Page 34 of The Shape of Your Heart
As I drive home, I’m still undecided as to what this is between us. Friendship, definitely, but from where Callie’s standing, I’m not sure it’s any more than that. It’s as though the kiss never happened, but from everything she’s said, it’s been a day of weirdness for her. It’s also her fiancé’s birthday. And in all this, there’s still so much we haven’t told each other.
When I get home, I pick up the post that’s lying on the doormat, hesitating as I recognise one of the letters, putting it to one side to open later, before getting a plate for another piece of the tart Callie insisted I take.
Carrying the plate outside, I sit on my terrace. The temperature has dropped, enough to consider lighting the wood burner. I’ve always liked the turn of the seasons, as one fades into the next and it’s already starting, the dulling of green to burnished autumn shades; the cooling of the air; the forming of mist in the valleys.
As I finish eating, my phone pings with a message from Callie asking for my email address. No sooner have I sent it to her than an email arrives, with a Callie-esque message in the subject line.
This is what I wanted to explain!!
It’s followed by a whole lot of links, to camping suppliers, eco-campsites, prairie gardens, while the last is a link to a Pinterest board.
As I scroll through the images, I start to get what she’s been talking about. The idea of tents set amongst huge swathes of natural planting is stunning. The only question is if it is worth the investment.
As if she reads my mind, another email arrives.
You could host weddings…
There are more photos, one of a huge tepee-style tent, in which there’s a firepit and trestle tables that could host far more than weddings. Suddenly I find myself getting interested. Camping would only work for the summer months and I need to explore how big the market is. People are becoming more conscious about limiting their damage to the environment, but basing a business on it? I wasn’t sure.
If you don’t like the idea of camping, how about shepherds’ huts?
More pictures follow, though I happen to know that these come with a hefty price tag. But there’s plenty here for me to think about.
I send her a reply.
Thanks. These are really great! And so was your tart.
I hesitate before adding:
I have an appointment tomorrow morning, in case you were thinking of coming here. But make yourself at home.
By the time I go to bed, she hasn’t replied. But I wake up to a message the following morning.
Thank you x
I stare at the x, before getting out of bed. A feeling of trepidation fills me as I think about the appointment. I can’t afford to be late.
* * *
‘It’s all looking really good.’ After running the usual tests, my consultant sounds positive.
‘Thank goodness.’ Relief washes over me.
‘Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Your blood pressure is good, nothing out of range in the test results…’ She smiles at me. ‘I wish it was the same for everybody.’
‘So…’ I pause. ‘Is that it?’
‘Sure is. You’re free to go. We’ll be in touch before your next appointment.’
‘Thanks.’
As I walk out of the consulting room, it’s like a weight has lifted. Not so long ago, I’d never have imagined I’d ever feel well again, let alone get my energy back. But thanks to modern medicine, I’ve been granted a reprieve.
As I drive home, I feel the strangest mixture of euphoria and gratitude. My illness has taken the spontaneity out of life. Since then, I shouldn’t be taking even a single day for granted. I feel something fire up inside me. Having been given another chance, I need to stop letting time pass and do something with it.
Suddenly I’m thinking about the land I’ve bought. My work is the only link to my old life, but that’s a life I want to change. I’m lucky that, in the short term, money isn’t an issue. And Callie’s right, I can’t help thinking. Instead of making even more money, maybe this is my chance to give something back.
Putting my foot down, I feel excited. I can’t wait to talk to her about it. But as I turn into the drive, my excitement fades. Getting out of my car, I notice the wheelbarrow full of weeds, abandoned in the middle of the garden. But there’s no sign of her car here. Callie’s gone.
