Page 17 of The Shape of Your Heart
‘You’ve cut yourself.’ She’s inspecting the scratches.
‘Savage wounds inflicted by brambles,’ I say wryly, trying to ignore how her touch feels.
‘You need gloves. Brambles can be brutal.’ Sitting back, she looks at our combined effort and her eyes light up. ‘That is one cool surfboard.’
‘It certainly is. It seems a shame that in a few hours it will be gone for ever.’ I notice Callie glance towards the waves. ‘Is it making you wish you were out there again?’
Her cheeks flush slightly. ‘Kind of.’ She pauses. ‘I used to surf with Liam. Going on my own isn’t really my thing,’
‘So what is your thing?’ I ask softly.
She’s silent for a moment. ‘I guess I’m kind of rediscovering that. Everything’s different since my fiancé died. I’m readjusting – but… My thing?’ Her eyes gaze into mine. ‘It’s my garden; but I suppose, more generally, it’s noticing the small things. Like the million shades of blue that make up the sky.’ She glances upwards, before going on. ‘Or the way clouds change shape, or how colours intensify when it rains.’ She hesitates. ‘I love all the scents around us – not just from flowers, but the earth, the sea, the rain.’ Pausing, she looks at me. ‘Isn’t it miraculous how tiny birds sing so loudly? Or the way we couldn’t survive without bees? Then there are butterflies – how does a caterpillar metamorphose into something so delicate, with such beautifully patterned wings?’
I gaze at her, entranced. I don’t have the answers, but from her air of calmness, I get the feeling she isn’t looking for any.
‘It’s moments like this, too.’ She hesitates, her cheeks flushing slightly pink again. ‘They’re unexpected. I really liked your sand-flower,’ she says shyly.
‘Thanks.’ As we look at each other, I try to think of something profound to say. But instead, I come out with, ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could come and see my garden?’ Then, conscious that ‘garden’ sounds horribly like a euphemism for ‘etchings’, I quickly go on, ‘I have no idea what to do with it. The easy solution is to get someone in – I was thinking concreting over the grass, minimal planting…’
‘It would be a shame to do that,’ she says quietly. ‘Your garden is its own little ecosystem. It’s probably home to tens of thousands of insects. If you concrete over it…’ She tails off.
‘I know to someone like you it probably sounds terrible. But there are too many plants – and I don’t have a clue which of them are weeds. As you’ve already seen, I’ve identified the brambles.’ I hold up my scratched arms. ‘If you do decide to come, I won’t take up much of your time. And I understand you’re probably really busy.’
She’s silent for a moment. ‘OK,’ she says quietly.
‘Really?’ A feeling of relief floods through me. ‘That’s great! I mean, thank you!’
‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Um, yes. Tomorrow is great.’ Taken by surprise, I’m floundering again. ‘I need to tell you where I live, don’t I?’
She hesitates for a moment. ‘Send me a pin.’
* * *
The next morning, I feel a ridiculous sense of excitement that Callie’s coming here, the only problem being I’m not sure entirely what she sees this as – a chat about gardens, or whether she’s expecting more than that. But if it turns into lunch, I can always take her to a pub.
Tidying the house, I’ve lost track of time when I hear a car pull up outside. Imagining her taking a good look at the garden and seeing how neglected it is before changing her mind and driving away, I go to the door just as she knocks.
‘Hi! I was just looking at the view out here. It’s incredible.’ She’s wearing a loose-fitting cotton dress in shades of green.
‘It’s quite something, isn’t it? Come in.’ As I stand back to let her in, I catch the faintest trace of scent.
She glances around. ‘This is really nice. How long have you lived here?’
‘A couple of weeks – though it feels like longer.’
Her eyes scan the room. ‘I see what you meant about your surfboard. Looks cool over there, doesn’t it?’
‘I think so. Would you like some tea? Or coffee? Or there may be some Coke in the fridge…’
She’s smiling. ‘Tea?’
Filling the kettle, I switch it on. ‘Shall I show you outside?’ Forgetting about the tea, I lead the way through the back door on to the terrace.
As she steps outside, instead of enthusing as I’d hoped she would, she looks thrown. ‘This is really weird,’ she says at last.
I watch her frown. ‘What is?’
