Page 1 of The Shape of Your Heart
1
Life can be all kinds of wonderful. It can also be all kinds of heartbreak – a subject in which my sisters are well versed. There’s Alice, the eldest, who as a cardiologist fixes the physical manifestations of malfunctioning hearts. Then there’s Sasha, a psychologist, an expert in the emotional rise and fall that comes with loving and losing someone. Rita, meanwhile, actually lectures at Bristol uni on the philosophy of love, from the ancient Greeks to the present day.
That leaves me, the youngest, by far the lowest achieving, though arguably the happiest of the four of us, because for all their expertise and knowledge of the workings of the heart, none of them have been in love – while for the last five years of my life, I’ve lived with Liam – and this weekend, we’re getting married.
‘You are sure about this, aren’t you?’ Sasha looked doubtful when I told her. ‘You’re both so young.’
‘And un-sorted, is what you’re trying to say.’ I nudged her elbow in a little-sisterly way. ‘But I’m not like you, Sash. And I amsosure about this. We’re happy as we are – and one day, I’ll get around to doing whatever it is I’m supposed to do with my life. Liam and I… you know how it is. It’s like we’re meant to be together.’
It was how it had felt, almost from the first day we met, a cold, crisp Friday in January, one on which, while my sisters were busy saving lives, I had a day off from the indie bookshop where I worked, up a narrow street in the heart of Truro. As far as I was concerned, it was a perfect day, a bracing wind blowing off the Atlantic, the spray whipped up, the waves rolling in, one after another, uncurling themselves on to the shore.
I’d always loved Cornwall’s beaches, particularly this one isolated little cove. There was the exhilaration of the walk to get here, the climb down rocks on to velvety sand; the scouring of the high-water mark for shards of sea glass, tiny shells, pale driftwood, mermaids’ purses, fragments of slate carved from the cliffs. Then alone on the pristine sand, I’d create pictures with what I’d found; impermanent pieces of art lasting the few hours until the incoming tide claimed them back.
But on this particular Friday, as I reached the rock where I usually sat, someone else had got there first. There on the sand was a perfect miniature of a tree, complete with a slate stem, sea glass leaves, strands of seaweed arranged into an elaborate root system.
I couldn’t stop staring at it. It wasn’t just that I’d never known anyone else to make collages the way I did, let alone in exactly the same place; this was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
‘I haven’t quite finished.’
I turned in the direction of the voice, meeting eyes that were the same blue as the ocean in summer, a face that looked slightly wary. In a thick sweater and jeans, a scarf wound around his neck, he was dressed for the elements.
‘It’s very good.’
‘I hope it will be.’ Crouching down, he added some more pieces of sea glass.
‘You can have these, if you like.’ Opening my cupped hands, I held out the treasures I’d collected.
Turning to me, his eyes were quizzical.
‘I was about to do the same – not a tree, though. Mine tend to be more abstract. The thing is…’ I hesitated. ‘I’ve never met anyone else who makes sea pictures.’
His smile was warm, reached the corners of his eyes. ‘Because who would spend all this time, when in a few hours from now, every trace of them will be gone for ever.’
I was nodding. ‘But I kind of like that. Human beings aren’t exactly subtle, are they? I mean, we decimate the natural world at the drop of a hat. But these pictures… It’s like leaving a sign that we were here for a while.’ I shrugged. ‘I’m quite glad we haven’t learned to stop the rising tide – at least, not yet.’ I liked to be reminded that nature was more powerful than any of us.
We sat on the beach together for hours that first day. Liam, as I found out his name was, had abandoned his career in the City in his quest for a simpler life.
A frown flickered across his face as he talked. ‘It was great to start with. I worked hard and played hard. But it kind of lost its gloss. Everyone is always rushing everywhere. Almost no one takes time to be still for a moment – to notice something simple like a single bird – or to stand and look at the stars – and even if they did, the light pollution would ruin it. While here…’
But he didn’t have to explain. As I already knew, Cornwall’s dark skies were mesmerising.
Liam also had this dream, which he described to me in detail. ‘It’s a house – it doesn’t have to be a big one. But it has sea views – and trees, so that you can hear the wind. It has a wrap-around veranda, so that you can sit outside even when the rain is lashing down. There’s a garden – and a few chickens. Ideally, it would be off-grid, but that side of things could be a work in progress. But mostly, I’d like to live in a way that didn’t impact on the environment. I mean, I used to love flying around the world, but it’s amazing how many places you can get to by train.’
I wasn’t a fan of flying. With only a few millimetres of metal keeping you in the air, I’d far rather stay firmly grounded.
He went on. ‘Have you heard of the Camino de Santiago?’
I couldn’t believe that out of all the places in the world, he’d mentioned this. The Camino is a network of routes across northern Spain, starting in the east and finishing in the west in Galicia, at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. It was one of my dreams to complete that walk through the stunning countryside along the northern Spanish coast. ‘I have, actually. I’d really like to walk it one day.’
‘So would I. It’s kind of weird, when you think that apart from the bit of France that sticks out…’
‘Brest,’ I added helpfully.
‘Yeah, Brest. But other than that, between here and Northern Spain, there are just miles and miles of the Bay of Biscay.’
Which was all very well, but, ‘What does that have to do with your house?’ I asked.
His eyes were far away. ‘I’ve always liked the idea that it could be a stopping-off point – for people walking the Cornish coast path. Nothing fancy, just somewhere to sit for a while, maybe get a cup of tea along the way… kind of like the way you can on a Camino.’
