Oh, youll love thisAly and her mum just missed the tram by a hair! The old rattling thing clanged away from the stop, leaving them waiting at least fifteen minutes.
“Mum, youre always dawdling!” her mum sighed. “How many times have I told youput your things away properly after nursery? Hang your coat, tidy your shoes, so were not scrambling later. And why on earth did you *have* to hunt down your crayons? Couldnt you manage without them for one evening?”
“But Mum!” Aly pouted, eyes twinkling. “I *promised* Emily yesterday! And *you* always say if you make a promise, youve *got* to keep it, right?”
Her mum groaned. “Fine, I *did* say that. But now weve missed the tram! Ive got the night shift, and I still need to iron your dress, make dinner, sort breakfastwhos going to do all that? Granny Lottie?”
“Mummy, dont fret! Itll all work outjust dont get cross. Thats what Granny Lottie says. Oh! Look, Mum*flowers*! What are they called?” On the bench lay a tiny, wilted bunch.
“Bluebells. They grow wild in the woods. Someone picked these, then tossed them. Or forgot them.”
“Mummy, theyre *so* pretty! Lets take them home!”
“More clutter Oh, fine. Grab them, quickthe trams coming.”
Aly clutched the bouquet the whole ride home. The stems were bent, the petals crumpled, but to her, they were magicalsoft violet, with the faintest sweet scent, like something from a fairy tale. One bloke on the tram said if she planted them, theyd perk right up. A pregnant woman shook her head: “No, no, just water. *Only* water.” Another passenger hissed as she left, “Rubbish! Shouldve bought proper flowers!” Alys mum stared out the window, silent, while Aly whispered to the blossoms, “Wait till were home. Then youll be safe.”
Aly and her mum live on the first floor. Below them are Granny Lottie and her husbandeveryone calls him “Gramps Alf” out of respect, but Alys always called him “Pops,” and it stuck. Theyre not *real* family, just neighbours, but theyre closer than most. Granny Lottie helps with chores; Pops fixes thingscupboard doors, broken locks, you name it. If theres baking or nursery runs, thats Grannys job. They never ask for help themselvesproud as anything.
Under their balcony grows a lilac bush, and beneath itAlys *secret spot*. A hidden nook no ones meant to know about. (Well, Pops and Granny know. But theyd never tell. Wheres the fun in that?)
Aly bolted home, dashed to fill a bottle with water, then dug a little hole under the lilac with her spade. The bluebells still drooped. “Maybe theyre just sleepy,” she thought, patting the soil. “Ill check on you after Mummys gone to work.”
She forgot all about Emilys crayons.
Dusk settled like a grey blanket. Granny Lottie was about to fetch Aly (she always stayed with them on Mums late shifts) when Pops tugged her sleeve. On tiptoes, they peeked from the balconythere was Aly, crouched by her spot, crying. The bluebells lay limp in a puddle.
Granny crept outside. “Whats wrong, love?”
“Granny! They wont wake up!” Aly sniffled. “I gave them *so* much water!”
“Oh, sweetheart, theyre just poorly. All picked flowers get poorly.”
“I *didnt* pick them! They were *abandoned*!”
Granny sighed. “Wait here.” She hurried inside, scooped flour into a matchbox, and rushed back. “Magic powder. Nearly ran out, but” She sprinkled it, murmuring, “*Wish and whisper, make them well, bloom so bright, cast no spell!*” Then dusted the rest around the puddle. “There. Now they need rest. The magic will work.”
“Is it *real* magic?”
“Course it is.”
“When will they wake?”
“Well see at sunrise. Bed now, poppet.”
Aly sighed, gave the flowers one last worried glance, and trudged inside.
Later, when Aly was fast asleep, Pops hauled his old bike onto the pavement.
“Got your torch, Alf?” Granny fretted.
“‘Course!”
“Trowel?”
“Would I forget *that*?”
“I packed tea in the Thermos”
“Bloomin heck, woman, Im not hiking the Pennines!”
“Just dont dawdle in the woods. Andyouve got the tarp?”
“Yes, yes. Back in a jiffy.”
Morning came, and with it, Alystill in pyjamasracing to her spot.
And there it was: a miracle. Where a puddle had been, a cluster of *fresh bluebells* swayed. Aly stroked them gently, whispering secrets, while Granny and Pops watched from above, grinning.
Hard to say who was happierAly with her “magic” flowers, or the two old souls whod made sure theyd bloom.
