Page 23 of The Shape of Your Heart
‘Is it that time already?’ She snips a last rose. ‘I don’t usually bother much with lunch.’
She’s so slight, I can believe it. ‘In that case, you are in for a treat,’ I say firmly. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Going inside, I examine the contents of my fridge, finding a cooked salmon fillet and some salad. After making us both a sandwich, I fill a couple of glasses with iced water and take them outside.
I find Callie sitting on the edge of the terrace. She drinks most of her water down in one.
‘I’ll get you another. Here.’ I pass her a plate. ‘I hope you like salmon?’
‘I do. Thanks.’
When I come back out with her replenished glass, she’s already devoured half the sandwich.
‘I was thinking of doing some before and after photos.’ I sit down next to her. ‘I’ve done some already, but I thought it would be interesting to have them to look back on.’
‘I did that with ours,’ she says quietly. ‘It didn’t look anything like it does now – and it’s amazing how much it’s changed. There’s so much of me in it – I think I’d find it really hard to leave there.’ She pauses. ‘But that’s mostly because I think it’s saved me.’
For the first time, I can understand how that could be a thing.
‘Already I’m finding it therapeutic,’ I say uncertainly. ‘Honestly, if you’d known me before, you’d be amazed to hear me say that! My sister thinks I’m mad taking on something the size of this one – only because I don’t know what I’m doing,’ I add hastily, before changing the subject. ‘What you were saying about this garden’s history… I was looking in the shed – I found an old cartwheel and a broken statue… I was wondering if we could use them somewhere.’
Her eyes light up. ‘Definitely.’
‘Cool.’ As I watch her finish her sandwich, I already know there’s something about this girl – not just her internalised battle with her grief or the fragility that seems incongruous with her physical strength. It’s the sense that she’s forgotten how joyfulness feels.
‘So are you converted yet? Into a gardener, I mean?’ She looks at me hopefully.
‘I’m definitely getting it.’ I shake my head. ‘Are you sure doing this isn’t too much for you?’
‘I only work three days a week. And I think it’s good for me to be doing something different.’
It’s the first time she’s mentioned her job.
‘Where do you work?’
‘In a bookshop in Truro. I’ve worked there for years. I know them really well – and I guess it’s easy. They’ve been really understanding.’
‘Do you sell gardening books?’
‘A few.’ Her eyes turn to meet mine. ‘I have one or two I can lend you, if you like. I’ll bring them over with me, next time.’
‘That would be great.’ But I’m curious. ‘So have you always lived around here?’
She nods. ‘All my life.’ Her face colours slightly. ‘My sisters moved away when they went to uni. They have amazing jobs – I’m really proud of them. But I’ve always felt I have everything I want here.’
‘Wow,’ I say quietly.
‘I know. It probably sounds weird that I’ve never moved away.’
I shake my head. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that some people go through their entire lives without ever being able to say that.’ I’m as guilty as anyone else of wantingmore.
‘We’re all different, aren’t we?’ Finishing her sandwich, she gets up. ‘Are you going to show me the cartwheel?’
‘What, now?’
‘When you’ve finished eating! I thought we could walk around your garden again. I’ll tell you about some more ideas I’ve had.’
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