Page 62 of The Shape of Your Heart
‘Wow,’ Rita says, linking her arm through mine. ‘I completely agree.’
‘Me too,’ Alice and Sasha say quietly.
We carry on walking and I take in the familiar surroundings that I’ve known for as long as I can remember, but the sense that Dad might not have long is growing stronger. It could mean that this is our last Christmas together; that everything we’ve always counted on could be about to change.
22
NATHAN
After spending a quiet Christmas with Robin, the day after Boxing Day I drive home. The roads are quiet, people presumably at home with loved ones. Opening the door, as I go inside, my eyes settle on Callie’s primroses.
I’d resisted Robin’s efforts to persuade me to stay longer. I’d found myself restless to get back here. I place the book she gave me on the table. It’s on the basics of vegetable gardening and already, having started reading it, I’m inspired with ideas to put into practice.
But it’s more than that. I’m craving some time alone, to soak up the peace here. Going outside, I stand on the terrace for a moment. The air is still, laced with the faintest hint of wood smoke. I gaze towards the area I’ve designated to become my vegetable garden. Right now, it’s still a jungle of weeds and brambles, rather than the neat rows of vegetables I’m envisaging. But having given myself a break from work for a few days, it’s the perfect time to make a start.
After sitting in Robin’s house eating too much, I welcome the fresh air and exercise as I start to dig. It’s hard work; the sodden earth sticks to my spade as, fuelled by my fantasy of neat rows of vegetables, I carry on. But when in the past I used to fantasise about beautiful women or exotic holiday locations, as I stand there caked in mud, I can’t help laughing at myself.
* * *
The next day, after another back-breaking afternoon of clearing weeds, I text Callie.
Hope you had a good Christmas. Are you doing anything New Year’s Eve?
I hesitate. Last time I saw her, I admitted that I actually am one of the low-life property developers she despises; I’m not at all sure she wants to hear from me. But knowing I’m risking rejection, I send it anyway.
The following day, I still haven’t heard back from Callie. Disappointed, my mind turns to something else I’ve set myself to do. It’s a letter of thanks to an anonymous stranger who came to my rescue when my health was at its worst and I was close to dying.
It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, putting it off only because I prefer not to dwell on that time. But the selfless act of a stranger has altered the course of my life; there is so much I want to say to them.
There’s a protocol to follow to uphold anonymity: I should use first names only, or no names at all; I can give no details about locations. But those are irrelevant, as far as I see it. What really matters is the message.
Sitting there, I start writing, finding it surprisingly difficult to put into words. When I was weeks away from dying, when treatment was failing me, I was acutely conscious that the life I so desperately wanted to hold on to was slipping away from me.
Thank you isn’t enough… Without you, quite simply I wouldn’t be here. Not a day passes I’m not aware of that, or…
I’m interrupted by a knock on the door. Taken by surprise, I get up. I haven’t heard any cars pull up outside. Going to the door, I open it.
‘Emily?’ I do a double-take.
‘Don’t look so surprised.’ Her green eyes are catlike as she smiles at me. ‘Merry Christmas, Nathan. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
Speechless, I stand back to let her in.
Brushing past me, Emily glances around. In skinny jeans and wearing perfect make-up, holding a bag that’s clearly expensive, she’s exactly as I remember her.
‘Nice place you have here – though I have to say, not at all what I expected.’ She turns to look at me. ‘Is it your next project?’
‘No. This is it – my home.’
Surprise flickers through her eyes. But much has changed since we last saw each other. Last time was when I wasn’t well. She kindly, but quite brutally, ended our relationship at a time, if I’m honest, I most needed her.
Turning, her eyes rest on me. ‘You look well,’ she said softly.
‘I am.’ It comes out more curtly than I mean it to. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I was thinking more of something along the lines of this.’ Reaching into her bag, she produces a bottle of champagne with a flourish.
‘It’s a bit early in the day for me.’ I have a feeling I know where this is going. ‘But I can pour you a glass.’
