Page 29 of The Shape of Your Heart
It takes all my self-control to get back in my car. Raising a hand, I drive away. I have to admit that as dates go, it’s one of the strangest I’d ever been on. But Callie isn’t like other girls I’ve known. There’s no guile, no game-playing, just an openness I find refreshing. She makes me think, too.
Back at home, I pull up close to the house. Then getting out, I stand under the downpour for a moment, inhaling the smell of damp earth, of grass, the faintest trace of honeysuckle. The rain is torrential, invigorating, too; but somehow, also, it’s life-affirming.
* * *
After a night that’s broken by lightning and thunder, I awake the following morning to a pale sun and a watery blue sky. It’s as though the garden has been revitalised overnight. Green is already returning to the parched grass, while the trees have lost their dusty look.
By the time I’m up, Callie’s car is pulling up. Going outside, I call out to her. ‘Hi. Would you like tea?’
‘Thanks.’ The withdrawn, slightly wary look is back.
My heart sinks. Guessing she’s had the backlash she’d been talking about, I leave her to pull on her boots and gather her basket of gardening props. If she wants to talk, I have a feeling she’ll make it known. I’m right.
Taking her a mug of tea, she looks almost slightly accusingly at me. ‘I wish you hadn’t done that – last night.’
Not sure where she’s going with this, I play for time. ‘Done what exactly?’
‘Kissed me.’ She sighs. ‘Actually, that’s not even true, which is exactly the problem I have. I should wish you hadn’t – but I don’t. As a result, I feel terrible.’
Hearing the angst in her voice, I try to reassure her. ‘Don’t you think at some point, you need to stop beating yourself up?’ I say gently.
She freezes. ‘If you’d lost someone you loved…’ She pauses. ‘I really don’t think you’d ever dream of saying that.’ Tilting her head, she looks into my eyes. ‘Nothing about this is logical or predictable. There’s no guide to dealing with grief. One day, it’s like you’re lost in a maze, the next adrift on a stormy sea. Now and then, there’s a lull, but you can’t even trust that, because you know it’s a matter of time before the pain comes back.’
I have an idea of how grief feels – but more for the way of life I lost when I was ill, rather than the loss of a person. But I don’t have any pearls of wisdom to offer, and I’m not sure Callie would want them from me.
Coming closer, she places her hand over my heart – a small gesture, the power of which she has no idea of. ‘This is where it hurts,’ she whispers.
But as I rest one of my hands over hers, she’s already pulling it away. ‘I’m going to start on the garden.’
‘I’d help you, but I have to work this morning.’ I have an investor to talk to, plans for houses to draw up.
Disappointment crosses her face. ‘Of course. Your housing project.’
* * *
My tiny office space has no window, so I leave the door open. Now and then I catch a fleeting glance of Callie outside as I bring up the initial housing plans I’ve put together and study them again.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Callie has a point about house prices around here. I also know for a fact that low-cost properties are hard to find because most of them have been snapped up as holiday homes.
I sigh. This is the reality of how the housing market works, with everyone maximising profit margins. But beyond creating individual wealth, it isn’t contributing anything to communities. Quite the reverse – it’s adding to far more serious social issues.
Resting my head in my hands, I sigh again. I’m not sure what else will work, but there’s something about what Callie said that has got under my skin. I can’t help thinking that maybe it’s time to have a rethink.
13
CALLIE
After the rain, the earth is cool and soft as I finish tidying the first of the flower beds and start on the next. As I rip out encroaching grass and dig up dandelion roots, I think of Liam’s mother.
Instantly it triggers a rush of guilt. Since Liam’s death, on the few occasions I’ve seen her, I’ve barely been able to cope with my own grief. I haven’t had it in me to handle hers.
But it’s been a year – more than a year. I glance at the house. There’s no sign of Nathan. I imagine him busy inside, working on his housing development project. I can’t help but wonder if my words last night had any impact on him.
When a couple of hours later I still haven’t seen him, I’m taken aback slightly. He kissed me, didn’t he? And I kissed him back, didn’t I? At the time, lost in the moment, it didn’t feel like a mistake. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t regretting it, writing it off as a fleeting transgression. Maybe it would be as well, because even I’m not sure what to make of it.
I’m no clearer when he eventually comes outside.
‘Hi.’ In a faded sweatshirt and jeans, he looks distracted.
