Dear Diary,
Today I was trudging through the endless tide of commuters on Oxford Street when a voice cut through the clamor. Young man. Young man. Yes, you, it called. I started, wondering if it was meant for me, until I saw a smiling woman looking straight at me.
Buy some tulips, young man, she said, holding out a modest bunch of whitepink tulips.
She must have been about forty, dressed like most street vendors: a furlined coat, thick trousers, and sturdy winter boots that seemed immune to the bite of the wind. Yet her face was differentbright, kind, and far from the weatherworn expressions I was used to seeing on market stalls. Her smile radiated a warmth that felt as familiar as that of an old friend, though I was sure Id never seen her before.
Sorry, I dont care for flowers, I replied quietly, just as a broadshouldered man brushed past me, nearly knocking me over. Its a strange place to sell them.
Why? she asked, clutching the bouquet to her chest.
Everyone rushes past, never noticing each other.
Why dont you like flowers? she asked with a chuckle, making me blush.
Theyre pointless. Theyre dead thingsjust stand for a while, then wilt. A waste of money, I muttered, surprised at my own defensiveness.
My flowers are alive, she said mysteriously, inhaling the scent of the tulips before smiling again. I shrugged and pursed my lips. You dont believe me?
Sorry, but no. I know the tricks sellers use to move their stock, I said, tightening my coat collar against the cold wind.
Then take them, just because, she persisted. Let the cold leave your home and let spring take its place.
The forecasts say the chill will linger for another fortnight. Do you really think your tulips can chase the cold away? I smirked, then muttered an apology when she shook her head. I didnt mean to offend you.
You havent, she replied with a faint smile. I see you doubt my words. Then take them for someone you love, perhaps.
Youll never give up, will you? I said, amused by her tenacity. Admirable persistence.
A house without flowers is always cold, she said.
And a house without heating is cold, too, I quipped, trying to lighten the mood. I must be going now, truly.
Take them. I wont know if you toss them in the tube or leave them in a carriage, but if you bring them home youll see I was right, she said, handing me the bunch.
After a brief pause, I fished out a crumpled couple of fivepound notes and handed them to her. Here you go and thank you.
Its my job, she replied, taking a fresh bouquet from a plain box.
Thanks, I said honestly. Just thanks.
She nodded and I pressed the tulips to my chest before moving on. At some point the wind stopped feeling like a harsh blade and a pleasant warmth settled in my chest. I stopped, turned, and watched her continue to call out to passersby. To my surprise, she seemed to pick her listeners, yet not even the roar of traffic, the rush of cars on the A40, or the chatter of crowds could drown her cheerful voice.
Lovely lady. Yes, you. Buy tulips.
When I got home I stripped off my coat, went straight to the sitting room, and pulled out my grandmothers old vase from the sideboard. I rinsed it under the tap, dried it with a striped towel, filled it with fresh water and placed the tulips inside. I then set the vase on the side table by the window.
The tulips were indeed beautiful. Their stems were a deep rosepink, fading to paler, almost white petals toward the top.
Later, as I was settling in, the front door clicked and Emily slipped in, shivering and still dripping from the rain.
Hey, love, I said, smiling as she hung up her wet hat. The weathers dreadful, isnt it?
Its miserable, she replied, shaking off her coat. They say the cold will stick around for a couple more weeks.
I saw the forecast this morning, I muttered, taking her coat. At least we have hot tea and biscuits, just the way you like them.
Thats perfect, she laughed, warming her hands over the mug. She paused, inhaled the air, and asked, Whats that smell, Jack?
Smell? I echoed.
Yes, she said, walking into the kitchen. Its hard to describewarm, a touch sweet.
It must have come in from outside, I guessed, pouring boiling water into a cup. She shrugged off her cardigan and disappeared into the bedroom, from where a delighted gasp soon echoed. I set the sugar bowl aside and realized she had spotted the tulips.
You bought the tulips? Emily asked, beaming as I entered the room carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits. She nodded, placing the tray on the table. You never liked flowers, even on special occasions, always taking them grudgingly.
The seller was persistent, I admitted, stunned to see the tulips fully opened, filling the room with that faint sweet scent.
Theyre gorgeous, Jack, she whispered, pressing her face close to the flowers and closing her eyes in bliss.
I see, I smiled, and felt a sudden rush as she wrapped her arms tightly around me, pressing her cheek to my chest. Whats happening, love?
The day was a disaster, Jack. And now now it feels warm again, like the morning, she murmured, her eyes sparkling. Thank you.
Youre welcome, I laughed, gently ruffling her hair. I gazed at the flowers and whispered, I never knew tulips had a scent.
I cant put it into words, she replied, lifting her tea cup. She raised an eyebrow when I chuckled. Whats so funny?
Ive finally figured out what tulips smell like.
And whats that?
She was right, I said, hugging her around the waist. They smell of spring.
Emily and I sat for hours, sipping tea and chatting quietly. On the side table, in my grandmothers old vase, the tulips stood proudly, filling the roomand our heartswith the gentle fragrance of spring.
Lesson learned: a simple gesture, like offering a flower, can melt the cold that settles in a persons life.
