Tulips
Good heavens, what a sight! Mrs Margaret, youre a wonderworker!
The riot of tulips dazzled the eyes. Catherine knew full well how much effort Mrs Margaret had poured into this patch of paradise. For years, her neighbour across the way had been coaxing this dreary council courtyard into riotous bloom. Even the little playground where Catherine and Nicola were headed nowyes, that was thanks to Mrs Margaret too. Only she had the knack for bringing beauty wherever she went. Unrecognisable, the place! Clean, spaciousalmost posh now. And the flowers well, one could write poetry about them. Mrs Margaret had planted every single one herself. Catherine had been living here for nearly fifteen years, ever since her parents moved the family in. Not once had she seen anyone else plant so much as a daffodil out here. Only Margaret. And shed only started after her husband passed away.
Its not easy being alone at that age. Her son so far away, and no one else to lean on. Margaret absolutely refused to move. She was too deeply rooted in this town. Her whole childhood here; everyone shed ever loved was here, in one way or another. Her son had built his own world with his wife elsewhere, and lets just say Margarets bond with her daughter-in-law was more chilly than warm. The womans mother was always around, help aplenty. Margaret? Polite, but still an outsider.
Margaret never moaned to Catherinedidnt need to. Catherine could see the gloom settling in. Its grim, being on your own.
Catherine knew it from experiencethe soul-crushing loneliness, after her first marriage collapsed. Couldve held onto it, maybe If only she couldve ignored a harmless fling. But how does one ignore it when the other woman is Susan, your mate since school days, the one youve shared more chips and secrets with than you can count?
Catherine stared bold as brass into Susans shameless eyes, swiped the flat keys off her ex, and sank deep into the Art of Suffering. She did it properly, tootook a weeks leave just so nothing would distract from her existential wallow.
Trouble was, self-pity got interrupted. One evening, sulking over a bucket of melting ice cream, eyes puffy as a boiled haddock, there was a tremendous pounding at the doora this can only mean disaster sort of banging.
Catherine, still in her jeans, went to answer.
The sight of Mrs Margaret was enough to give anyone a start. Catherine knew her as a steady, capable woman who glided around the courtyard with a gentle smile, greeting neighbours, cooing at each kid.
Hows Tommys tummy? Is Lily sleeping yet? Is Olivia getting plenty of milk, Sarah-love?
Shed been a childrens doctor, through and through. Always room in her heart and hands for everyone. That was Margaret.
But the woman Catherine found on her doorstep waswell, not Margaret. Not at all.
Dishevelled, stricken, she clocked Catherines red-rimmed eyes, and shook herself out of misery with a stern, Whats wrong, Cathy? Why are you blubbering? Are you ill?
For a split second, Catherine snapped out of her self-absorbed melancholia. Enough! She felt lousy, but what had happened to Margaret was worse than any petty heartbreak.
And so it proved. Losing a husband to a split is one thing; you can tell yourself hes out there, alive, maybe even (wince) happy. It stings, but you manage. Losing him forever, thoughno chance to fix things or say sorrywell, thats a different kind of agony.
Margarets husband didnt wait for the ambulance. Hed tried to tough out his heart attack with pills, as he always did, but this time He never made it down the stairs.
Margaret, who bought fresh cottage cheese and veg from the market every morning, had found him at the front door, probably on his way to greet her, unable to make it further.
Catherine that day simply grabbed her phone, shoved on a windcheater and rushed after Margaret. She didnt come home till evening, chucked the soggy ice cream, cleaned her flat, and sat a long while at the kitchen table swirling a finger round the rim of her stone-cold tea. She thought about things.
The next day, she filed for divorce. Life couldnt be put on hold any longer. Moping changes nothingyou move on, or you stay stuck and sour. Because lifes one go round, trite as that may be. Not a second to waste on grudges or spite. Better to dust yourself off and get walking.
Which she did, bit by bit, crawling out of her own pit of despair. New job, new bloke Not easy. But now she had Dan and little Nicola, and life had developed a few joyful new brushstrokes.
But for Margaret, things never brightened quite as much. She picked herself up after losing her husband, as much as one can. You get used to anything, reluctantly. But Catherine could see that the Margaret shed once knownthe bubbly, generous neighbourwas only a faint shadow now.
She still smiled, yes, asked after peoples kids, but Catherine could tell it was all just habit. The real warmth had been frozen somewhere deep inside.
Year in, year out Margaret had retired and retreated to her little patch outside town. Then her son needed cash for a flatwhat could she say? You help your only son. After selling the garden plot, Margaret was even more adrift. Catherine decided enough was enough; you dont just abandon a neighbour whos been by your side all those years. Not someone whod drop everything at the first call to check your temperatureor your childs. You dont turn away from anothers pain, not if youve got even a scrap of warmth in you.
Catherines parents had always drummed that into her.
Dont stand by, Cat! Do what you can, as much as you can. Maybe someone will return the favour one day. It wont fix all your problems, but a kind word sometimes is all thats neededa hand to hold and a Im here with you.
Catherine always listened. Family, to her, meant sticking together like a good old English pudding. Even now, with her parents relocated to the sunny southern coast, she called every daynot just out of duty, but because she knew she was loved, she mattered to them. And that means everything.
But words werent enough for Margaret anymore. Shed nod at Cats stories, and yet the light was draining from her. Shrinking, thinning out, rarely leaving her flat.
Catherine could seeliving had become an uphill trudge for Margaret. Her son wouldnt be coming backhis life had moved on, somewhere, with new rules. Good for him, but it left Margaret with precious little. The odd squabble of neighbours kids needing a watchful eye; rare, brief coffee dates with friends whose worlds were already crowded with their own dramashomes, grown-up children, grandchildren.
And Margarets share? Just loneliness. The sort where the quiet, when you turn off the telly at night, is so dense it makes you want to howl at the moon.
Catherine, finally, accepted that chats werent working. Sometimes after a heart-to-heart, Margaret would vanish entirelynowhere to be seen, either out front or at home. Or maybe she just didnt answer the door.
If words dont help, Catherine thought, then perhaps deeds will. Something practical, a projecta reason to get up in the morning.
The solution landed, as these things do, by accident. Her new husband Dan was partial to surprise bouquets, but that particular monstrous handful of tulips hed brought the day before Nicola was born had triggered her own Eureka! moment. Dan, for his part, had jumped, thinking pregnancy hormones had tipped her into madness, but she calmed him down with plotting-her-own-brand-of-magic explanations.
Next morning, Catherine knocked at Margarets door, nudging a box of tulip bulbs with her boot. Dan discreetly disappeared when the lock clicked.
Ill take it from here!
Her ploy worked a treat.
Catherine spun such a tale about how she just couldnt ignore the dear old lady selling flowers at the market and now was at a total loss as to what to do with them, she nearly convinced herself.
I remembered you always had the loveliest tulips over at your allotment, Mrs Margaret! The bouquets you used to bring my mum! Please, help! Our courtyards a misery. But what if we planted some flowers, hmm? I wouldnt know where to begin. And with the state Im inshe patted her bump and folded her hands in a comic, pleading pose.
For the first time in ages, Margaret examined the bulbs, wagged her finger at Catherine, and almost smiled.
A bit of colour, why not? But tulips wont be enough, Cathy; theyre finished in weeks. Better to plan a few more plantings if we want beauty all season.
And so began their Courtyard Makeover Saga.
No one was desperate to slave in the garden, of course, but they were surprisingly quick to club together for saplings and seeds. Catherine handled the orders early on, but when Nicola arrived, Margaret took up all the work herself.
The beds and flowers werent enough for Margaret thoughshe rustled up her old connections and soon enough, there was a new playground, benches by the doors, and a garden fence all bright and whitewashed.
The place woke up.
The chapsonce theyd scratched their heads over the changesjoined in, building up flowerbed fencing at a community weekend, and Margaret was nearly in tears watching her little white picket fence go up.
She lived out there nowgardening, painting, tidying, and always bustling about. It became her spark. Catherine, pushing Nicolas pram around, found herself silently thanking her husband for those tulips that had started it all.
When Nicola began walking, Catherine made a point of showing her the tulips as soon as the first blooms appeared.
And, at last, there they were! A proper display!
Catherine was so entranced near the flowerbed she quite forgot to hold Nicolas hand. The tot, never one to miss an opening, made a dash.
Nicky! Catherine sprinted after her, aiming to catch her before she reached the pavements edge.
Margaret straightened up from her painting (she was redoing the picket fence) and chuckled.
Catch her, Catherineheres your workout for the day! Who needs a gym?
Dont even mention it!Cat scooped up a squealing Nicola, showering her with kisses. Where do these speedy girls come from?
Speedy, yes but have you noticed shes always on her tiptoes? Margaret frowned.
Yeah, she runs like that at home toobarefoot, you see it more. Is it a problem?
Might be nothing, but get a neurologist to check. Better safe than sorry.
Anyone youd recommend?
Ill have a think. Pop round tonight, and Ill dig up contacts if I can find any gooduns left. Most my age are gardening or grandparenting by now! The young onesI hardly know them. Shall have to put out feelers.
What do you mean, Margaret, radio?
The old grapevine, Cathy! You know! Ill ring round, see whos got a tip.
Thank you!
Oh, dont mention it. How are you lot, anyway?
Good! Dans working too much, though. I barely see him, in late, out early
Could be worsecould be a layabout on the sofa! Margaret grinned. Some girls moan about that, especially with their first childyou want attention, tenderness, but the blokes are tired too. You know what I tell em? Yelling solves nowt. Men dont hear what youre really saying. You say, Im worn out, this is hard, but all they hear is Youre not enough. You get me?
I do. I catch myself at it, cant help it sometimes. And Dans a world-class husband, really a gemyoud struggle to find better. Yet still, sometimes I snap. What can I do?
Its simple, Cathy. Say whats on your mindbut after hes eaten, with a cuppa! No yelling, no blame. Complain about the circumstances, not the man, see? If you say, Youre a rotten husband and never around, hell clam up. But if you say you miss him, wish you had more time together, youre longing for weekends when you can be a familywell, wholl take offence at that?
True enough.
That worked for me and my Peternearly fifty years and we only had one proper row.
What was it?
You wont believe ita dog! Our son begged for a puppy, and I was dead set against it. Knew Id end up looking after itwhen, with all that to do? Peter was away with work, so I did all the dog walking.
So you kept it?
Had to. And it worked out. I lost nearly a stone running that spaniel raggedshe needed exhausting walks, or the place wouldve been destroyed. Our lad was only littletoo young to walk it alone, unable to get up in the mornings. It ended exactly as I thought; I only got weekends off if Peter was home. The dog soon got wise and started waking me up insteadknew if I was up, Peter wouldnt be dragged out. Smart as they come!
A genius! Catherine laughed.
Takes after me! Margaret whisked the paint pot away from Nicola. Or Mummy wont be able to get you clean!
After waving goodbye to Margaret, Catherine took Nicola to the swings and the sandpit. Same old, same old.
After playtime, as they headed home, Catherine nearly dropped Nicola from shockshe saw something at the flowerbeds that made her clutch her mouth in horror so as not to frighten her daughter.
Margaret, by then, had gone in. But there, stomping about the flowerbed, was a different childtiny, maybe just older than Nicola, but devilishly efficient.
Most of the blooms had been yanked up or thoroughly mashed under little feet.
The flowerbed by the next entryway was even worse.
The culprits mother leant lazily against the fence, openly grinning at her sons destruction.
What on earth is going on? Catherine could barely hear herself.
What do you mean, love?
The womans blue eyes blinked with innocent confusion.
Whys your boy trampling the flowers?
Why not?
You cant let him do that!
Cant I? Whos to stop him from exploring the world, hmm? You?
You consider this development?
I do. Letting him experience the world as it is. Flowers are for picking, arent they?
These flowers were planted, and cared for, by someone!
Oh honestly, dont be silly. Why get yourself in such a state? Its only tulips. More will grow.
At that, Catherine lost it and took a step towards the woman, about to let rip.
Nicolas sudden wail snapped her back.
Goodness, she was on the brink of a full-blown brawl!
Take your child, now! Im calling the community support officer! Catherine scooped up Nicola and grabbed her phone.
Oh, get a grip! Everyones so sensitive these days. Go on then, call whoever you like. What will they do, tell me off?
The blue-eyed woman dragged away her wailing son.
See, now hes going to bawl for ages. Happy now?
I dont care! Catherine hissed, and the neighbours began to peer from their windows, drawn by the commotion. Clear off!
She turned away as the woman left, swearing under her breath, only to find Margaret on the porch, watering can in one hand, bun for Nicola in the other.
Margarets face crumpled. Oh my Whats happened, Cathy? Why? I just
Catherine started to explain but Margaret shook her head, set down the watering can, and shuffled indoors, as though the weight of the world had landed on her shoulders.
Catherine tried to follow, but Nicolas tears forced her back. By the time Nicola had been fed and comforted, attempts to knock on Margarets door were fruitless. No reply.
Catherine eventually rang Margarets son.
Ill call her now. Thank you.
She watched the phone like a kettle that refuses to boil.
My mums fine, just doesnt want to see anyone. Shes upset, but told me not to worry. What happened?
Catherine explained as succinctly as she could and promised to keep an eye on Margaret.
My wifes expecting, so I cant leave straight away. But if you need me, just say.
Ive got an idealets see if it works first. Ill ring if not, all right?
Thank you, Catherine
Oh, dont mention it.
That evening Nicola stayed with Dan. Catherine knocked on doors across the block, quietly outlining her plan. There was barely a neighbour who didnt volunteer.
The next night, a handful of helpers gathered. Little boxes came from car boots, greeted with murmurs of encouragement, and everyone rolled up their sleeves. Catherine had long since sent Dan and sleepy Nicola home, but she stayed, inspired by the look shed seen in her daughters fearful eyes earlier.
Shed witnessed itNicolas terror as the boy destroyed the flowers. Catherine swore shed never let her daughter live in fear. Maybe it was just an ill-mannered child today, but if Catherine didnt do right by her, that fear would sit in Nicolas eyes forever. Maybe buried for a whilebut always waiting to resurface. She couldnt allow it.
So Catherine opened box after box, nodding to each new volunteer. She kissed Dan quickly when he passed by, thanked him softly, and worked till late.
Saturday, she wished the neighbours a good morning and went to see Margaret.
Mrs Margaret, would you please let me in? I know youre there, and this is important! Please, I beg you!
At last the lock turned, and Catherine almost wept at the sight of Margarets eyes.
What is it, Cathy? Is Nicola ill? Margarets voice was hoarse, somehow both familiar and not. The voice of someone dragged through long loss and illness.
No, thank goodness shes fine. But I need you! Really, truly. Right now! Please come with me Margaret, please!
Words failed her; she could only look imploringly.
Is it urgent? Margaret sighed, grabbing a coat.
Very, Catherine nodded.
Just for a moment, then. I dont feel well
The bright sunlight stunned Margaret for a second as she stepped outside.
Oh! Wait a tick, Cathy, I cant see anything, she said, blinking.
But what made Margaret speechless wasnt the sun. She gasped, started to cry, and for a moment couldnt see at all.
Tulips. A sea of tulips! The beds and two new plots were thick with thema living carpet of colour.
What is all this? Where from?
Come here, Mrs Margaret. Catherine led her down to a bench. Im sorry we couldnt save the flowers you grew for so many years. It happened so suddenlyI froze. Its impossible to reason with some people. But listen
Yes, Cathy?
There are a lot of us who do understand. Those who came last night to try to bring you a little happiness. Look aroundmost are your old patients, or parents of kids you looked after. Some, like me, have children of their own now. And we all want you to knowno one has the right to hurt you. Weve reported what happened, but you know what? Youve got more work now, with the new flower beds! Dont worry; well help. We want our courtyard beautiful, so our childrenand the grown-upscan have something lovely to look at, every single day. Your hands, Mrs Margaret, are still needed! Dont leave us to our own devicesI cant keep even a cactus alive, you know it! You can grow anything, even lemons and palmsIve seen it myself!
Oh, Catherine Thank you Margaret wiped her eyes and got up from the bench.
Gone was the old woman whod shuffled out the door a minute before.
So what have you lot planted here, then? Lets have a look!Margaret dropped to her knees, fingers wandering through the soft spongy soil, tracing the haphazard rowsreds and golds, bold striped petals, the deep plum shed always loved. Quietly, the neighbours gatheredSarah with baby Olivia balanced on her hip, Mrs Joshi clutching a trowel, young Leon still in school uniform, eager to help.
Margarets hands, trembling, settled on a tiny sprout poking up where none had been before. For a moment, all she could do was laughproper, bubbling laughterwhile the others joined in, unsure why, but glad for the release.
Look at this lot! Youve planted them upside down, she scolded Leon gently, grinning, but with a bit of luckand some Margaret-magictheyll forgive us.
Sarah started clapping; others followed until the applause swelled, echoing against tired brickwork. Catherine felt the courtyard hum with something she hadnt sensed since childhood: hope, defiant and fierce.
Margaret rose and clasped Catherines hand. We start again, she whispered. Thats what gardens teach us. Dig in, mend whats broken, and wait for colour to return. Theres always another spring.
Nicola toddled over, offering a fistful of crushed petals. Margaret accepted them gravely, tucking the gift behind her ear, pink and ridiculous.
The tulips would bloom again, in spite of everything. And so, under the bright astonishment of a Saturday sky, the blocks odd, patched-up tribe set to workpulling weeds, making plans, sowing seeds for those yet to come.
All around, bulbs pressed silently upward, ready to astonish the world anew.
