The Tulip Girl (17 page)

‘We’ve no milk.’

‘Then I’ll heat some water and make us some Horlicks. At least Michael managed to get the tap running again yesterday.’

A few minutes later, as she was handing round the hot drinks, Maddie thought she heard a noise. She froze, her hand holding the mug outstretched towards Harriet suspended in mid-air.
‘Listen. Did you hear anything? I thought I heard a noise . . .’

Then they all heard Ben barking. She thrust the mug at Harriet and now ran herself to peer out of the window. With a joyous shout, she cried, ‘He’s here. He’s back,’ and
pulled open the kitchen door. Ben, allowed to sleep in the wash-house since the blizzards had begun, was scratching at the back door. As Maddie opened it, a flurry of snow swirled into the
wash-house and Michael, looking more like a snowman come to life, was standing on the threshold stamping his feet and trying to shake off the snow.

‘Oh come in, come in, do!’ Maddie tried to grasp hold of him and pull him inside. ‘We’ve been worried sick. Where have you been? Are you all right?’

The others were crowding behind her now, all firing questions at him.

‘We thought you’d got lost.’

‘How could you worry us so?’

‘Wait a minute, wait a minute . . .’ Michael was still not stepping inside but tugging at something behind him.

‘Get down, you silly dog,’ he said, but it was said with affection as Ben leapt up at him, barking excitedly. ‘Nick, give us a hand, will you? I’m dead beat.’

Then they saw that Michael was pulling a sledge behind him loaded with sacks covered with a tarpaulin.

They pulled it into the wash-house and finally closed the door against the cold night. Michael leant against it, panting heavily. ‘I’m – sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I
didn’t think it would take me so long . . .’

Suddenly his legs buckled beneath him and he slid down into an ungainly sitting position, still with all his outdoor clothes on and covered with snow.

‘Here, son, let us help you. You must be exhausted.’ Frank, Harriet and Maddie were all reaching towards him now, pulling him up, helping him out of his heavy coat and boots and
half-carrying, half-pushing him towards the fire in the living room.

Harriet, her own discomfort forgotten, bustled about her kitchen, heating soup and setting the kettle to boil.

Only Nick stood aloof, just watching.

Michael sat in his father’s chair, leant back and closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to worry you. I got to the village and there’s hardly anything
left in the way of provisions. You should see poor Mrs Grange’s shop. I’ve never seen it looking so bare. So, I pressed on to the town.’

‘To Wellandon? You went all the way to Wellandon? In this lot?’

Michael nodded. ‘I know. It was stupid of me, I suppose. But at least . . .’ He raised his head now and grinned, even though there were dark shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
‘I got us a bag of coal, some flour, milk and butter for Mrs T and even – a gallon tin of diesel for the engine.’

Frank put his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Oh Michael . . .’ But he could say no more, for his throat was choked with emotion.

‘Here, out of the way, Mr Frank, let the boy have this soup . . .’ Harriet was her old self once more. ‘And you two . . .’ She turned towards Maddie and Nick.
‘Bed.’

For once Maddie said meekly, ‘Yes, Mrs Trowbridge,’ and turned away to do as she was told, so thankful to have Michael safely home again that at this moment she would have done
anything at all that the housekeeper asked her.

As they went upstairs to their rooms, Nick muttered, ‘I still reckon he’s been with that Susan in Eastmere. It wouldn’t take him the whole day and half the night to get to
Wellandon and back.’

As she opened her bedroom door, Maddie turned and glared at him before she slammed the door in his face.

The following morning over breakfast – later than usual now there was no milking to be done – Michael told them about his treacherous journey.

‘I was fine going from here to Eastmere because I know the road so well, but it wasn’t quite so easy from there to Wellandon.’

‘Haven’t they cleared the road at all?’ Frank asked.

‘They’ve tried, but as fast as they’ve cleared it another snowfall has blocked it again.’ He grinned at Nick and Maddie. ‘Just like when we tried to dig a way along
our lane.’

‘You did well to get all you did,’ Harriet was smiling at him, her hero of the hour. She placed a plate of bacon, eggs, fried bread and sausage before him. ‘That’s the
last of the eggs. The hens have stopped laying, but you’ve earned it.’

‘How are things in the town? Are they running short of supplies?’

Michael, his mouth full, shook his head. ‘Not really. There’s talk of supplies being dropped by plane to outlying farms that are cut off if they put something out in the snow that
will show up. We could try that if it goes on much longer.’

‘Oh surely we’ll have a thaw soon.’

Michael’s face sobered. ‘There’s going to be even more trouble when we do. When this lot melts, the river’s never going to cope with the volume of water.’

There was silence around the table until Frank said, ‘There’s going to be floods, you mean?’

As Michael nodded, Frank let out a low groan of final defeat.

When the thaw started, Michael’s foreboding came true.

‘What are we going to do? First, foot and mouth and now this. We’re ruined.’ Frank had taken to his chair by the range once more. He sat with his elbows on the chair arms and
dropped his head into his hands.

Michael stood on the peg rug in front of him. ‘Come on, Dad, don’t give up. At least the water hasn’t come into the house, nor even the outbuildings. We’ve not got it as
bad as some poor folks, ’specially in the town. They’ve been sandbagging the banks of the river, but they’re fighting a losing battle because some of the streets are lower than
the river level. Their homes are in danger of being flooded, Dad. And south of the town, they say it’s much worse.’

The area Michael referred to was low, flat fenland that regularly flooded when the swollen Welland overflowed its banks.

‘I know. I know there’s a lot worse off than us, but . . . Oh it’s just – everything. I don’t even think it’ll be worth trying to plant crops, the land will
be so water-logged.’

‘We can get a new herd. Start again.’

Frank shook his head helplessly. ‘What’s the use?’

Michael glanced at Maddie and then back to his father. He tried again. ‘Come on, Dad, surely you’ve received clearance from the authorities, haven’t you?’

Frank’s only reply was a disconsolate shrug.

‘But there must be something in all that paperwork you’ve been getting to say we can restock by now?’

‘I don’t know, lad. I haven’t had the heart to read it. Just – just the instructions for what we had to do to deal with the outbreak . . .’ His husky voice petered
out.

Frank Brackenbury was a broken man. His years of struggle to make a meagre living had ended in defeat. All because of a disease and now the worst winter he could remember. Something he
couldn’t have foreseen, couldn’t deal with and didn’t know how to fight.

‘We’ll have lost the milk round anyway after all this time. Once folks find they can get their milk elsewhere, they’re not going to come back to us, are they? Not just out of
loyalty.’

Michael forced a laugh. ‘I’m sure all my old dears would be delighted to have their handsome milkman back again.’

But Frank could not even raise a smile.

‘Well, if you don’t want to restock with beast,’ Michael was trying his best to be enthusiastic, ‘how about we use all the land for crops of some sort? Plough up the
meadows. What about extending our acreage of potatoes or caulis?’

The man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I think we’d have to get Sir Peter’s approval to do that. To change the use of his land. And I don’t even know if there are
any sort of regulations about growing foodstuff on land that has been infected with the foot and mouth.’

‘We can find that out one way or the other.’ Michael was refusing to be defeated.

Maddie closed her eyes for a moment against the distress on Frank’s face, against the worry creasing Michael’s handsome features. The picture that came suddenly into her mind’s
eye made her reel with the excitement of it. The sheer, blinding beauty and the simplicity of it made her heart miss a beat and then thud loudly in her chest. She swayed and reached out for the
edge of the table to steady herself.

‘Maddie. What is it? What’s the matter?’ Michael’s voice was full of concern as he caught hold of her arm to steady her.

Her eyes flew open. ‘Nothing. At least . . .’ She moved to Frank’s side and touched his shoulder. ‘Mr Frank, I’ve got an idea.’

The man looked up slowly, but before he could speak Harriet’s shrill voice sounded as she came into the room from the kitchen. It was obvious she had been listening to every word that had
been said. ‘You? Got an idea? And how do you think a chit of a girl like you is going to come up with an idea if a man like Mr Frank can’t . . .?’

Maddie felt Frank watching her closely. She knew he could see the fire in her eyes, her lips parted as if bursting to tell her thoughts. His quiet voice stilled the housekeeper’s tongue.
‘Let’s at least hear what the lass has to say, Harriet.’

Maddie took a deep breath. ‘Why don’t you grow tulips, Mr Frank? The land must be right, because Mr Randall’s fields are right next to your meadow.’ Again in her
mind’s eye was the rainbow field that she had so often stood to admire.

‘Flowers!’ Mrs Trowbridge spat dismissively. ‘What would a man like Mr Frank, a farmer born and bred, want with flowers, girl?’

‘No, wait a minute. She might have got something, Dad.’ There was excitement in Michael’s voice too now. ‘There would be nothing to stop us using the ground for bulbs,
surely?’

Maddie’s smile widened. ‘You don’t eat tulips, Mr Frank. Surely, they wouldn’t come under any restrictions, would they?’

Frank stared at her for so long, trance-like, until Maddie, feeling suddenly awkward, prompted, ‘Mr Frank?’

He blinked and seemed startled from his reverie. ‘No, no, I don’t suppose so. I don’t really see how there could be? And, yes, the soil would be suitable, I’m
sure.’

‘Mr Frank,’ came Harriet’s aggrieved voice. ‘Surely you’re not going along with this foolish idea? You’re a farmer not a – a flower-grower.’

Michael turned his charm on the woman. ‘Oh Mrs T, it’s a marvellous idea. We’d be horticulturalists.’

‘Oh very grand, I’m sure.’ Harriet was not to be mollified, not even by Michael. ‘And what do any of you know about growing flowers, might I ask?’

‘Nothing – yet.’ Michael’s grin widened. ‘But give us a couple of weeks and Maddie and I will know all about it.’

Even Frank was smiling gently now and some of the hopelessness had gone from his eyes. ‘Oh the confidence of youth, Harriet. Isn’t it wonderful?’

Harriet sniffed. ‘Very misplaced, if you ask me. But since I don’t seem to have any say in the matter, I’ll say no more about it.’ With that, she turned away back to the
kitchen where they could hear her banging saucepans onto the cooker.

Father and son exchanged a smile and Michael said softly, ‘Well, I don’t believe that we’ll hear “no more about it” for a minute, but . . .’ Now he turned to
Nick who had stood silently throughout. ‘What do you reckon?’

The young boy pushed his fingers through his flop of hair and blinked behind his glasses. He glanced, just once, towards the kitchen door and then looked back at Michael. Softly, he said,
‘I think it’s the only thing we can do. Even if we do wait the time they tell us before we restock, who’s to say the same thing won’t happen again. And to change it all to
crops would take an awful lot of work.’

‘It’ll still take a lot of work to plough it up for bulbs.’

‘Yes, but it won’t matter if there’s a few wild oats and other weeds amongst tulips, will it?’ Nick argued. ‘Whereas, if you’ve got a lot of rubbish growing
amongst wheat and such, it can ruin your crops if you want to sell it for grain.’

‘You’re right, Nick. Yes.’ Frank leant back in his chair and rested his head, seeming to really relax for the first time in weeks. ‘Growing flowers won’t be plain
sailing. I’ve no doubt there’ll be some sort of blight they can get, or greenfly, or something. But . . .’ He turned his smile on Maddie. ‘I think it’s a wonderful
idea and, if it works, we’ll all have you to thank, lass.’

Maddie swallowed. ‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘It will work. We’ll make it work,’ Michael said, putting his arm about her shoulders. ‘Won’t we?’

Maddie looked up into his deep brown eyes. ‘Oh yes,’ she whispered and, meaning far more than growing a few fields of flowers, she repeated, ‘We’ll make it
work.’

The discussion continued whilst Harriet set the table for supper.

‘Of course, I’ll have to go and see Sir Peter and ask his permission,’ Frank took his place and picked up the carving knife and fork. ‘It is his land, after
all.’

‘What’s in the tenancy agreement?’ Michael asked.

Frank shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever read it.’

‘You’re not very good with paperwork, are you, Dad?’

Frank smiled, more life in his eyes than they had seen for weeks. ‘The farm just passed from me Dad to me. Same terms, same rent, same everything. Of course, the rent goes up every so
often, but that’s to be expected. Other than that, Sir Peter’s never interfered.’

‘What I mean is, Dad, does it actually say that you have to inform the landlord of change of use of the land?’

‘Dunno, but I think it’s courteous anyway. Don’t you?’

Michael sighed. ‘I suppose so, yes. But I just don’t want anything – or anyone – to stand in the way.’ He paused and then grinned as he glanced across at Maddie.
‘I know. We’ll send Maddie. She can charm Sir Peter into agreeing.’

Maddie’s fork was suspended halfway between her plate and her mouth as she gaped, horrified, at Michael. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘Of course, he’s not, love,’ Frank said quickly. ‘Besides, it’s my place to go. I’m the legal tenant.’