire explains. ‘The guy I was dating wanted to do it and when he padlocked it to the bridge, with our names, and date, forever, it was the moment I knew I wanted to break up with him. He wanted to throw the key into the river, and I told him I wanted to do it. So I swung my arm back.’ She re-enacts it and Melody can imagine her in court, black glove on, sparkling knife in her hand as she re-enacts a bloody murder. ‘And I pretended to throw it. I pocketed the key instead. Then the next morning when he was asleep I got up early, went back to the bridge, and unlocked it.’

‘That would be a perfect story for my pod,’ Melody says, sitting at the counter and tucking into her yoghurt.

‘No,’ she says firmly and Melody doesn’t need to be told twice.

‘Did you break up with him?’

‘When we got home. Would have been an awkward plane journey.’

‘Sounds like something I’d do.’ Melody is surprised that Sam didn’t suggest a love lock on their travels. He was the romantic, thoughtful one while Melody ran a mile from gestures. She wasn’t much of a hand-holder either. She hated being limited to using one hand. ‘A love lock seems so final. So,’ she wraps her hands around her neck and squeezes.

‘Diane and I have a love lock on the Grace Plunkett Bridge,’ a voice says from the couch. It’s Tom. Melody didn’t realise he was still here.

Again, proof that her theory is correct!

‘You had a love lock,’ Claire says. ‘You obviously didn’t hear the breaking news on Melody’s podcast. The love locks were removed. They were too heavy for the bridge.’

Tom sits up. ‘Where are they now?’

Melody shrugs. ‘That’s a good question, but I urge you, as I did to my listeners, to send a strongly worded letter to the bridge guy who removed them. Al Collins. I can give you his address.’ She licks the spoon.

‘I imagine Dublin City Council sent them to scrap metal recycling,’ Claire says.

‘Our lock was a Louis Vuitton luggage lock, it cost a fortune.’

‘I’m pretty sure when you lock something on public property without permission, you lose the right to call it your property.’ Then to Melody, ‘Don’t worry, he’s leaving today.’

‘I can hear you,’ he says.