Page 2 of The Shape of Your Heart
I liked the idea, too. It seemed a gentle way of interacting with transitory strangers.
Feeling the wind pick up, I pulled my jacket closely around me. ‘Tide’s coming in.’
‘How about we watch my tree get submerged – then…’ He paused. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
* * *
At their best, matters of the heart can be instinctive, and it didn’t take long to realise I’d found someone special, who cared about the same things I did; whose vision of the future felt so aligned with my own.
But while my sisters had always been ambitious, I never had been. I liked a much simpler life: discovering secret places, or where nature had taken over. To me, there was as much beauty in a polished pebble or a single feather floating on the breeze as a priceless gemstone. It seemed incredible that Liam felt the same.
Over the five years since, Liam and I have made a hundred or more sea pictures, listening to the sound of waves breaking on the shores of dozens of coves; created magical gardens in many places, crafted the most dazzling, joyful memories together.
For the last three years, we’ve nurtured the neglected garden of our rented cottage back to life. We’ve even found his dream house – only it’s becomeourdream house, with a garden, veranda and spectacular sea views. It’s also a stone’s throw from the coast path. Having had an offer accepted, we’re waiting for the sale to go through.
But before we move in, tomorrow we’re getting married. It’s got rather out of hand – the small, intimate wedding Liam and I have always envisaged has become a large marquee in the grounds of my parents’ sprawling farmhouse on the outskirts of Padstow.
As I am the first of her children to get married, my very organised, sensible mother wants it to be perfect.
‘The roses are the wrong shade of pink.’ Coming into the kitchen, she looks irritated. ‘Honestly. After all the lengths we’ve gone to, you’d think they’d have got it right.’
‘Mum, there is no such thing as the wrong shade.’ Going over to her, I take one of her hands. ‘Whatever it is, as long as Liam and I get married tomorrow, it will be perfect.’ The honeymoon was going to be, too. To avoid flying, we’ve booked a ferry to Bilbao, then a train which will take us to Donostia–San Sebastián from where we’ll start our long-awaited pilgrimage across northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela.
But she won’t be placated. ‘It’s not good enough.’
I sigh. ‘Shall I go and see?’
Going outside, I shield my eyes from the sun’s glare as I walk across the garden. The lawn has been meticulously mown, fairy lights and bunting strung under the trees. By anyone’s standards it’s an amazing setting, but because it’s my childhood home and I’m surrounded by memories, for me it’s much more so.
The front of the marquee is open, and as I step inside, it’s a breath-taking sight. The flower arrangements are wild, exactly as I’d envisaged them; the napkins various muted shades; the tables adorned with treasures Liam and I have mined from the beach – pebbles, sea glass, tiny shards of slate, with jam jars of mismatched flowers cut from my parents’ garden – mint, rosemary, cornflowers, hydrangeas – maybe not quite what my mother had in mind, but representative of things that are significant to us.
I find the pink roses my mother was talking about. Maybe they’re a little paler than we’d thought, but they’re no less beautiful for it. Standing there, I imagine the space filled with our guests, my father making a speech, before my eyes wander to the small stage and the dance floor, where later on, we’ll dance until dawn, because neither of us will want this day to come to an end.
I turn back to the house, and go to find my mother. In the kitchen, she’s making canapes.
‘There is literally nothing there to worry about. Everything is perfect.’
‘It means they won’t match the cake.’
‘Mum. It doesn’t matter.’
A frown wrinkles her brow as she sighs quietly. ‘I suppose not.’ She wipes her hands on her apron. ‘I really should go and feed the dogs.’
Leaving her in the company of her beloved Labradors, I go up the stairs to my old bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I think of Liam in our rented cottage where he’s spending tonight with Max, his best man. Then tomorrow… I glance at my gorgeous dress hanging on the wardrobe, taking in its layers of soft tulle, the subtle beading on the bodice, and feel a thrill of excitement. The most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn, in which I’ll walk down the aisle to marry the one and only man in the world for me.
* * *
The party starts when Rita’s car pulls up outside the house. It’s a beautiful evening, the sun shining through the huge old trees, casting shadows across the garden. When she comes in, Sasha’s with her.
When they see me, their faces beam with excited smiles. ‘Callie! You’re getting married tomorrow!’
Both of them hug me tightly, until, unable to breathe, I push them away. ‘Hey! You’re squashing me!’
Rita hugs me more gently. ‘I can’t believe my baby sister’s getting married.’
‘I can’t believe I have the three of you as bridesmaids! You need to come outside and see the marquee.’
As we make our way across the garden, the air is scented from the roses growing up the back of the house.
