Tulips
My goodness, how beautiful! Mrs. Wilkinson, youre a real magician!
The vibrant tulips were a joy to the eye. Catherine knew just how much effort Mrs. Wilkinson had put in to create this display. For years, her neighbour had dedicated herself to transforming their dreary grey courtyard into a blooming garden. Even the playground where Catherine and Nicola were now headedwell, that too was thanks to Mrs. Wilkinson. She truly had a gift for making things lovely! The courtyard was unrecognisable now, spotless and spacious. But the flowerswell, those were something else entirely. Every single one was planted by Mrs. Wilkinson herself. Catherine had lived here for almost fifteen years, since her parents moved into the building, and in all that time, never once had she seen anyone else plant so much as a pansy. Only Mrs. Wilkinsonand that only started after her husband passed away.
It cant be easy, being alone at her age. Her sons far away, and theres no one else to rely on. Mrs. Wilkinson flatly refused to move out. She was too bound to this cityher childhood was spent here, and everyone she loved had been here. And her son had his own family and, honestly, she and her daughter-in-law hadnt exactly hit it off. With the daughter-in-laws mother living nearby, help was always to hand anyway. And Mrs. Wilkinson? An outsider. Pleasant enough, but still an outsider.
She never really complained to Catherine, but Catherine could see quite clearly that her neighbour was weighed down by sadness. Being alone is difficult…
Catherine knows this well. After her first marriage collapsed, she practically climbed the walls with loneliness. She could have saved the marriage, really. All shed need to do was turn a blind eye to a minor fling. But how could she, when the other woman was Sarah, whom shed grown up with and shared a desk with for nearly eight years?
Catherine looked Sarah right in the eye, took back the flat keys from her husband, and set about suffering. For nearly a week she properly wallowed, even taking unpaid leave so as not to be distracted from her misery.
But in the end, Catherine never completed her proper suffering. She was sat, clutching a tub of ice cream, puffy-eyed and growling to herself, when someone started hammering at the doorno gentle knock, but a real clatter. She didnt even pause to thinkit had to mean trouble!
So Catherine pulled on some jeans and went to open up.
At first, she hardly recognised Mrs. Wilkinson. She was so used to the calm, confident woman whod stroll around the courtyard, greeting neighbours with a gentle smile and always stopping to coo over every baby.
Hows little Charlie? Is Emily sleeping through? Has Lucy got plenty of milk, Hannah?
A doctor. A paediatrician. Not just by title, but by nature. Always keeping an eye on everyone, always ready with a helping hand and a warm heart. That was Mrs. Wilkinson.
But nowthis wasnt the same person at all. Mrs. Wilkinson looked absolutely lost in her grief. But seeing Catherine, she seemed to pause, step aside from her own misery, and ask, sternly,
Whats the matter, Cathy? Why are you so tearful? Are you ill?
And Catherine found herself returning from those far-off places shed retreated to, trying to dull the hurt. Enough! She felt rubbish, but Mrs. Wilkinson was obviously far worse off. She had something altogether more heartbreaking to face.
And so it was. You can lose a husband to separation, know hes out there alive and well, and even happy somewhere. It stings, but its bearable. But to lose him completely, with no hope of return, thats something else entirely.
Mrs. Wilkinsons husband hadnt waited for the ambulance. At first, he didnt want to call, assuming as usual hed fight off the problem with tablets. But then it was too late. When they arrived…
Every morning, Mrs. Wilkinson went to the market for eggs and veg, and that morning she found him at the door, on his way out to meet her, but unable to manage the stairs.
That day, Catherine grabbed her phone and coat and dashed out behind her neighbour.
She didnt get back until evening, threw the melted ice cream out, tidied the flat, and sat for ages at the kitchen table, circling her finger on a cold tea mug, deep in thought.
The next day, she gathered her documents and filed for divorce. She realised life cant be postponed. No amount of misery would change anything. Move forward or stay stuckbeing stuck didnt bring happiness. Life is short, as cliché as that sounds. Not a moment can be edited out or lived over. So why waste it on grievances and anger? Wouldnt it be better to dust oneself off and get moving?
She managed it. Slowly, gradually, but she clawed her way out of that pit of despair.
A new job, a new loveit wasnt easy, but now she had David and Nicola, and life had begun to glow again.
But for Mrs. Wilkinson, things werent so cheerful. Yes, she recovered from the loss, as much as one can. In the end, people get used to anything, however hard. But Catherine could seethe old lively, jolly neighbour was gone, replaced only by a faded shadow.
She still smiled, still asked neighbours about their children, but Catherine saw that it was only habit. The warmth behind the smile had left. As if everything inside her had been frozen.
A year, two, three Catherine knew Mrs. Wilkinson had retired and all but locked herself away at her allotment. Then even that refuge had to be sold off when her son needed money for a flat. How could she not help? Her only child
It was after the allotment was sold that Catherine realised something had to change. You cant just abandon someone youve lived next to for so many years. You cant turn away from the one who, at a moments notice, would dash over to feel your forehead, and then check your childs too. You cant just not think about anothers pain…
Catherine knew most neighbours hardly cared what went on behind others closed doors. They had their own problems. But shed been taught differently.
Never stand by, Cathy! Do as much as you can. That way, if you ever need help, people wont just walk away. They might not sort your problems, but a kind word can mean everything sometimes. Just take someone by the hand and say, Im with you!
Catherine always listened to her parents. Family meant everyone pulling togetherlike that story about the turnip! Even now, with her parents living closer to her younger sister in Bournemouth, Catherine phoned them every day. And they were real, genuine conversationsshe knew she was loved, that they worried about her. And that mattersa lot. To know theres someone out there who careswho tells you so. The more often, the better.
But for Mrs. Wilkinson, words werent enough. Shed listen, nod, but you could see life was fading from her bit by bit. Shed grown thin, looked tired, and didnt show up in the courtyard as often.
It was clear she was simply struggling to exist, day after day, with no hope for the future. She kept going, but was lost in thought…
Her son wouldnt returnhe belonged elsewhere now, in a new city, under new rules. All she had left was a handful of neighbours kids who needed watching and the odd catch-up with old friends who had their own homes, families, grandchildren…
All that remained for her was loneliness. When the telly goes off at night, and the silence is so crushing, you want to howl at the moon with sorrow.
Eventually, Catherine realised her talks with her neighbour werent helping. Worse, after a chat, Mrs. Wilkinson might vanish for daysnot in the courtyard, no answer at home. Maybe she just didnt want to open the door.
So, as words werent working, Catherine started thinking what else she could try. Something, anything, to distract or inspire.
The answer came, as they often do, unexpectedly. David had surprised her with little presents before, but somehow it was that bundle of tulips he gave her before Nicola was born that made her shout, Eureka! David was alarmed, thinking Catherine had lost her marbles (as pregnant ladies are prone to), but she hurriedly explained. The next morning, Catherine tapped at Mrs. Wilkinsons door, gently nudging a box of tulip bulbs along the floor with her foot. David stood by, but at the click of the lock, melted away as his wife had asked.
Ill take it from here! shed insisted.
And her plan worked.
Catherine liedshe was so convincing she almost believed herselfabout being unable to pass an old dear with some lovely flowers, and now not knowing what to do with them.
And then I remembered you always had the most beautiful tulips at your allotment. Youd bring bouquets for mum! Please, Mrs. Wilkinson, help me out! The courtyards such a sorry sight. But if we planted flowers? Wouldnt that be a treat? Only, Ive no idea what Im doing. And Im not much help myself, as you can see! Catherine patted her bump and put her hands together, pleadingly.
Mrs. Wilkinson rifled through the bulbs, wagged a finger at Catherine, and for the first time in ages, nearly smiled.
Oh, well make it beautiful! But just tulips isnt enough, Cathy. They fade quickly. Best think about something else for the beds too, so it stays lovely longer than a couple of weeks in the spring.
And that was how their courtyard-greenery adventure began.
At first, no one was keen on getting their hands dirty, but handing over a few pounds for saplings and seeds was another matter. Catherine did the shopping at first, but once Nicola arrived, Mrs. Wilkinson took charge of the lot.
But it wasnt enoughshe wanted more than just borders and flowers. Using her old connections, she persuaded the council to put in a new playground, and smart new benches appeared at every entrance.
The courtyard came to life.
The men, scratching their heads at all the changes, soon joined in too. During the spring clean-up, they put up a little white picket fence, and Mrs. Wilkinson nearly cried at the sight.
From then on, she was out there every spare moment, planting, watering, touching up paint, tidying. Shed finally found a purpose again, and Catherine was glad. Shed wheel Nicola up and down, admiring the transformation and silently thanking her husband for that armful of tulips that started it all.
Soon Nicola was toddling and Catherine longed to show her the first spring tulips blooming in Mrs. Wilkinsons flowerbeds.
And suddenlythey bloomed!
Catherine stopped in delight by the border, letting go of Nicolas hand for just a moment. The little mischief instantly took advantage and dashed off.
Nicola! Catherine chased after her, trying to catch her before she made it to the kerb.
Mrs. Wilkinson straightened up, set down her paintbrush from the fence, and laughed:
Go on, catch her, Cathy! Thats your fitness sortedno more moaning about lack of exercise!
Oh, dont say it! Catherine scooped up Nicola, who squealed, wriggling away from her mothers kisses. Where do they find such fast girls?!
Theyre sprightly, thats for sure, but have you noticed shes always on her tiptoes? Mrs. Wilkinson frowned.
Yesshe does, at home too, especially barefoot. Is that a problem?
Best have a paediatrician check her, just to be sure.
Could you recommend anyone?
Ill think. Pop by tonight, Ill dig out some contacts. Most of my old lot are retired now, minding grandchildrenor great-grandchildren! Hardly know any young ones. Might have to put the word out.
What word?
The grapevine, Cathy! Mrs. Wilkinson laughed. You knowthe good old gossip network. Ill make some calls, see if any of my former students can help. Well see!
Thank you!
Oh, no trouble. How are things with you?
All fine, David just works too much. Barely see himleaves early, home late…
Better that than him lazing about on the sofa, eh?
No, youre right.
You know, Ive heard that from plenty of young wives, especially first-timers. They want attention, a bit of affection, so they sulk and squabble. But, Ill tell you, it never ends well. The men never even hearbecause their minds are somewhere else. Shes telling him how tired and worn-out she is, hes thinking hes exactly the same, nothings getting any easier. See?
I do. Im guilty of it myself, sometimes. Cant help it. Davids a gold-standard husband, really. But I still lose my rag. And what can I do about it?
Its simple, Cathy. Say exactly what you think to your husbandbut gently, without shouting. Feed him firstthen give him your piece. But do it cleverly.
How?
Oh, Cathy! Youre a grown woman, and youve still not learned a little gentle cunning? Dont attack your husbandtalk about the circumstances! Tell him you miss him, that you and Nicola wait at the door for him, looking forward to the weekend. Would he be offended at that?
Of course not.
Exactly! Its the same message, but no argument. Thats what I always did. Works a treat. My husband and I got along beautifully for nearly fifty years. Only had one real row ever.
What over?
Youll never believe ita dog! Our son was desperate for a puppy, I said noknew the work would fall on me. I had the house, the child, workmy husband travelled a lot. Whod walk the thing?
So, you got one?
Had to.
And how did you cope?
Honestly? Great! Lost a good stone in weight running about with that dogshe needed at least two hours exercise a day or shed wreck the place. Our son was just starting schoolcouldnt send him out alone. It worked out exactly as I imagined. The only respite I got was when my husband was home at weekends. But even then, the smart old girl realised it was more fun with me, and started waking me up even earlier so he wouldnt go instead!
Clever girl! Catherine laughed.
Takes after me! Mrs. Wilkinson shifted the paint tin away from curious Nicola. Your mum will never get that off!
Bidding her neighbour goodbye, Catherine took Nicola off to the playground. Swings, sandpit, pat-a-cakebusiness as usual.
Soon, having played the requisite time, they were nearly home when Catherine saw something that stopped her in her tracks. For a moment, she clapped her hand over her mouth, just to stop herself shouting and frightening her daughter.
Mrs. Wilkinson had finished painting the fence and gone inside. The flowerbed was now occupied by someone elsea tiny child, a bit older than Nicola but much more energetic.
Most of the flowers were yanked out or trampled by little feet.
Catherine looked across at the next entrances flowerbed and nearly weptthere was nothing left of its former beauty either.
The culprits mother stood smiling by the fence, watching her son wreak havoc.
Whats happening? Catherine just about recognised her own shaky whisper.
What do you mean?
She met a pair of mild blue eyes, surprised by the question.
Whys your child trampling the flowers?
And why not?
Butyou cant!
Says who? Him? Whos going to stop my child exploring? You?
You think thats exploration? Catherine was barely holding herself together.
No shoutingNicola would be frightened.
Her daughter stood quietly, gripping Catherines finger tightly.
Yes, I do. Exploring the world, in all its forms. Flowers are there to be picked, arent they?
These flowers arent wildthey were planted and cared for!
Oh, dont be ridiculous! Why are you so wound up? Honestly, look at your facegetting all blotchy. Bad for your nerves! Theyre just tulips. More will grow.
Catherines patience snapped. She took a step towards the infuriating woman, not quite in control anymore.
Nicola began to wail loudly, snapping Catherine out of it.
What was she doing?! One step away from a proper fight.
Please, collect your child! Im calling the police! Catherine picked up Nicola and reached for her phone.
Oh, what a fuss! Youre all so delicate these dayscall the police if you must, see what happens.
The mother dragged her protesting boy away from the bed.
See what youve donehell cry for ages now!
I dont care! Catherine replied quietly, but loud enough for the neighbours peering from their windows to hear. Get out!
She watched the troublemaker stalk off, muttering curse words, and then turned when she heard behind her,
How could this Cathy, why? I
Mrs. Wilkinson stood on the steps, watering can in one hand, a homemade biscuit for Nicola in the other.
Catherine opened her mouth to explain, but Mrs. Wilkinson just waved her off, set down the can, and walked away, shouldering what seemed an unbearable weight, closing the door behind her.
Catherine started after her, but Nicola began wailing again. After settling her, Catherine hurried to Mrs. Wilkinsons, but there was no answer.
Nicola was tired and hungry by then, so Catherine headed home, promising herself to try again once her daughter was asleep.
But Mrs. Wilkinsons door stayed firmly shut. Catherine knocked and rang, but silence reigned inside.
Back at home, she dug out her phone and phoned Mrs. Wilkinsons son.
Ill ring mum, he promised.
Thank you!
Catherine had never waited so anxiously for a phone call.
Mum says shes all right. She just doesnt want to see anyone. Very upset. She wouldnt tell me whyjust said not to worry.
Catherine briefly explained the incident, promising to look in on Mrs. Wilkinson.
I know your wifes expectingtry not to worry. Well do our best to sort it.
And whos we? Wouldnt it be best if I came?
Lets give it a day or two. Ive got an idea. If it doesnt work, Ill call, all right?
Thank you, Cathy
Nothing to thank me for yet.
That evening, David looked after Nicola. Catherine called on all the neighbours, explaining her plan. Nearly everyone was willing to help.
Next evening, those willing gathered in the courtyard. Boxes were brought from car boots, greeted with quiet approval. There was plenty for everyone to do. Catherine had long ago sent David home with sleepy Nicola, but she carried on, driven by what shed noticed in her daughters eyes the day before.
Shed seen the fear as the boy destroyed the flowers. Catherine knew that unless she acted, that fear would stay with Nicola forever. Maybe hidden, maybe replaced by good things, but always there at the back of her mind. That simply wouldnt do.
So Catherine opened box after box, nodding as more people joined them on their way home from work. When David came to collect Nicola, she pressed him for a second, whispered Thank you! before he went.
The next morning, a Saturday, Catherine greeted the neighbours gathered in the courtyard, then headed up to Mrs. Wilkinsons.
Mrs. Wilkinson, please open up! I know youre inthis is really important! Please!
At last, the lock turned, and Catherine nearly gasped at the sadness in Mrs. Wilkinsons eyes.
Whats happened, Cathy? Is Nicola ill? There was a crack in her voice, as if it belonged to someone who had lost something most precious.
No, shes fine, God bless. But I need you! I really need you, right now. Please come with me, Mrs. WilkinsonIm begging you
Out of words, Catherine just looked at her, clueless how else to persuade her neighbour to come down.
Is it urgent? Mrs. Wilkinson sighed, taking her coat from the hook.
Very.
Alright, but not for longdont feel well
The bright sun made her squint as soon as she came outside.
Oh! Cathy, wait, I cant see a thing!
But her words were met with silence. She blinked, and then her breath caught. She tried to inhalebut couldnt. Tears welled up, and it wasnt the sunlights fault this time.
Tulips An ocean of tulips! All the beds and two new flowerbeds were covered in a carpet of colour.
What is all this?! Where did it come from?!
Mrs. Wilkinson, over here! Catherine helped her down the steps and sat her on the bench. Were so sorry we couldnt save the flowers youd planted over these years! It all happened so fast, I was paralysed. Its impossible to reason with someone who wont listen. But you know what?
What, Cathy?
We understand, all of usthe people who gathered last night to try and give you something back. We know how much youve done for us! Lookhalf the children here are your former patients. Or their parents were, anyway. Some even have their own children now, like me. And all of us want you to knowno one will be allowed to hurt you! Weve reported what happened, but what matters most is, youve got more flowerbeds now to tend. And dont worrywell help! Lets keep our courtyard beautiful, so our childrenand the grown-ups, toocan delight in it. We need your talents, Mrs. Wilkinson! Dont give up on us! I cant keep a single cactus aliveyou know that! But you can grow anything, even lemons and palm treesIve seen it myself!
Oh, Catherine Thank you… Mrs. Wilkinson wiped away her tears and got up.
Gone was the frail old woman whod left the entrance just a few minutes earlier.
So, what have you all planted here? Lets take a look!Well, to be honest, we werent quite sure what would do best, so we got a bit of everything, really. Tulips, daffodils, crocuses, even some hyacinths. And then Jasmine from number twelve brought foxgloves and pansiesher mum sent them from Kent. There are some forget-me-nots, too, and someone thought sunflowers would look cheerful by the bin shed. Is that all right?
Mrs. Wilkinson looked from bed to bed, the riot of colour swirling before her. Childrens laughter echoed around the courtyard, the air shimmered with hope, and for the first time in a long while, the place felt alive not with loneliness, but with promise.
She reached for Catherines hand. Do you know, Cathy, I think its more than all right. Its wonderful. Look at you all Look at this. Her voice trembled, but there was a smile in her eyesa true one, unclouded by old sorrow.
And I She paused, drawing herself up and smoothing her cardigan as if to make herself presentable to the whole world. I suppose I have no choice, do I? Ill just have to start again. Thankfully, Ill have good help this time She caught sight of Nicolastill on her tiptoes, still watching with wide, expectant eyes. And some excellent new recruits.
With Catherines hand in hers, and Nicola skipping ahead, Mrs. Wilkinson strode into the sea of tulips, gathering other neighbours as she went. Sunlight glinted on the painted fence, and laughter weaved its way through new blooms.
That evening, every window in the building glowed with light. And out in the courtyard, set between the tulips, a little wooden sign stoodpainted by many small handsthat read: For Mrs. Wilkinson, who made things grow.
And after that, loneliness never again managed to put down roots.
