Excuse me, chap. Yes, you, the woman called, and Ian startled, shaking his head to make sure she wasnt talking to a passerby. The doubt vanished the moment he saw her smiling straight at him. You, buy some tulips, lad.
What did you say? he asked, stepping closer. Standing in the endless rush of commuters was absurd; the crowd swept you forward like a rapid mountain stream.
Buy tulips, she repeated, thrusting a modest bunch of whiteandpink tulips toward him.
She looked about forty, bundled in a cosy sheepskin coat, thick trousers and sturdy Wellington boots that could brave any frost. Her face, though, was different from the usual weatherbeaten hawkers lively, kind, and oddly warm, as if shed been a longlost friend. Ian swore hed never seen her before.
Sorry, Im not much for flowers, he muttered, edging past a burly man who nearly knocked him over. Youve picked a strange spot for a stall.
Whys that? she asked, clutching the bouquet to her chest.
Everyones always hurrying past, not sparing a glance for anyone else.
And why dont you like flowers? she teased, making Ians cheeks flush.
Stupid things, really. Theyre dead, they sit pretty for a while and then wither. Its just a waste of money.
My flowers are alive, she replied mysteriously, inhaling the tulip scent and smiling again. Ian shrugged, pursed his lips. You dont believe me?
No, Im sceptical. I know how sellers can twist the truth, he said, pulling his coat collar up against the chill.
Then take them, free of charge. Let the cold leave your home and spring move in.
The forecast says the frost will linger another fortnight. You think your tulips can chase the cold away? he quipped, chuckling as she shook her head. Sorry, didnt mean to offend.
You havent offended me. I just see you dont trust my words, she said faintly. So take them anywaymaybe for someone you love.
Youre not giving up, are you? Ian grinned as she shook her head once more. Admirable persistence.
A house without flowers always feels frosty.
And a house without heating feels frosty too, he replied dryly. Right, I must be off.
Take them. I wont mind if you toss them on the tube or drop them on the pavement. But if you bring them home, youll see I was right.
Fine, Ian thought for a moment, rummaged in his pocket and handed over a couple of crumpled notes. Here you go and thank you.
For what? Im just doing my job, she answered, handing him a fresh bouquet from a plain box.
Just thank you, he said honestly.
Please, she replied. Ian tucked the tulips close to his chest and pushed forward. Soon the wind lost its bite, replaced by a pleasant warmth in his chest. He paused, turned, and watched the woman still beckoning buyers. To his surprise she seemed to pick her audience, yet no traffic, honking cars, or street chatter could drown her cheerful voice.
Lovely lass. Yes, you. Buy some tulips, she called again.
Back home, Ian stripped off his coat, headed for the sittingroom and fetched his grandmothers old vase from the sideboard. He rinsed it under the tap, patted it dry with a striped towel, filled it with fresh water and arranged the tulips inside. The stems were a deep pink at the base, fading to pale white near the tips.
Later, the front door clicked and Lucy slipped in, shaking off a damp hat.
Hey, love, Ian greeted, the weathers a nightmare, isnt it?
Terrible, she sighed, wiping her fingers on her coat. They say the cold will linger for a couple more weeks.
I checked the forecast this morning, Ian muttered, taking her coat from the rack. At least weve got hot tea and biscuits, just the way you like them.
Perfect timing, Lucy laughed, blowing on her frozen hands, then paused, inhaling the air. Whats that smell, Ian?
Smell? he asked, puzzled.
Yeah, she said, drifting into the kitchen. I cant put it into words. Warm, a hint of sweetness.
Must have drifted in from outside, he shrugged, pouring boiling water into a mug. She shrugged off her cardigan and disappeared into the bedroom, from where a delighted gasp echoed. Ian set the sugar bowl aside, smiling as he realised shed spotted the flowers.
You bought tulips? Lucy asked brightly as Ian entered the room, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits. He nodded, laying the tray down. You never were a fan of flowers. Even on holidays youd rather grab them by the scruff.
The seller was relentless, Ian replied, stopping short as the tulips opened, releasing that faint, sweet aroma.
Theyre beautiful, Ian, Lucy breathed, bringing her face close to the blooms, closing her eyes in bliss.
I see, he said, his eyes widening as she wrapped him in a tight hug, tucking her cheek against his chest. Whats that, love?
The day was a disaster, Ian. And now now it feels warm again, just like this morning, she murmured, her eyes sparkling. Thank you.
Youre welcome, he chuckled, ruffling her hair. He stared at the tulips a moment longer, then whispered, I never knew tulips had a scent.
I cant quite describe it, she admitted, sipping her tea. She raised an eyebrow when he laughed. Whats so funny?
Ive finally figured out what tulips smell like.
And whats that?
She was right, he said, pulling her close. They smell of spring.
Ian and Lucy lingered at the table for a long while, sipping tea and chatting quietly. On the old vase in the corner, the tulips stood tall, filling the roomand their heartswith the gentle fragrance of a coming spring.
