Almost Perfect

Winters were harsh in Underbrook, which is why the town celebrated so wildly when the springtime arrived. On the first day of April, as though someone had flipped a switch, the snow stopped and all the flowers began to bloom. Those who had spent months daring not to leave their homes for the harsh weather were suddenly forced into their gardens to tend the multitude of bushes, roses, weeds and towering fruit trees that sprang up in abundance. The social isolation that was borne of a deadly cold turned overnight into a fierce interest in each other’s business as the prospect of gardening competitions raised its head. Legend spoke of the cutthroat garden competitions of Underbrook. The dear old lady who complimented her next-door neighbour’s tulips was not against trampling them as soon there was nobody around. 

 Mr Culpepper’s roses had scored second in the past five competitions. He had gotten up very early in the morning every single day to water them, feed them and cut away the weeds. He had finely wrapped them in beautiful, pink paper that he had had ordered and imported from the North-Eastern Kingdoms. He had allowed his closest friends and family to peek at his display and all of them had guaranteed that he was a winner for sure. 

 But he hadn’t been a winner. He’d stood on the platform in his best gardening suit delicately presenting his prize roses. His wife, Lily, stood by his side with their baby in her arms and her arm around their son. Mr Culpepper had looked into Lily’s eyes and he knew that he had made her proud. When the winner was announced, he actually stepped forward to accept the award. He was so sure that it was him. 

 “And the winner of the 17th annual Spring Gardening Competition is... Mrs Tramblethorn!” 

Mrs Tramblethorn? Mrs Tramblethorn! Mr Culpepper didn’t notice that he was bending his roses in his clenched fist. He was so furious. She had won it last year as well. And the year before that. A weak yet polite applause ran through the tent. He didn’t register anything that Mrs Tramblethorn had said during her speech. 

 “... Mr Culpepper... silver...” 

 What? Mr Culpepper snapped out of his daze. Lily was pointing, worriedly, to the stage. 

 “Come on up, Mr Culpepper. You’ve done amazingly, not quite first place material, but come on up and get your silver medal!” 

 Mr Culpepper tried to straighten his roses out without anyone seeing and made his way up on to the stage. He allowed the competition organiser to put the silver medal around his neck, shook hands and smiled for a photograph. 

 Things would go differently this year, he told himself. He got up even earlier. He took out every book the library had on gardening and read them twice. And then he returned to the library to take out all of the other copies so that Mrs Tramblethorn couldn’t read them. Mr Culpepper became a man possessed. At dinner, he spent so long arranging the food on his place in the most aesthetically pleasing way that he sometimes forgot to eat. 

 A scientist by trade, Mr Culpepper was determined to calculate the optimum growing conditions for his garden. He gathered all of his rose seeds and planted in them in separate plots. He distinguished them by fractionally different amounts of sun, moisture and plant food. He kept a clipboard upon which he made handwritten observations every hour 24 times per day. 

 Lily Culpepper was worried about her husband but even she was caught up in the excitement of gardening season. She stood in her living room looking at Mr Culpepper’s two silver medals and imagining the look on Mrs Tramblethorn’s face when she was finally given one of her own. The door burst open and Lily screamed. Mr Culpepper burst into the living room. He wore a white lab coat and a welder’s mask. In his hands he clutched his clipboard and a pencil which was nearly worn down to a nib. He lifted his mask and Lily saw his eye bags and unshaven face. He looked crazed. 

 “Lily. I’ve done it.” 

 Yes! She knew he would. After kissing him passionately, she said “Show me.” 

 She picked up their daughter Rose, who was now two years old, and they headed to the greenhouse doors. 

 “Now, what I’m about to show you both, is – Where is Jarred? Playing? No matter, we’ll have to show him later, this can’t wait. What I’m about to show you both is, not to sound grandiose, the most important thing to happen to gardening since the invention of rain. I have tried, tested, and trialled every single condition in which the Culpepper Rose can be grown. I have taken note upon note, learning everything that there is to know. Those books I was wasting my time with? Rubbish. They do not hold a fraction of the knowledge that I have gained. Any flower that was less than perfect, I threw away. I accept only perfection.” He gave his wife a wink. She giggled. “Without further ado, I give you... the perfect flower.” 

 Lily clapped enthusiastically, almost dropping her daughter. Mr Culpepper opened the greenhouse door and ushered them in. 

 “Ladies first. Do not waste your time with these other plants. The one you wish to see is at the very end.” 

 She made her way at a gallop in the direction that he had pointed to. Mr Culpepper walked slowly revelling in his success. He watched as his wife and daughter reached the site of his triumph. He saw what he thought was amazement on his wife’s face. 

 “Aha. Found it, I see, Lily.” 

 “Anthony!” 

 “Didn’t I tell you?” 

 “Just stay there?” 

 “Excuse me?” 

 “Just. Stay there. No, no, it’s just too perfect. I need a moment longer to take it all in.” 

 “I know. I know. It really is remarkable, isn’t it? You know, I’m tempted to say that I did not create this, that it was truly a gift from the Gods. And yet, I did create this. I am the God of gardening. Perhaps they will create a religion in my honour.” 

 “No, Anthony Culpepper. You need to stay right there.” 

 “Now, you really are being absurd. Don’t ruin the moment, darling.” Mr Culpepper walked forward, despite his wife’s warnings and was horrified at what he saw. His perfect Culpepper Rose was crushed. There was a hole in the greenhouse glass. The sunlight shining through the gap was beaming directly onto the rose. This had upset the perfect equilibrium that Mr Culpepper had discovered and the plant had shrivelled. Mr Culpepper fell to his knees. He was not a crying man, he never had been, but in that moment, he did allow himself to swear. Lily gasped and covered Rose’s ears. 

 “No, I will not have that kind of talk, Anthony Culpepper. Not in this house, err, greenhouse. You have accomplished something incredible and I am so proud of you.” 

 “Well, that’s not going to help me win the gardening competition, is it Lily?” 

 “I mean, you did succeed in creating a perfect rose. You have all your notes. You know how to create another one now.” 

 He gave her a furious, exhausted, pained stare. 

 “Or what about these other roses? Sure, they’re not perfect... But they never had to be. They just need to be better than whatever Mrs Tramblebitch is going to bring along.” 

 Mr Culpepper smiled. He had never heard his wife swear about someone older than her before. The smile turned into a giggle. She put her arms around him and they all laughed together. Rose was too young to understand what they were laughing at but she thought that it was hilarious. 

 The Culpeppers were dressed in their best clothes for their third annual Gardening Competition. Mr Culpepper held a rose which would have seemed miraculous to you or me but which, to him, represented only the loss of that one true perfect rose. Mr Culpepper had shaved but the bags were not gone from under his eyes. His face wore no ambition of winning. He appeared to be a man who had given up on any hope for the future. Lily Culpepper and Jarred Culpepper, on the other hand, were extremely nervous and kept patting their foreheads with napkins. 

 When his name was called, Mr Culpepper stood onstage beside the other contestants to be judged. He had braced himself to hold back any choice words for Mrs Tramblethorn but she wasn’t there. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or outraged. 

 “Where is she, Mum?” Jarred asked from the friends-and-family box. 

 “She’s paying for what she did to your father’s rose,” she replied absently. 

 “What?” 

 “Oh, you know I don’t mean that. Still, don’t say anything to your father. He’s upset enough as it is. But it’s obvious isn’t it? She’s known for it. A saboteur.” Lily said this word as though it tasted disgusting in her mouth. 

 “Mum.” 

 “Yes dear?” 

 Jarred took a deep breath. “I kicked my football and I sort of mustn't have kicked it properly and it somehow broke dad’s greenhouse window. But it was all an accident and I didn’t mean to do it. And I was going to tell dad. But then he was so sad and he snapped and... I... Do you think he’ll be upset with me?” 

“You... crushed... your dad’s rose?” Jarred thought that she looked like a viper who’d just gotten a papercut. “Do you realise what you’ve done? That that was something your dad had created? That it was his only legacy that would live on after his death?”  

 “Do you think he’ll lose to Mrs Tramblethorn again?" 

 “Well not any more, he won’t.” 

 Jarred was confused. “Should I tell him what I did?” 

 “Don’t you dare.” She didn’t blink. 

 Their conversation was cut short as the judge mounted the stage. Lily tried to make eyes with Mr Culpepper to tell him to smile. He looked defeated already. 

 “I’m afraid I have some terrible news,” began the judge. “Mrs Tramblethorn, the long-celebrated patron of the Underbrook Gardening Competitions, passed away last night.” Mr Culpepper’s jaw dropped. “I have just been informed that she was up late trimming the beautiful tulips that she has been working on for so long. Sadly, it appears that she tripped and dropped her pruning shears. In a million to one chance, the shears fell directly into her back eighteen times, ending her life.” 

 Jarred looked at his mum, who wouldn’t meet his eye. Mr Culpepper looked at Lily too. He was smiling now and she gave him a weak thumbs up. 

 “This, of course, makes my job as judge of the Underbrook Gardening Competition much more difficult as Mrs Tramblethorn was a long-time favourite of this society. However, I feel that I have made the correct decision, and one that I hope you will all think is fair. I have examined all the flowers presented here today, and it was a fierce, fierce contest.” Mr Culpepper started to sweat now. “And I think we can agree that there is one gardener who has shown the most improvement over last year. Step on up Mr Culpepper!” 

 Lily stood up and screamed, leaving Jarred to catch Rose. Mr Culpepper almost fainted and gave himself a big pinch on the back of his arm. He walked over to the judge cautiously. 

 “Mr Culpepper, I am astounded by what you presented today, and it’s so different to the rose from last year. What’s your secret?” 

 “Oh, just a bit of hard work and study really.” 

 “Well, it’s certainly paid off. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that this rose is almost perfect. Not quite,” he chuckled. “But damn close. And for that I’d like to shake your hand. There is only one flower that I have ever seen in my life that was better and it was the tulip that was shown to me last week by the late Mrs Tramblethorn. And it is for that reason that I have decided to award Mrs Tramblethorn a posthumous golden medal. And Mr Culpepper, for all your hard work and study, as you call it, you have earned yourself... a silver medal.”