Page 19 of The Shape of Your Heart
‘I’m going to sleep on it.’ But as my thoughts untangle themselves, it’s suddenly clear. I’m not sure because I like him. And last time, like turned into love, which turned into heartbreak and the worst kind of pain. I can’t ever risk doing that to myself again.
Going outside, I gaze up at the sky. It’s hard to explain, but going to Nathan’s garden today held significance of mammoth proportions. And I know why: it’s a step away from the familiarity of the grief that’s held me in its grip; grief that I’m scared to let go of.
I watch a family of swallows dip and soar, and tears prick my eyes. I’ve always been in awe of the journeys these tiny birds embark on, but as I look at them, I’m thinking how for me, too, it feels immense that I’m stepping out into the world again.
* * *
The next morning, I have it all worked out. I may like Nathan, but that’s all it’s ever going to be. There will be no dates, no long coffee breaks, just hopefully the beginning of a healthy and limited friendship – based on gardens.
Liking how that sounds, I text him.
Yes. Can I start this morning?
Seeing as I’m up early, I decide there’s no time like the present. In any case, I can’t imagine him saying no. Sure enough, as I’m gathering my sunscreen and gardening gloves, my phone buzzes with a text.
Come over whenever you like.
I collect a few more things together and drive over to Nathan’s. It’s a gorgeous morning, the roads quiet, the sun still low, bathing the landscape in golden light, and as I drive along unfamiliar lanes, I take in the breath-taking views around me.
When I reach his house, the curtains are still closed. Noticing the wheelbarrow and gardening tools neatly stacked on the terrace, I quietly trundle them down the garden and start on the weeding. There’s something raw and grounding about tackling a neglected garden, but there’s also a magic to it, hidden treasures waiting to be rediscovered and nurtured back to life again.
In a garden as unloved as this one, the rewards are almost immediate and as I pull away nettles and other weeds, it’s amazing how quickly I see a difference. After an hour or two, a quarter of the first bed is weed free, the herb garden pruned. The back door opens and Nathan comes out.
‘I didn’t hear you arrive. After you texted, I fell asleep again.’ He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower.
‘I thought I might as well make a start. I hope I’m not too early?’ For a moment I wonder if I’d read him wrong.
He comes to join me. ‘No, help yourself – any time. It’s so much better already. I brought you some tea.’
I take the mug he’s holding out. ‘Thanks.’
He lingers for a moment. ‘I have some calls to make this morning – but if you’re still here when they’re done, I’ll join you?’
‘Sure.’ When he doesn’t show any sign of moving, I smile at him. ‘Go! I’m quite happy! You make your calls!’
Sitting on the grass, I drink the tea. It’s a long time since I’ve ventured into unfamiliar surroundings and it’s wonderfully peaceful here – while with some careful tending, the garden is going to be glorious again. There are established roses in need of pruning, a lilac, a clematis that needs cutting back and training over a wall, with no doubt many other secrets that will be revealed as the seasons pass.
I can already imagine planting hidden corners, maybe growing something up the outside of the terrace to tumble over the roof. Studying the house again, I frown. It’s bizarre how similar it is to the one Liam and I nearly bought. But a whole lot of what’s happened recently feels bizarre.
Inspiration strikes and I go over to a pile of gravel, scooping up a handful and taking it over to the newly weeded soil, spell out two words.
Nathan’s house.
* * *
When he comes out much later on, I’m just about finished for the day. I’m also sweaty and covered in soil – not exactly attractive.
‘I’m sorry, the calls went on longer than I’d thought they would,’ he says apologetically, before looking around, astonished. ‘I can’t believe how much you’ve done.’
‘Me neither.’ I survey the vastly improved flower bed. ‘You see, it isn’t as difficult as it looks. You have to admit, it’s going to look much nicer than concrete.’
He scratches his head. ‘I suppose,’ he says uncertainly.
‘You promised,’ I remind him. If he thinks I’m going to all this trouble just for him to rip it out, he needs to think again.
He smiles. ‘Don’t worry. Concrete is off the agenda.’
‘Good.’ Relief fills me. ‘Anyway, I’m done. But I’m glad you think it looks a bit better.’ I pause. ‘How were your calls?’
