A young man. A young man. Yes, yesyou there, Ian Harper shivered, shaking his head to be sure the voice was meant for him. The doubt faded when a smiling woman fixed her gaze straight on him. You. Buy some tulips, young man.
What? he asked, stepping closer. Standing in the endless tide of commuters felt foolish; the current thrust you forward like a rushing mountain stream.
Buy tulips, she repeated, handing him a small bunch of whitepink tulips.
She looked about forty, wrapped in a thick furlined coat, heavy trousers and clunky winter boots that scoffed at the chill. Her face, however, was differentalive, kind, unlike the weatherbeaten visages of typical street vendors. Her smile radiated a warm familiarity, as if from someone long known, yet Ian sensed he was seeing her for the first time.
Im sorry, I dont like flowers, he whispered, moving aside just as a burly commuter nearly knocked him over. Youve chosen a strange spot for a stall.
Why? the woman asked, clutching the bouquet to her chest.
Everyone rushes past, never looking at each other.
Why dont you like flowers? she teased, making Ian blush.
Foolish things. Theyre inanimatejust sit, wilt, and die. A waste of money, he muttered, surprised he was explaining himself to this odd stranger.
My flowers are alive, she replied mysteriously, inhaling the tulip scent and smiling again. Ian shrugged, pursed his lips. You dont believe me?
Im sorry, but no. I know how sellers can twist the truth, he said, raising his coat collar against the cold wind.
Then take them, just because, the woman persisted. Let the cold leave your home and let spring replace it.
The forecasts say the cold will linger another fortnight. Do you really think your tulips can chase it away? he chuckled, a low growl escaping as she shook her head. Sorry, didnt mean to offend.
You havent, she answered faintly. You just dont trust my words. Then take them for someone you love.
You wont give up, will you? Ian smiled as she shook her head once more. Admirable persistence.
In a house without flowers, cold always reigns.
And cold also reigns where the heatings off, he quipped bleakly. Excuse me, I must be going.
Take them. I wont know if you toss them on the road or forget them in the tube, she said, extending the bunch. But if you bring them home, youll see I was right.
Fine, Ian thought a moment, fished a couple of crumpled fivepound notes from his pocket, and handed them over. Here. And thank you.
For what? she asked, taking a fresh bouquet from a plain box. Im just doing my job.
I dont know, he admitted honestly. Just thank you.
Youre welcome, she replied. Ian pressed the tulips to his chest and moved forward. At some point the wind softened, losing its prickly bite, and a pleasant warmth spread through his chest. He stopped, turned, and watched the woman continue beckoning customers. To his amazement she called selectively, yet neither the roaring traffic on the A40, nor the clamor of the streets, nor the chatter of passersby could drown out her cheerful voice.
Lovely lady. Yes, you. Buy tulips.
Later, back in his flat, Ian stripped off his coat, slipped into the sitting room and retrieved his grandmothers old vase from the cupboard. He rinsed it under the tap, dried it with a striped towel, filled it with fresh water and placed the tulips inside. He then carried the vase to the windowsill table.
The tulips truly were beautiful. Their stems were a deep roseberry hue, fading to palest pink and almost white toward the tips.
Hey, Blythe, he greeted as the lock clicked and a tired, pretty girl slipped into the hallway.
Hey. The weathers dreadful, she said, shaking off a damp hat. They say the cold will hang on for a couple more weeks.
I saw the forecast this morning, Ian muttered, taking her coat. At least we have hot tea and biscuits, just how you like them.
Perfect timing, Blythe laughed, blowing warm air onto her frozen hands, then fell silent, inhaling the air cautiously. Whats that smell, Ian?
A smell? he asked.
Yeah, she said, moving into the kitchen. I cant put it into words. Warm, a bit sweet.
Must have come in from the street, he shrugged, pouring boiling water into a mug. Blythe nodded, shrugged off her sweater and disappeared into the bedroom, from where a surprised exclamation floated back. Ian set the sugar bowl aside, smiling as he realized shed noticed the flowers.
Did you get tulips? Blythe asked brightly when Ian entered the room, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits. He nodded and set the tray down. You never liked flowers, not even on holidays when youre forced to take one.
The seller was insistent, he replied, pausing in wonder as the tulips unfurled and the faint sweet scent filled the room.
How lovely, Ian, Blythe brought her face close to the blossoms, closing her eyes in blissful inhalation.
I see, he smiled, his breath catching as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face in his chest. Whats this, love?
The day was a mess, Ian. And now now it feels warm again, like this morning, she murmured, her eyes sparkling. Thank you.
Dont mention it, he chuckled, ruffling her hair gently. He gazed thoughtfully at the flowers and whispered softly. Hmm. I never knew tulips had a scent.
I cant even describe it, Blythe said, taking a sip of tea. She raised an eyebrow when he laughed. Whats wrong?
Ive figured out what tulips smell like.
And whats that?
She was right, he said, hugging her at the waist. They smell of spring.
Ian and Blythe lingered for a long while, sipping tea and speaking in low tones. On the old grandmothers vase, the tulips stood, filling the roomand their heartswith the sweet fragrance of spring.
