Tulips
Good heavens, what a sight! Mrs Margaret, youre a miracle worker!
The garden was a riot of colour, thanks to the tulips. Catherine knew very well how much effort Margaret had poured into this patch of beauty. Several years, thats how long Margaret had spent coaxing an ugly, grey courtyard into something that looked like a slice of Kew Gardens transplanted to a nondescript street in Reading. Even the childrens playgroundwhich Catherine and her daughter, Nicola, were now headed towardsexisted solely because of Margarets tireless campaigning. The woman just had a knack for making the world brighter. The whole place felt unrecognisable: clean, roomy, and dripping with flowerseach one planted by Margaret herself. Catherine had lived here for almost fifteen yearssince her parents moved inand never had she seen so much as a daffodil before Margaret took up the trowel and gloves. That all happened after her husband passed awaya hard thing, that.
Being left alone at her age wasnt easy. Her son lived far off in Manchester, and there wasnt really anyone else she could lean on. The mere mention of moving in with him was met with a resounding absolutely not from Margaret. She was far too attached to this city where shed spent her whole childhoodand where all those shed loved now lay buried. Her son had his own family, anyway. Relations with the daughter-in-law were, well, not exactly close. The daughter-in-laws mum was always around, so help wasnt in short supply. But Margaret? She was the odd one outa pleasant enough sort, but still an outsider.
Margaret never really complained, but Catherine could see her spirits flagging. Its tough, being alone…
Catherine knew from experience. After her first marriage fell apart, shed been ready to climb the walls with loneliness. It could have been salvagedreally, all shed have needed was to overlook a brief affair. But how do you ignore it when the other woman is your best friend from school, Sarah, with whom youve shared eight years of classes and enough secrets to sink a ship?
Catherine had stared Sarah down, reclaimed the keys from her ex, and dedicated herself to mourningwith such gusto, she even took unpaid leave just to wallow in private.
But she never did manage to make her heartbreak into high art. She simply sat there, clutching a tub of Ben & Jerrys, red-eyed and cross as a cat with its tail trodden on, when someone quite literally battered on her front door. It didnt even occur to her not to open itpeople only knock like that if its something serious. Disaster, usually.
So off she trudged to the door, dragging her jeans on.
The sight of Margaret at the door would have frightened the postman. Catherine had always known her as composed and serene, someone who wandered the courtyard with a gentle smile, always stopping to greet neighbours and fuss over each baby.
Hows Simons tummy today? Is Emily sleeping any better? Enough milk for Oliver, Helen?
A doctor. A proper childrens doctora paediatrician, not just in job title but in soul. Always looking out for everyone, heart and hands perpetually at the ready. That was Margaret.
But the woman on Catherines doorstep was more a ghost of her former selfmortified with grief.
Whats happened to you, Cathy? Why are you in tears? Are you ill?
Her question jolted Catherine from her own gloom. Enough. She felt awful, but Margaret was clearly suffering more. What happened to her was unimaginably worse than some broken marriage.
And it was. You might lose a husband to another womanbut know hes alive and reasonably content somewhere. Painful, but eventually tolerable. But losing him entirely, suddenly, irretrievably? Thats something else.
Margarets husband hadnt made it. At first, he hadnt wanted to call for the ambulance, convinced hed ride it out with his usual tablets. By the time he changed his mind, it was too late.
Margaret found him by the front door, just as shed returned from her morning run to the farmers market for eggs and veggies. Hed made it halfway to meet her, but couldnt manage the stairs.
On that day, Catherine just grabbed her phone, pulled on her coat, and followed Margaret out.
She didnt get home until late that night. Threw the melted ice cream away, swept up, and sat in her kitchen nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, thinking.
By the next morning, shed gathered her documents and filed for divorce. She realised nothing was gained by waitingeither you press on, or you get eternally stuck in place. And life was too short for that nonsense.
She managed it, eventuallybit by bit, she dug herself out of that pit.
New job, new love It wasnt easy. But now she had David and Nicola, and life was back in full colour.
For Margaret, things didnt seem nearly as sunny. Yes, she managed to recover, after a fashion. People get used to everything, even if its a slow slog. But the Margaret who used to banter with the neighbours and laugh easily had fadedleaving only a pale shadow.
She still smiled, still asked after everyones childrenyet Catherine could tell it was all autopilot now. The warmth had gone. Like shed been put in the freezer half-melted.
The years ticked by. Margaret retired and practically decamped to her allotment. Then she had to sell even that, when her son needed a deposit for a flat. How could she refuse? An only child…
After the allotment, Catherine decided something had to change. You cant just drop someone whos lived next door for half your life. Not someone whos rushed down the stairshair in curlers, slippers flyingat the mere hint of your child running a fever. You dont abandon someone whos in pain, full stop.
Catherine knew well enough most of the neighbours wouldnt have cared if Margaret became a hermit. Everyones drowning in their own problems anyway. But Catherines parents had always insisted:
Dont stand idly by, Cathy! Help where you can, and theres a chance folk will help you one day when you need iteven if its only a kind word. Sometimes thats everythingthe right person taking your hand and saying, Im here!
Catherine always cherished the idea that family was about standing together, like in some silly fairytaleexcept, now her parents had moved to Bournemouth to join her younger sister, but she still called them daily. Not just a perfunctory check-in, either. She knew she was lovedand that mattered more than she could admit.
Words alone, though, didnt seem enough for Margaret. Shed listen, nod, but life seemed to be leaking out of her. She lost weight, lost her sparkbarely ventured outside anymore.
She seemed to be just existing, not really living. Her son was never coming backhe had his own life now, in another city. And so her world shrank to watching over the neighbours kids (when she had the energy) and rare, tea-fuelled catch-ups with friends who had their own dramas.
And what was left to her? Loneliness. When the telly flicks off at night, the silence is so loud, you almost want to howl at the moon.
Catherine understood that simply chatting didnt help. In fact, it might have made things worse. Margaret would vanish for days after their talksnot answering the door or showing up outside. Maybe she was just tired of company.
Seeing words werent working, Catherine tried to think of something practicalanything at all to distract or give Margaret a sense of purpose.
The answer arrived, as these things do, by accident. David had treated Catherine to a handful of small surprises before, but the gigantic bunch of tulips he brought home in anticipation of baby Nicolas birth triggered a little lightbulb, bright enough that she nearly shouted Eureka! and frightened him into thinking pregnancy had unhinged her. But she managed to reassure him and, by the next morning, was at Margarets with a box of tulip bulbs shed bought at the greengrocerDavid hovering only long enough to see her knock before he disappeared on her orders.
I can handle it!
And somehow, she did. Catherine spun a tale about being unable to resist the sweet granny at the flower stalland now having no idea what to do with such a trovebut remembering the glorious tulips Margaret used to bring her mum from the old allotment.
Theres nothing for it, Mrs Margaret, you must help me! Our courtyard is crying out for flowers. I cant do it, what with this little person! (she patted her pregnant bump and gave her best imploring look).
Margaret fingered the bulbs, wagged a finger at Catherine andmiracle of miraclessmiled a crooked little smile for the first time in ages.
Well make it beautiful! But Cathy, tulips alone wont dothey vanish quickly. You want something for all seasons, love, not just two weeks of glory in spring.
And so began the saga of Grand Garden Makeover: Reading Edition.
No one else was exactly leaping at the chance to weed and plant, but everyone was happy enough to chip in for seeds and bulbs. In the beginning Catherine handled the buying, but after Nicolas arrival, Margaret took over all the fuss.
Soon, flowerbeds and the garden werent enough. Margaret rang up old contacts; the next thing you knew, the council had installed a playground and shiny new benches.
The courtyard came alive.
Even the menfolk, after scratching their heads at first, joined in. At the next spring clean-up, they built a smart little fence around the gardens. Margaret was practically in tears over the pristine white pickets.
Now, youd find her outside, planting, watering, painting, tidyingto the delight of Catherine, who strolled round and round with Nicola in her pram, grateful to Davidand those tulipsfor giving her neighbour a new lease on life.
Once Nicola started walking, Catherine would bring her out to wait for Margarets first tulips of the season to bloom.
When they did, Catherine froze in awe by the flowerbeds and, in that moment, let go of Nicolas hand. Her daughter bolted immediately, making a beeline for the pavement.
Nicky! Catherine took off after her, desperate to catch her before she darted into the road.
Margaret straightened up, pausing from painting the fence, and laughed:
Run, Cathy! Theres your exercisealways complaining you never get time for the gym!
Oh, dont! Catherine scooped up Nicola, who shrieked in protest, wriggling free of her mothers adoring kisses. Where do kids get all their energy?
Theyre born with itby the bucketful. But have you noticed she goes up on her tiptoes?
Yes, even at home. Its more noticeable when shes barefoot. Is that bad?
Might be worth seeing a paediatrician, just to be safe.
Know anyone youd recommend?
Ill have a think. Pop round later and Ill see if I can dig up some numbersmost my lot have swapped medicine for their veg patches and grandkids by now. Radio Reading will have to do!
Radio what? Catherine blinked at her.
Grapevine Radio, dear! Ill call aroundsomeones bound to know a good doctor. Well see!
Thank you!
Oh, its nothing yet. Hows life otherwise?
All right! Davids working loadsI barely see him. Out early, back late…
Thats a good thing, Cathy! Means hes responsible. Better that than a layabout glued to the sofa, right?
Well, yesof course.
Loads of women grumble about that, especially with their first baby. Its only naturaleveryone wants more attention. But let me tell you, Cathy, Ive never seen a shouting match fix anything. The blokes never hear what youre truly saying. Youre telling them youre tired and overwhelmedthey just hear nag, nag, nag. You know?
I know… I try to stop myselfDavid ticks all the right boxes, reallybut sometimes I still explode, and I dont know how to stop it.
Its simple. Say what you mean, just dont yell. Feed him, make him a cuppa, then have your saybut do it smartly.
How?
Oh Cathy, honestly, youre a grown woman! Its easy: dont make it personal. Dont tell him hes a rubbish husband. Complain about the circumstances, not the bloke! If you tell him he doesnt have time for you, hell just retreat. But if you say you miss him, Nicolas waiting at the door for him, you cant wait for the weekendhe wont be upset, will he?
No, I suppose not.
Exactly. Same problem, no row. I always did that. My Nigel and I made it nearly fifty years with barely a cross word between usjust the once, really.
What about?
Youll laugh! It was over a dog. Our son begged for a puppy, I said absolutely not. I knew whod do all the work! I already had job, house, childcouldnt add a dog to the mix. My husband was always away with work. Who would end up walking the dog?
Did you give in?
Oh, had to, of course.
And how did it go?
Wonderful! I lost nearly a stone, running after that furball. They picked a dog that needed two hours of exercise a day! So there I was, pacing the park at dawn. Our son was too young to go alone in the evenings, and wouldnt drag himself up in the mornings, so guess who got the job? But the clever girlshe ended up waking me up earlier and earlier, so my husband couldnt.
Smart dog! Catherine laughed.
Took after me! Margaret pushed the paint tin further from Nicola, Youll never get that out!
Catherine led Nicola off to the play area. Swings, sandpit, pat-a-cake… The usual.
As they wandered home, Catherine saw something that floored her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, afraid to scare Nicola.
Margaret had finished painting and gone indoors. But someone else was in the garden. A tiny boy, just older than Nicola butmy wordwhat a menace.
Most of the tulips were now either yanked up by the roots or squashed flat under his little shoes.
Catherine glanced over at the flowerbed by the next building: same story. Not a single blossom left standing.
The mother of this pint-sized destroyer stood by the fence, beaming at her sons handiwork.
What on earth is going on? Catherine heard her own hoarse whisper.
Whats wrong? Two surprised, ice-blue eyes looked back at her.
Why is your child trampling the flowers?
Why ever not?
But you cant let him do that!
Says who? Him? Who can forbid my child from exploring? You?
Is this what you call exploring? Catherine kept her tone even. Dont shoutthe last thing she needed was to frighten Nicola, who was silently squeezing her finger.
Yes, it is. Exploration means learning about the world as it is. Flowers grow so you can pick them.
These arent wildflowersthey were planted by someone whos spent years tending them!
Oh, dont be silly! Why get so worked up? Youll give yourself frown lines. Theyre only tulipsmore will grow.
Catherines patience snapped. She took a step forward, losing her self-control.
Nicolas loud wailing snapped her out of it.
What was she doing? About to start a brawl, clearly.
Take your child home, now! Im calling the local constable! Catherine scooped up Nicola and got out her phone.
Oh please! Everyones so sensitive these days! Go on, call himwhats he going to do?
The woman hauled her shrieking, kicking son away from the (now devastated) flowerbeds.
See what youve done? Youve upset him!
I couldnt care less! Catherine said softlybut loudly enough for even the curtain-twitchers to hear. Please, just leave.
She watched the woman depart, muttering every insult in the book, then turned to see Margaret standing at the entry, watering can in one hand, a pastry for Nicola in the other.
Margaret seemed to shrink, putting the watering can down and shuffling off, as if suddenly carrying a ten-ton load.
Catherine wanted to chase after herbut Nicola started weeping again. She calmed her, then hurried to Margarets flat, but there was no answer, no matter how much she knocked or rang the bell.
Nicola was crankytired and hungryso Catherine went home, planning to return later.
But the door stayed shut, regardless of her efforts. So, Catherine found Margarets sons number.
Ill phone her.
Thank you!
Catherine had never waited so anxiously for a call in her life.
Mums all right. She just doesnt want to see anyone. Shes very upset, though she wont say why. She just asked me not to worry.
Catherine explained the situationand promised to keep an eye on Margaret.
I know your wifes expectingis there anything we can do? Dont worry, well sort it.
We? he asked. Should I come down?
Lets not rush. I think I have an ideaand if it doesnt work, Ill call you.
Thank you, Cathy…
Dont thank me yet.
That evening, David stayed in with Nicola while Catherine went door to door, explaining her plan. Most were only too happy to help.
By the next evening, those willing to join gathered in the courtyardmen unloading modest crates from their car boots, the rest murmuring approval. There was work for all. Catherine sent a sleepy Nicola and David home, but stayed on, working into the evening.
Shed seen the terror in Nicolas eyes when that boy destroyed the tulips. She couldntwouldntlet her daughter think that beauty could be trampled with impunity. She had to do somethinganythingto put it right.
And so, late into the night, Catherine opened box after box, nodded to each new helper, and thanked David with a brief hug and Thank you! as he took sleeping Nicola home.
The next day was Saturday. Catherine greeted the neighbours gathered outside before heading up to Margarets.
Mrs Margaret, please open up! I know youre there! Its important! Pleaseplease come!
Finally, the lock clicked. Margaret opened the door, her eyes so hollow Catherine nearly cried.
What is it, Cathy? Is Nicola ill? Her voice was thin and hollow.
No, thank goodness, shes fine. But I need you. Right now. Please, Mrs Margaret…
Catherine ran out of words. She simply stood, wringing her hands.
Is it urgent? Margaret sighed, grabbing her mac.
Very! Catherine nodded.
All right, but just for a bit. Im not feeling too well
The bright sunlight made Margaret flinch as she stepped out.
Wait, Cathy, I cant see a thing!
There was silence.
She looked againand forgot how to breathe. She wanted to gasp, but couldnt. What she saw brought tears to her eyes. She was blindnot from the sun, but from the flood of emotion.
Tulips. An ocean of tulips. Every flowerbed, plus two new ones that hadnt existed before, was an uninterrupted carpet of brilliant blooms.
What on earth? Where did they come from?!
Mrs Margaret, come this way! Catherine helped her down the steps to a bench. Forgive us for not being able to save the flowers youd planted all those yearsit all happened so quickly, and its hard to reason with someone who wont listen. But you know what?
What, Cathy?
We get it. Really, we do. All of useveryone here last night pitching in to give you back a bit of happiness. We all know what youve done for us. Look: almost all your former patients are here. Or their parents. Some have children of their own, like me, thanks in part to you. And none of us will stand by and let anyone hurt you, ever! Weve filed a complaint, though you probably dont care about that. What you will care about is that now, theres even more gardening to dothanks to your new flowerbeds. But dont worry, well help. Just promise youll stay with us! You know I cant keep so much as a cactus alive, but everything grows for youeven lemons and palms! Ive seen it!
Oh Cathy, thank you… Margaret wiped her tears and rose from the bench.
Where had that frail old lady gone?
Well, lets see what youve all planted then! Lets have a look!Margaret marched right down the path, fingers brushing the feathery fringes of red and gold and violet. The childrenCatherines Nicola among themwere already darting between the beds, squealing whenever a petal brushed their noses. Parents hovered, as if uncertain whether to join in or simply watch something precious reawaken.
She knelt, feeling the earth between her fingers, smelling the way only a good garden can smellalive with promise, as though every bulb was whispering, Look how much can grow here, if you only give it time. And in that moment, she didnt feel hollow anymore, or faded, or left behind. She felt seen. She felt needed.
The chorus of neighbours came alivelittle gifts, a note tucked into her pocket, a thermos of tea, a warm scone on a napkin. Nicola toddled over, thrusting a bright purple bloom into her hand with a sticky-fingered grin.
For you, Mrs Margaret!
She tucked it behind her ear. The crowd cheered.
And as the sun broke through the morning cloudspinning rainbows through the jewel-toned flowersMargaret straightened, dusted her knees, and spotted the boy who had trampled her tulips, now peering shyly from behind his mothers legs.
Margaret called him over, crouching low so her face met his worried eyes.
These are special flowers, arent they?
He nodded, wide-eyed.
Do you think youd help us plant some more? Maybe you and I can make sure they stay safe this time.
He grinned, the guilt melting away, and took her hand.
Catherine caught Margarets eye and smiled, the wordless kind that passed from woman to woman, neighbour to neighbour, the sort that says: together, everything can be mended.
That afternoon, Readings forgotten courtyard rang with laughter, with new roots stretching beneath the soil and old ones clutching tightly to memory. And Margaret, amid her tulips, was no longer alone. She was homeblooming again, just in time for spring.
