Page 33 of The Shape of Your Heart
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It’s twenty minutes later when I pull up outside her house. Picking up the flowers, I knock at her door.
‘Coming!’ I hear her call out, before the door is flung open.
‘Hi.’ She seems to freeze for a moment. ‘Um, do you want to come in?’
‘If it’s convenient.’ I try to explain why I’ve come here. ‘You seemed preoccupied this morning. I wondered if today was a significant day or something. Anyway, I brought you these.’
As I hand her the bouquet of flowers, her face turns pale. ‘How did you know?’ she whispers.
‘Know what?’ I frown at her, puzzled.
‘These.’ She looks at the scented roses I’ve just given her, then at me again.
Not sure what she means, I follow her into the kitchen. On the side is a tomato and olive tart dusted with herbs. ‘That looks good.’
‘Have some, if you like. I felt like cooking something, but now it’s done, I’m not hungry.’ Before I can reply, she’s already cutting me a huge square of it. Handing me a plate, she passes me a napkin and a fork. ‘Tea? Or a beer?’
‘I’d love a beer.’ As I watch her, she seems matter-of-fact. But as I’ve come to realise, Callie can be a conundrum of different people: elfin girl, grieving woman, and slightly lost, almost as if she doesn’t know what to do with herself. ‘Thanks.’ I take the can she holds out.
Unwrapping the flowers, she puts them in a vase, arranging them so that they appear to tumble effortlessly over the sides, before turning to me. ‘Shall we go outside?’
I follow her through the doors that open on to the garden. ‘I could do with doors like that.’
‘You should have them opening on to your terrace.’ Sitting down at the wooden table, she sips her beer. ‘Sorry – about the flowers just now… They’re beautiful. They really are…’ She frowns. ‘I’ve had quite a strange day.’ Going on, she tells me about going to see her fiancé’s mother and realising she’d got her dates wrong. On her way to his grave, she’d stopped to buy some flowers. ‘You’ll never believe this, but they were the exact same ones you gave me.’
‘Red roses?’ Sitting opposite her, I feel thrown. The thing is, I’d picked them up and put them back again, at least twice before deciding – and given all the bouquets in the shop, it seems bizarre that I’ve chosen the very same ones.
‘Exactly the same. Soft and scented, just like yours.’ Her eyes search mine. ‘They’re one of my favourite flowers, which also seems kind of odd, don’t you think? Anyway, at the church, I met this woman. I was sitting by Liam’s grave having a bit of a rant and she heard me. It turns out she’d lost her husband a couple of years ago. She told me she’d done a lot of ranting – she was funny, actually.’
‘Kind of like gallows humour?’ I pause between mouthfuls of the tart.
‘Kind of. We talked for a while. She told me about her husband and I told her about Liam. Then she said no one was that perfect.’ Callie’s silent for a moment. ‘It got me thinking. People aren’t perfect, are they?’
‘Not in my experience,’ I say wryly. ‘But Liam… maybe he was one of the good people in the world. After all, he fell in love with you.’
Her cheeks flush slightly. ‘I suppose I can be a bit of a rose-tinted-spectacles kind of person. I always look for the good in people.’
If only more of us could do the same. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? I think too many people tend to do the reverse.’
‘I’ve always believed part of loving someone is accepting everything about them – not just the good.’ She pauses. ‘Do you like the tart?’
‘It’s delicious. You should have some.’
‘I might do later, if I’m hungry.’ She looks at me. ‘The other thing that happened was I went to see your land today.’
I wince. ‘That project is fast becoming a headache.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’
‘OK,’ I say guardedly.
She’s off again, regaling me with her ideas, which to her credit, are relatively wildlife-friendly. For the first time since I’ve come here, her troubles seem to lift. ‘You could call it wild camping. I know you’re not convinced and I was going to find you some pictures but I haven’t had time yet. But I will before tomorrow. Then I was thinking, maybe we could go and see it together.’ Pausing, she brushes a flake of pastry off my sweatshirt. ‘What do you think?’
I shrug. I have nothing to lose – though possibly not a lot to gain either. But given her enthusiasm, I owe it to her to at least listen. ‘Tomorrow morning?’
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