The Tulip Touch

by Anne Fine

  Mr Scott Henderson was the first one to notice she was never around.

  ‘Where’s your friend Tulip these days? Have you two had a little spat?’

  I looked unconcerned and lied glibly (both skills I’d learned from her).

  ‘Not really. She’s got other friends.’

  And soon she had. First she took up with Marcie once again, though that lasted only till the craze on playing cards began in break time. Then Marcie got fed up with Tulip’s habit of going on about the rules through every hand, and telling everyone what they’d done wrong, and gloating over winning.

  ‘It’s just a game,’ she said.’It doesn’t matter. Why do you care so much?’

  Tulip’s eyes flashed, and she stormed off. And after that she was alone again, till someone called Heather came down from Scotland and started at Talbot Harries. Like me, all those years ago, she didn’t know any better than to offer her friendship to the first person she saw standing alone. And for the next few days I had to watch Tulip grin at me contemptuously, and turn her back, and giggle in corners with Heather.

  But that didn’t last, either. Heather soon took against Tulip’s mean habit of eating the sweets she always had in her pocket without offering them to anyone round her. And Tulip’s joke’ of tipping the contents of Heather’s lunchbox into the bin, and filling it with dirt and stones, fell very flat. So Heather soon made other friends. In any case, watching the two of them walk round together, arm in arm, hadn’t made me unhappy. All I could see was how foolish I must have looked when it was me. All I could feel was sheer relief.

  That was the strangest thing about those weeks: the feelings that I had. Like coming out of a grey, endless dream, I felt the world lift around me. For far too long, I’d stayed in Tulip’s shadow. Each day now, I felt a bit stronger and things went better. At school, because I wasn’t looking out for her on every staircase and through every window, my work was more careful and my marks improved. At the Palace, I walked more briskly in and out of rooms, no longer endlessly hovering by windows and doorways to see if Tulip was coming. Without half my brain engaged in waiting for her, I became a whole person again. At night I still dreamed of fires, and woke in frights. But in the day, so different did I feel, so little did I want to be the Natalie I was before, that I’d have changed my name if they’d have let me. And on the morning I found myself sitting peacefully on the ledge of the verandah, watching the peacocks instead of – one of the games she’d taught me – stalking them till they panicked, I realized for the first time in years that I was happy.

  Happy.

  And that’s why, when Julius ran round the corner to tell me Tulip was waiting in the rose garden, I didn’t want to know.

  ‘Go back,’ I said, ‘and tell her you can’t find me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to see her.’

  ‘But what about Tulip? If you’re not with her, the gardener will tell her to go home.’

  I slid off the ledge and moved towards the door.

  ‘Just tell her I can’t come. Say that I’m busy helping Dad.’

  He looked baffled. But then he shrugged, and ran back the way he’d come. I felt a little bit guilty, but not much. Staying away from Tulip was getting easier each day.

  And I avoided her at school as well. Skills learned in Guest-stalk came in useful now.

  ‘Coming, or going, Natalie?’

  I’d step aside to let the teacher pass. I didn’t know yet, did I? If she was outside, I was staying in. If there was no sign of her, then I might slip out between the wide glass swing doors.

  I’d have my bag packed by the end of school. I’d hare up Forest Street, though it was further, to catch the bus one stop ahead. I’d keep my head down as it roared past the gates, in case she was standing there waiting, or trailing her bag towards our usual stop in the vain hope I’d catch her up and keep her company. It wasn’t my fault that she was alone. Nobody forced her to shove people so hard they fell, and splatter ink on their clothes, and call out ‘Cheap Scottish Heather!’ all the time at someone who’d tried to be friendly.

  Each time she came to the Palace, Julius told me off.

  ‘You can’t just keep saying you’re busy’

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘You can’t. It’s mean.Tulip’s supposed to be your friend.’

  ‘Just tell her I’ve gone to Urlingham with Mum. That’s not so difficult, is it?’

  ‘It’s not that it’s difficult,’ said Julius. ‘It’s just that I feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Well, don’t!’ I snapped. ‘It’s just a trap!’

  He stared at me as if I’d bitten him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, getting a grip again. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  But I did. I was sick of feeling sorry for Tulip. I felt she’d caught me young, and sucked me in, and even made me bury my own feelings so deep, I practically didn’t have them. She’d kept me down with her contempt and scorn. But things were different now. It was my turn to feel contempt. And I think I must have realized that part of my growing strength came from despising her, because I didn’t stop at my new disapproval of her mad habits and her crooked ways. I took it a step further. Now, when we met in the corridors, I’d smile, and say hello, and mutter something about meeting at break. But at the same time, I’d be taking care to glance at the great lumpy hems on her second-hand school skirt, with all the ugly stitching showing through, or at the ragged hair she cut herself, so I could will myself to think:

  ‘You’re nothing, Tulip. Nothing.’

  Oh, it was horrible. It was to save my life, but I could weep.

  2

  She never asked me what was wrong again. Sometimes I found my locker filled with litter, or my name on the ‘Commendation List’ scratched out so hard it gouged the paintwork on the corridor wall. But I kept quiet about it to the teachers, and never said a word at home.

  Still, even my parents must have noticed she never came. So I was really surprised when, halfway through December, Dad lifted his head from the Christmas seating plan to say to me,

  ‘I take it Tulip’s coming, as usual?’

  I couldn’t work it out at all.

  ‘I’m not inviting her,’ I said.

  He and Mum exchanged glances. Mum fiddled with the gold chain round her neck.

  ‘But you know how much Tulip loves Christmas.’

  ‘I love Christmas as well,’ I said stubbornly. ‘And I don’t feel like inviting her this year.’

  They looked uneasy. I got the feeling Dad was on the verge of telling me something, but, at a look from Mum, he changed his mind. Instead, he just said mildly,

  ‘But she doesn’t have much of a life, does she? So it might be nice.’

  Inside, I was seething. So that was it! I’d fought so hard to get free, yet here were both of them quite ready to throw me back, just to ease their own guilty consciences. They knew as well as I did she hadn’t been in the Palace for weeks. But how could they feel as Christmassy as usual, if Tulip wasn’t there, to make them feel even more giving and generous, with Dad feeding her titbits, and Mum whispering to the guests.

  ‘Oh, yes. She has a pretty thin time of it at home. So we do try to give her at least one really special day.’

  Well, they couldn’t have it both ways.

  ‘Let Julius invite her,’ I said slyly. ‘She’s really more his friend now.’

  ‘Julius?’

  Mum was so startled, she almost snapped the necklace.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They spend quite a bit of time together now. They’re thick as thieves.’

  ‘Julius? And Tulip?’

  Dad put his hand on Mum’s to calm her down.

  ‘I’ve never noticed,’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘You’re always very busy’

  He let it drop. But Mum soon slid away to have a quiet word with Julius. I don’t know what he said. But why should he have hidden the fact that, if he notic
ed Tulip on his way home from school, or saw her hanging round the edge of the cornfield, he always ran across to say hello? After all, he felt sorry for Tulip.

  Didn’t they all?

  So my mean little plan to protect myself worked like a charm. Mum might not bother all that much about me, but when it came to looking after precious Julius, no one else stood a chance. The very thought of having Tulip for Christmas slipped out of everybody’s mind, and no one said another word.

  Except Mr Scott Henderson. At the piano on Christmas Eve, he poked me gently in the ribs.

  ‘Are you missing her?’

  ‘No,’ I said sourly, not even bothering to pretend I didn’t know who he meant.

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for your little friend.’

  ‘She’s not so little,’ I said. And then I thought of something cleverer. I put on a more pleasant face and turned to beam up at him.

  ‘I could explain to you how to get to her house. Then, since you’re so fond of her, you could go and visit.’

  That shut him up. He made great play of flicking through his carol sheet. Then, when the singing started, he kept his head bent to the words as if he didn’t know them, and never caught my eye again.

  I sang out, missing Tulip horribly, and hating them all. Why should they assume she was my job, always my job? They all knew where she was. They knew that she’d be sitting in her drab everyday clothes, listening to her mother hum and her father nag as she fingered some horrid cheap present scrimped from what was left of the housekeeping after Mr Pierce finished buying his booze. They all stood round the piano, so smug, so stuffed with food and so dolled up. What was so wrong with one of them filling a hamper and taking it over? Or even bringing her back with them? ‘Come on, Tulip. We know you’re not best friends with Natalie any more. But we still care about you. Come with us.’

  But, no. That was my job. Look after Tulip (but don’t be her hold-your-coat merchant). Be nice to her (but mind you don’t get sucked in too far). Go play with the witch (but don’t let her cast any spells on you).

  Oh, dream on.

  3

  Did she sit there expecting us till the very last minute? (‘Jump in,Tulip! Christmas is Christmas, after all.’) Because, after that, there was no more pretending. When we met on the school stairs, she flashed me such a look of hate, and I stared past her coldly.

  And with no friends, she went from bad to worse. I heard the whispers almost every day. ‘Did you know about Tulip? Guess what she’s done now!’ She hardly came in to school. And when she did, she had an air of smouldering anger around her. The boys picked up on it straight away, calling her ‘Crazy Tulip’ until the strange frozen mask on her face cracked, and she turned wild, and spun into frenzies of violence that had the phones ringing and the male staff running.

  In February, she was banned from Harry’s Supermarket. A few weeks after that, the police came in to school on her account. No one was sure exactly what it was about, but I realized I’d not known how much trouble she’d been in till I heard some of the guesses.

  ‘It’ll be because of those windows.’

  ‘Don’t be soft.The police don’t come round for smashed windows. Maybe she had the nerve to go back to Wilkins Hardware.’

  ‘To nick the batteries she forgot?’

  They all laughed. I turned away, embarrassed, because even after all these months of steering clear of her, some of them still thought of me as Tulip’s friend. And so did most of the teachers. Because it was to the Palace that the police were sent that very same night, pulling their caps off as they walked through the door, but ignoring the curious glances from the guests on the sofas.

  Mum hurriedly ushered them away from Reception, and through the door into the office.

  ‘You stay here, Natalie,’ she said. ‘Watch the desk for me, will you?’

  The woman officer stood back to let me pass. But the man said,

  ‘I think we might sort things out quicker if the young lady comes in as well.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum was astonished. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she called George in from the bar, and asked him to find someone to cover Reception.

  ‘Now,’ she said, closing the door behind us all. ‘What’s all this about? How can I help you?’

  But they weren’t to be hurried.

  ‘Maria Benson,’ said the woman, offering her hand to Mum.

  ‘Stallworthy,’ said the other, and smiled, though he made no effort to shake hands.

  They glanced at the chairs till Mum said, ‘Please do sit down.’ And then they seated themselves, and looked at me. But I’d learned the blank face from Tulip. I didn’t flinch.

  ‘It’s about some little visits,’ said the woman officer.

  My heart began to thump. How long can your old life follow you? We couldn’t have played Little Visits for nearly a year.

  Mum was mystified. ‘Little visits?’ She turned to me. ‘What little visits?’

  I was so lucky. Before I could put my foot in it, Officer Benson broke in again, to try and explain.

  ‘You see, we’re having a little problem with Tulip Pierce.’

  ‘Oh, Tulip!’ Mum’s relief was evident. ‘Tulip! I might have known!’

  ‘And we were wondering if Natalie here could help us understand.’

  I watched them warily, but it was Mum who asked.

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Why on earth she might be doing what she’s doing.’

  Mum looked from one to the other.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  The policeman picked at his cap. He seemed embarrassed suddenly, and tired.

  ‘We’ve had a complaint. It seems Tulip has made three little visits to the family of that poor girl who drowned a while back. She keeps coming up to Mrs Brackenbury’s door, and knocking, and asking her –’

  He stopped, and seemed, for a moment, to be inspecting the plasterwork on the ceiling.

  ‘Asking her –?’ Mum prompted.

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘Asking if Muriel would like to come for a walk.’

  I saw Mum wasn’t understanding yet. So did the officer. He tried again.

  ‘Muriel Brackenbury,’ he explained. ‘The girl who drowned.’

  Mum’s face went ugly with disgust.

  ‘Tulip is visiting them? And asking after their dead child?’

  ‘Standing there on the doorstep.’

  ‘Grinning all over her face.’

  ‘But that’s disgusting! That’s horrible! That is the worst, the sickest –’

  She turned her anger and revulsion on me.

  ‘Do you hear this? I hope I never again hear of you spending time with Tulip Pierce! Do you understand what these officers are saying?’

  Officer Stallworthy broke in.

  ‘That’s why we’re here, Mrs Barnes. Because –’ He hesitated, perhaps fearing to focus Mum’s wrath onto any particular gossips. ‘Because, when we asked around, we heard that Natalie may know Tulip well enough to help us understand exactly what it is we’re dealing with here.’

  Mum’s eyes were flashing.

  ‘You want to know if Tulip’s mad, or bad?’

  His tired and embarrassed look came back again.

  ‘That’s not how we’d put it, of course. But if your daughter –’ He turned to me. ‘Natalie, can you help us out? Can you tell us what’s going on here?’

  Oh, I did an excellent job. I looked so puzzled and anxious. I got more and more distressed. I shook my head, and started sentences I couldn’t finish. And they must have thought I was being as open and honest as I could. You could see it on their faces. ‘This girl is doing her level best to be some help.’

  But all I let them know, through my pathetic stammered confidences, was that I’d stopped being friends with Tulip months ago, even before she took up with Marcie, and, afterwards, with Heather. Everyone could tell them that, I said. They could check it. But I told them nothing that they neede
d to know. I hadn’t spent all that time building a wall between the old Natalie and the new to take it down now, for these two. So I never even tried to explain what was quite clear to me. Perfectly obvious.

  If I’d been inventing games for two my whole life, and suddenly my old partner refused to play, what would there be to do but think up a whole load of new games, just for one?

  And what a game! Here was I thinking our Little Visits had been so cool, so risky. And what was Tulip doing? Walking up to the mother of a dead girl and asking if her daughter could come out for a walk! Not just once, but three times in a row!

  I was awestruck. She’d really left me standing, hadn’t she? Here was I, playing Little Goody Two Shoes with Mum and Dad, and passing tests at school, and even spending hours with Julius. And here was she…

  And once again I saw the old bewitching vision of how things could have been. The constant beat of excitement. Her hand in mine. And flickering, rising colours. Colours to light the sky, and warm my grey, grey soul, and fill my dreams for ever.

  But standing there grinning, they’d said. Grinning all over her face.

  At Muriel Brackenbury’s mother.

  Other people’s feelings aren’t dice, or counters.

  ‘Three times!’

  Officer Stallworthy took my belated disgust for astonishment, because he said a bit defensively:

  ‘Well naturally, the first time, the Brackenburys thought it must be some horrible mistake.’

  ‘As anyone would,’ said Mum tartly.

  ‘As anyone would,’ he repeated. ‘It was only the second time that they rang us.’ He paused. ‘And we made the same mistake. We just assumed that someone had got the wrong end of the stick. Upsetting, of course. But totally innocent.’

  Again, he stared at the ceiling.

  ‘But then, this evening –’

  This evening! Incredible! Less than three hours ago I’d spotted her from the bus as it swept past school. She’d looked the same as usual. But here were these two police officers saying she’d strolled up the path to a house (where, for all she knew, half of the county’s squad cars were lying in wait for her after her first two visits) and treated another human being as if she were just part of some game.