Tulips
Goodness me, what a sight! Mrs. Margaret, youre an absolute magician!
The colourful tulips delighted everyone who passed by. I knew just how much time and effort Mrs. Margaret had poured into bringing such beauty to our street. For years, our neighbour had worked away, turning a drab, grey communal space into a flourishing garden fit for a photograph. Even the little playground where I was now headed with Harriet owed its existence to Mrs. Margaret. Some people just have a knack for beauty, and she was certainly one of them. You wouldnt recognise the place now! Its so tidy, bright, and open. The flowers deserve their own mentionthey were each planted by Mrs. Margarets own hands. In the nearly fifteen years Id lived here, since my parents moved us into this house, no one had ever bothered planting a single flower. Only Mrs. Margaret. And only since her husband passed on. It seemed she needed something to keep her going after that loss.
Its tough, being left on your own at that age. Her son lived far away, and there was no one else really to lean on. Mrs. Margaret absolutely refused to move, tied as she was to London, the city of her childhood, and the resting place of all her loved ones. Her son had his own family now, and things were a bit awkward with his wifeher daughter-in-laws mother lived nearby, so she had plenty of help. And Mrs. Margaret, though pleasant, was still an outsider.
She never much complained to me, but I could see the sadness in her. Its awful being lonely I know that for a fact. After the end of my first marriage, I thought Id go up the wall with grief. Maybe I could have saved itif only Id managed to turn a blind eye to his little fling. But how can you, when its with someone youve been close friends with since school, Lucy, the one you’ve laughed and cried with for eight years?
I looked Lucy right in the eye, took back the keys from my ex-husband, and threw myself into proper misery. I even took a week off work just to sit and feel sorry for myself.
But in the end, I didnt get to wallow in my misery quite as planned. There I was, hugging a tub of ice cream and teary-eyed, when someone started bangingnot just knocking, but poundingat my front door. I didnt even stop to wonder if I should open up. When someone knocks like that, it can only mean trouble.
So, I pulled on a pair of jeans and went to answer.
Id only known Mrs. Margaret as a calm, self-assured woman with a gentle smile, always wandering among the neighbours’ children in the garden, asking after little ones: Hows Tommys tummy? Is Abigail sleeping okay? Baby milk alright, Laura?
She was a doctora paediatrician, and not just in name. She was always willing to help, always warm, always ready to lend a hand or heart. That was Mrs. Margaret.
But seeing her that dayshe looked utterly different. Frazzled, haunted by grief. Just not herself at all.
She looked me over and, as though stepping outside her own misery, scolded me: What on earths happened, darling? Why all the tears? Is something hurting?
It brought me tumbling out of my own inner storm. Enough! As much as I was hurting, Mrs. Margaret was hurting more. And what she faced was far worse than a breakup.
Sure enough, her husband had died. Not just lefthe was gone forever. Nothing could change that. Hed refused to call an ambulance at first, trusting old tablets to fend off another attack. By the time help came, it was too late.
Mrs. Margaret, who walked to the market each morning for fresh veg and cheese, found him by the door. Hed tried to meet her coming home, but couldnt manage the steps.
That day, I just grabbed my keys and coat and followed her out. I didnt return until evening. I threw away the melted ice cream, cleaned the flat, sat at the kitchen table for ages, tracing circles around my mug of cooled tea, lost in thought.
The next day, I gathered the paperwork and filed for divorce. Id understood, at last, that life couldnt be lived for later. You can sob and dwell all you like, but nothing ever changes unless you take action. Lifes too short to waste on anger and hurt. Time cant be rewound.
Slowly, I crawled out of the hole Id dug for myself. New job, new love… It wasnt easy, but now I had David and Harriet, and suddenly life was full of colour again.
Things werent as joyful for Mrs. Margaret. She recovered from her husband’s death, as much as one can. You do get used to anything, however hard. But the jovial, cheerful neighbour I once knew had faded. All that was left was a shadow.
She still smiled, asked after everyone’s children, but I could see it was just automatic nowher warmth had gone, as if frozen inside.
Years passed. I knew shed retired, spent all her time at her allotment, until she’d had to sell it to help her son get a flat. How could she say no? Her only child.
After the allotment was gone, I decided something had to change. You cant just abandon someone whos been in your life for so long. You cant turn your back when someones hurting…
I was raised to believe you dont stand by idly while others are suffering. Do what you can, darling, Mum always said. Help if youre ableyou never know when youll need someone yourself. And perhaps people wont solve your problems, but sometimes a kind word is all thats needed. To simply take someones hand and say, Im here.
Family always meant everything to me. Even now, with Mum and Dad living by the coast near my younger sister, I speak to them every dayand its not just out of obligation. I know I’m loved, and that makes all the difference. Knowing there’s someone out there who loves you… who’s waiting to say so. The more often, the better.
But for Mrs. Margaret, words were never enough. She listened and nodded, but life seemed to drain right out of her. She lost weight, looked frailer, and stopped appearing in the garden.
It was clear she struggled just to exist. She lived for her sonwho was never moving back to Londonand had little else: the neighbour’s kids occasionally, and the odd cup of tea with friends who were nearly all busy with their own families.
All that really remained was lonelinesswhen the telly was turned off at night, and the hush was heavy as a shroud.
I soon realised my chats were, if anything, making things worse; after our talks she’d disappear for days. Perhaps she just didnt want to open her door anymore.
When words failed, I knew I needed to try something elsesomething active to shake her out of her gloom.
The idea came quite by accident. David often surprised me with little gifts, but it was the huge bouquet of tulips he brought just before Harriet was born that caused the penny to dropEureka! Poor David thought Id gone mad (as you do during pregnancy), but I managed to explain. Next morning, with Harriet still due any day, I stood outside Mrs. Margarets door, gently nudging a box of tulip bulbs with my toe.
Once Id explained I couldnt resist the flowers from the local marketand didnt know what to do with themMrs. Margarets face softened for the first time in ages, and she actually almost smiled.
Well make it lovely, dont worry. But you know tulips alone arent enoughthey bloom and vanish so quickly. We really ought to think about some perennials for colour all season.
And so, the transformation beganthe effort to turn our street into verdant, blooming gardens.
No one in the neighbourhood was eager to dig in the earth, but everyone was happy enough to chip in a fiver for bulbs and seedlings. I organised everything at first, but after Harriet was born, Mrs. Margaret happily took over.
She didnt stop at borders and flowers, either. Using her old contacts, she arranged a new playground, and benches by the entrances.
Our street came to life.
Even the men, whod watched the changes with bemusement, pitched inat the next clean-up weekend, they put up a white picket fence around the beds, and Mrs. Margaret nearly wept with joy.
Now, she was always out front: planting, watering, painting, tidying. Shed found a reason to carry on, and that delighted me. Id take Harriet out for walks, pram rolling down the path, admiring all Mrs. Margarets hard work, and felt secretly grateful for those tulips that started it all.
Eventually Harriet learned to walk, and I couldnt wait to show her the first tulips of spring.
And at last, there they wereglorious!
I stood transfixed by the flowerbeds, letting go of Harriets hand for a moment. She seized her chance and darted away.
Harriet! I chased after her, trying to catch her before she reached the kerb.
Mrs. Margaret straightened up from painting the fence and laughed. After her, Kate! That’s more exercise than any fitness classdidn’t you say you never have time for the gym?
Oh, tell me about it! I scooped up Harriet, who squealed and fought off my kisses, Where do you get these speedy girls from?
You should see how she runs on tiptoes, Kate, Mrs. Margaret said, frowning slightly.
She does at home, tooespecially barefoot. Is that worrying?
Bring her to a neurologist just in case. I can recommend someone. Pop by this eveningIll see if I still have any decent contacts. Most of my generation are already keeping to their allotments, minding grandchildren. I hardly know any of the young ones. Ill put the word out, though.
What, on the radio? I asked, a bit confused.
No, love, the grapevine! Ill ring round, see if an old student of mine can help.
I thanked her, and as we chatted, she asked after David. Hes working so much I barely see himleaves before sunrise, home after dark
Its a good thing hes so responsible, Kate. Would you want the type who just lounges on the sofa?
No, of course not.
A lot of young mums complain about it, especially with their first baby. You just want a bit more attention, a bit of tenderness. So you end up sulking, arguing. But take it from me, that never changes muchmen dont really hear what youre trying to say with those rows. Youre telling him youre tired and overwhelmed, but hes thinking he feels the same and theres no end in sight.
I know, Im guilty of it myself. And Davids honestly a top-tier husband! But I still snap, and then feel terrible.
Its easy, love, she said. Say how you feel, but do it kindlynot by raising your voice! Feed him first, put the kettle on, then say your piece, but be smart about it.
How do you mean?
Dont say hes a bad husband or father, say that you miss him; that Harriet waits for him by the door; that you look forward to weekends together. That way, he wont take offenceand he’ll know hes needed. That worked for me and my Bernard. We were happy nearly fifty years, and only had one proper row.
What about?
Youll laugha dog! My son begged for a puppy. I said no. I knew Id get stuck with all the work. My Bernard was travelling all the time. But once the pup arrived, I got more exercise than ever! She needed hours of walking twice a day or she’d tear up the house. My figure never looked better!”
And your son?
He was just starting school, too little to take her out alone. So it all fell to me whilst my husband was away. Thankfully, our clever lass knew who she could properly frolic withshed wake me in the mornings, knowing Bernard wouldnt go if I was already up.
Smart dog! I laughed.
Just like me! Mrs. Margaret moved the paint pot out of Harriets reach. Or youll come home rainbow-streaked!
After saying goodbye, I took Harriet to the playground. Swings, sandpit, gamesit was routine.
Just as we were heading back, I saw something that made my jaw drop. Mrs. Margaret had just finished painting and had gone indoors. But a small boy, no older than Harriet, was in the flowerbed, stomping and pulling up tulips by the root.
The flowerbed outside the next entrance was just as ruined.
A blonde woman stood smiling by the picket fence, watching her son destroy what had taken years to grow.
Whats going on? I whispered hoarsely.
Excuse me?
She looked at me with wide, sky-blue eyes.
Why is your child trampling the flowers?
Why not?
You surely cant mean that!
Why, is it forbidden? Who says my child cant explore? Development, thats what this is, love.
You call this development?! I could barely keep my voice steadyHarriet was squeezing my finger so tightly.
Yes, I do. Learning about the world as it is. Flowers grow so we can pick them. Its all part of life.
These flowers dont grow wild. Someone planted and cared for them!
Oh, what nonsense! Why get so worked up? Its unhealthy, dear. Theyre just tulipsnew ones will grow.
Id had enough and advanced towards her. A wail from Harriet brought me back to my senses.
What was I doing?! Was I really about to start a fight?
Take your child away this instant! Im calling the police! I scooped Harriet up and grabbed my mobile.
Good grief! Everyones so precious these days! Go on thencall your copper. Whats he going to do to me?
The woman eventually dragged her howling boy away from the ruined bed.
See what youve done? Hell cry for hours now!
I couldnt care less! I spoke quietly, but loud enough for the watching neighbours to hear, Get off this street!
When I finally turned, Mrs. Margaret stood on the steps, watering can in one hand, a pastry for Harriet in the other.
She looked at the devastation, her eyes huge. I opened my mouth to explain, but she just waved me off, set down the can, and trudged inside, shoulders heavy.
I tried to follow, but Harriets sobs held me back. After settling her, I went up to Mrs. Margarets flat, but she wouldnt answer.
I called her son. Shes safe, just very upset, he said. She wont explainshe just said not to worry.
I promised Id keep an eye on her. I know your wife is pregnantdont worry, well sort it.
That evening, I left Harriet with David and began calling round the neighbours, explaining my idea. Almost everyone wanted to help.
The next evening, people gathered, bringing bits and piecesseeds, bulbs, trays, compost. There was work for all, and I stayed out long after David had taken a sleepy Harriet home. As I watched Harriet stare at the boy trampling the beds, the fear in her eyes stung me deeply. I realised I couldnt allow her to grow up scaredconvinced that beauty could be so carelessly destroyed. I had to do something.
Thats why I unpacked boxes and nodded gratefully as neighbours joined in, all of us from different walks but united for the same reason.
On Saturday morning, after greeting everyone outside, I made my way to Mrs. Margarets door.
Mrs. Margaret, please open upI know youre in. This is important. I need you!
There was a pause, then the lock clicked, and she let me inside. Her eyes were rimmed red and as hollow as grief itself.
Kate, is Harriet ill? she asked, her voice faint and lost.
No… shes fine. But I need you. Right now. Please, come out with me.
Out in the sunlight, Mrs. Margaret shielded her eyes. WaitIm blinded! She blinked, then froze, breathless. Tears streamed down her cheeks, not from the brightness, but from what, at last, she saw: tulips. Beds upon beds of tulips, and two new flower patches carpeting the verge in dazzling colour.
What… how?
Come here, Mrs. Margaret. I helped her down the steps and settled her on a bench. Im so sorry we couldnt save all your old flowers. It happened so fast. And, honestly, its impossible to explain anything to someone who refuses to understand. But you know what?
What, dear?
We all understand how much youve done for us. Looksee how many came to help? Parents youve comforted, children you once cared forsome of those you dosed with vitamins now have kids of their own, like me! None of us will let you be mistreated. We filed a complaint, but I think youll care more about thisnow youve twice as many flowerbeds to look after. Well help, thoughdont worry! Please, keep our street looking beautiful, for us and our little ones. The truth is, I can hardly manage a cactus. But you have the magic touch. Even lemons and palms! Ive seen it myself.
Oh, Katethank you. Mrs. Margaret dabbed away her tears and stood.
And just like that, the sad, lonely old woman whod left the flat a minute ago was gone.
Come on, then! Lets see what you lot have planted this time!”
And so, the gardenin every senseblossomed once again.
