Page 12 of The Shape of Your Heart
He looks uncertain. ‘Care to help me?’
I hesitate again, and make my excuses.
Turning, I start walking back to my car. Halfway back, I pause, thinking of the guy and his shells and I consider changing my mind. But today, of all days, isn’t the time.
6
NATHAN
There are a few people on the beach when I get there, but I recognise her instantly – the girl with the wind in her hair, sitting on the sand totally absorbed in what she’s doing. Seeing the intricate letters, I find myself intrigued by her.
But she seems anxious to get away and as she walks up the beach, my desire to go after her doesn’t make sense. I mean, she’s made it pretty clear she’d rather be somewhere else.
Nevertheless, there’s something about her that seems familiar. I gaze down at the sand, at the letters she’s formed out of the tiniest pieces – A, S, R – wondering what they stand for.
Then sitting down, I pile the shells I’ve gathered on the sand, thinking for a moment, before starting to form a question mark.
* * *
On Monday morning, I wake up early. Lying in bed, I listen to the birds. I can’t get my head around how such tiny creatures produce such a brilliant, vibrant song. Nor can I understand why I haven’t thought about it before. But I can’t afford to just lie here. Work is calling and I still have a desk to buy.
After showering and dressing, I skip my usual coffee, deciding I’ll get one in town. As I walk out to my car, I turn around for a moment. Looking at the house, a funny feeling comes over me. I already love its quirkiness – the old brickwork and the battered weather-boarded extension. But there’s a heart to it, too. It feels like a good place to call home.
I’ve never felt this way about a house. But I know it’s about more than just the building. It’s the surroundings, the absence of background noise from traffic; the sense of timelessness that comes from being surrounded by nature. So very different from where I used to live, yet somehow the perfect setting to begin a new chapter of my life.
Whistling tunelessly, I head out to my car. Cornwall is always busy in the summer months, the payoff being that in winter, it isn’t. But this is late summer, the tourists and second home owners here in droves and the nearer I get to Truro, the more crowded the roads become.
By the time I’ve found somewhere to park, it’s already warm. Dodging families and children wielding ice creams, I head for the centre. As luck would have it, there’s a market going on. Perusing the various stalls, I stop at one selling an array of what I guess to be gardening tools. But as I try to identify what I need, I’m rapidly realising that enthusiasm is only going to take me so far.
‘You look baffled.’ The voice comes from behind me.
Turning around, I find beach girl watching me, amusement in her eyes.
‘Hi.’ I try to hide the surprise I’m feeling. I mean, when I saw her on the beach, she hadn’t been able to get away quickly enough. ‘I’ve just bought a house – with a garden that needs a lot of work. I’m realising I don’t really know where to start.’
‘With this.’ She points to an earth-encrusted fork that has clearly seen better days, then to a spade. ‘Maybe this, too. They’re good quality – and a good price.’
‘OK.’ I find myself mesmerised by the blue of her eyes, her dark lashes, the long hair that’s darker than I’d realised, strands of it lightened where the sun has caught it. ‘You’re looking at a complete beginner. I know nothing about gardening.’
‘I know a bit.’ Her face clouds over slightly. ‘If you don’t have any tools, you’ll probably need a wheelbarrow – and a rake. It depends what you’re doing, really, but once you start planting…’ She rattles off a list of implements I’ve never heard of before.
‘I think I’ll start with these.’ I look at the stall holder. ‘Do you have a wheelbarrow and rake?’
After he’d produces them from his van, I frown. ‘Actually, I also need a saw and some heavy-duty cutters.’
‘Secateurs, you mean,’ beach girl says. ‘It sounds like you have quite a project on your hands.’
‘You could say.’ I can’t take my eyes off her. ‘To be honest, it’s too much for me. I’ll probably end up getting someone in to clear it.’ I hand over the money. Piling the tools into the wheelbarrow, I turn to beach girl again. ‘Thanks. You’ve been really helpful.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She pauses. ‘I’d think about it before you start cutting down your garden. Plants take a long time to grow – and they become home to so many wild creatures.’ She stops herself. ‘Sorry. It’s really none of my business.’ She glances at her watch. ‘Happy gardening! I have to go.’
I want to ask her to come for a coffee, anything to keep her here just a little longer, but she’s already walking away, her golden hair swinging behind her. As I start to push the wheelbarrow, the tools slide out and clatter noisily to the ground, turning several heads as I feel my face turn red. Picking them up as casually as I can, I head for my car.
I abandon my pursuit of a desk. With the wheelbarrow inside it, there isn’t room in my car, for one thing. Maybe I’ll do another Facebook Marketplace search and find one nearby. Except that’s the downside of living out in the sticks – the only one as far as I’m concerned – the concept of ‘nearby’ simply doesn’t exist.
Back at home, I unload my car and arrange my purchases on the terrace. It’s a satisfying feeling to think that I can now make a start, the only problem being I didn’t have a clue how to.
Walking through the garden, I take my first up-close look at what’s been planted there. I can see there’s a whole range of plants, but I’m utterly flummoxed as I try to distinguish between flowers and weeds. Research is required – or maybe a book would help. I fantasise about running into beach girl again, maybe asking her advice.
