Young fellow, young fellowyes, you there,Ian shivered and turned his head, halfexpecting the voice to be meant for someone else. The doubt vanished when he saw a smiling woman looking straight at him. Yes, you. Buy some tulips, young man.
What did you say? he asked, stepping closer. Standing still in the endless tide of pedestrians was foolish; the crowd pushed you forward as if a swift river.
Buy tulips, the woman repeated, offering him a small bunch of whiteandpink tulips.
She looked to be in her early forties, wrapped in a heavy furlined coat, thick trousers and sturdy Wellington boots that could brave any frost. Yet her face was different from the harsh, windblown visages of the usual street sellersbright, kindly, and oddly warm, as if she were a longlost friend. Ian swore he had never seen her before.
Sorry, Im not fond of flowers, he whispered, inching past a burly man who nearly knocked him down. Youve chosen an odd spot for a stall.
Whys that? she smiled, pressing the bouquet to her chest.
Everyone rushes past, paying no heed to anyone else.
And why dont you like flowers? she asked, laughing, making Ians cheeks redden.
Foolish things. Theyre dead, anywayjust sit there a while then wilt. A waste of money, he muttered, surprised he was defending himself to this strange lady.
My flowers are alive, she replied mysteriously, inhaling the scent of the tulips once more. Ian shrugged and pursed his lips. You dont believe me?
Im no stranger to the tricks of vendors, he said, pulling his coat collar up against the biting wind.
Then take them, just because, she persisted. Let the chill leave your home, and spring take its place.
The forecasts say the cold will linger for another fortnight. Do you think your tulips can chase the frost away? Ian chuckled, a hint of sarcasm in his tone as the woman shook her head. Sorry, didnt mean to offend.
You havent, she answered softly, smiling faintly. If you dont trust my words, perhaps youll give them to someone you love.
Youll never give up, will you? Ian grinned as she shook her head again. Stubbornness is commendable.
A house without flowers is forever cold, she said.
And a house without heating is even colder, he replied with a wry smile. I must be off, truly.
Take them. I wont mind if you discard them on the road or leave them in the underground, she said, handing him the bunch. But if you bring them home, youll see I was right.
Alright, Ian thought for a moment, fished a couple of crumpled fivepound notes from his pocket and handed them over. And thank you.
For what? Its just my trade, she replied, placing a fresh bundle in a plain box.
Just thank you, Ian said honestly.
Youre welcome. He tucked the tulips to his chest and walked on. As he moved, the wind lost its sharp bite, and a pleasant warmth spread through him. He paused, turned, and watched the woman continue beckoning customers. To his amazement she seemed to choose whom to address, yet no car horn, no rush of traffic, no street chatter could drown her clear, cheerful voice.
Lovely lass. Yes, you. Buy tulips.
When Ian finally reached his modest flat, he stripped off his coat and, heading to the sittingroom, fetched an old grandmothers vase from the sideboard. He rinsed it under the tap, dried it with a striped towel, filled it with fresh water and arranged the tulips inside. He set the vase on the table by the window.
The tulips were indeed beautiful. Their stems were a deep, ripe pink, fading to pale white toward the blossoms.
Later, a knock sounded at the door. The lock clicked, and a weary but pretty young woman slipped in, shaking the damp from her hat.
Hello, Hester, Ian said, smiling.
Hi. The weathers dreadful, she replied, brushing water from her cap. They say the cold will linger a couple of weeks yet.
I saw the forecast this morning, he said, taking her coat. But weve got hot tea and biscuits, just the way you like them.
Perfect, Hester laughed, warming her hands over the mug, then paused, inhaling the air. Whats that smell, Ian?
A smell? he asked.
Yes, she said, moving into the kitchen. I cant put it into words. Warm, a hint of sweetness.
Probably drifted in from outside, he shrugged, pouring boiling water into a cup. Hester shrugged off her coat, slipped into the bedroom, and a soft gasp escaped her. Ian set the sugar bowl aside, smiling as he realized she had noticed the flowers.
You bought the tulips? Hester asked brightly as Ian entered the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits. He placed the tray on the table. You never even tolerate scent of flowers. Even on holidays youre stubborn.
The seller was relentless, he answered, astonished as the tulips unfurled and the faint sweet fragrance filled the room.
Theyre gorgeous, Ian, Hester leaned close, closing her eyes in bliss as she breathed in.
I see, he smiled, his breath catching when she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face to his chest. Whats this, dear?
Today was a nightmare, Ian. And now now it feels warm again, like this morning, she whispered, eyes shining. Thank you.
Youre welcome, he chuckled, ruffling her hair. He glanced at the tulips and murmured, I never knew they even had a scent.
They smell like spring, Hester said, lifting her tea cup. She raised an amused brow as he laughed. What are you on about?
Ive figured out what tulips smell like.
And whats that?
She was right, he grinned, hugging her tighter. They smell of spring.
Ian and Hester lingered for hours, sipping tea and talking in low tones, while the old grandmothers vase held the blooming tulips, spreading the gentle perfume of new season through the room and their hearts.
