As the neighbourhood gathering in front of Hidde's house was sipping their second cup of coffee, an old van stopped in front of number thirteen. In the silence that followed, the already familiar sombre fellows with cold fishy eyes climbed out of it and opened the back doors. Suddenly, a colourful exotic kingdom of white, cream and soft pink flowers on supple long stems materialised in front of the eyes of those present.

The effect was amazing. It was as if spring itself had stepped onto the old Tholen’s cobbles with its bare feet.

‘Orchids!’ exhaled Lisette in admiration. ‘So so many!’

‘The very first thing you need when you have a pond-sized leak in your basement,’ added Hans, of the L-shaped house from around the corner with its own name “Thools botje” above the door, sceptically.

This problem could not affect him personally, as his house was separate from the others. But as a responsible neighbour, as everyone knew him to be, he was not going to ignore other people's problems. Hans Zuurdeeg was not like that. Of all the flowers, he respected only tulips and gladioli, which grew modestly in the sunny corner of his backyard. For the rest everything had to be useful above all else.

‘Otherwise it may go overboard, mind you,’ he said whenever the conversation went towards art or beauty in any other form.

He looked at the flowers in disapproval. At that moment, the familiar, ponderous figure of Mr Owl stepped into the street with a groan from the driver's seat, temporarily putting an end to the speculation and comments. As the strange twosome loaded pots and crates from the car with astonishing efficiency, Kobe, sighing at times, headed towards the neighbours.

‘That was a pretty nice deal,’ he said, addressing the gathering with a polite nod. ‘The old lady loves flowers so much...’

‘Need help?’ asked Jeroen, looking suspiciously at the twins, who had not said a word to anyone since their first appearance.

‘No thanks,’ refused Kobe. ’The boys have enough strength and plenty of free time. They'll be fine.’

‘You smell like honey!’ remarked Lisette, who was diligently sniffing the whole time. ’And I was wondering why you are so attractive today, Kobe, must have bought a new cologne!’

The neighbours giggled in agreement. Kobe abruptly found himself in a tight circle of sniffing noses and watchful eyes.

‘Ah yes,’ he shuddered and began shaking invisible dust off his sleeves. ’I've been to the beekeeper. Gertrude doesn't like lamps, she more often uses candles. Always candles. Old person, you know, set habits.’

‘You know each other pretty well,’ Hidde remarked cautiously, as the rest of the neighbourhood committee pricked up their ears.

‘Well,’ Kobe replied even more carefully and looked around, seeking a way out of the ‘casual’ containment. ‘Good old days. It's nice, you know, to meet old friends after all these years.’

‘Owl,’ Hans interrupted him firmly, ’I'm a bit worried. The flowers and candles are all lovely, of course, but what about the basement? Jeroen says there is a leak. What about that? After all, we live next door and you know the old pipes. Shouldn't anything be done about it then?’

Despite the fact, that Hans indeed lived next door and the pipes had already been completely renewed several times, grumbles began to rise among the neighbours. Kobe hurried to stop the incipient uproar.

‘It's all fine. There was nothing serious going on. The boys,’ he pointed again towards the silent couple, ’are super handy,’ he stuffed his hands in his pockets. ’Well, friends, I must be off. Was nice to have a small talk!’

‘But Kobe, can we do anything? For the new neighbour?’ asked Jacoba, a woman with serious forms and a carefree view of life with the hope coming from rabid curiosity. Actually, she lived a few streets away. She was visiting her best friend when everything happened, and what do a few streets mean in a small town where your grandmothers used to gossip about each other?

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‘Tomorrow guys, all tomorrow. Gertrude is already old and needs plenty of rest. She has been busy all day. You can surely meet her tomorrow. She always goes to the church on Sunday. Honky to the traditions...’

Kobe walked hurriedly back to the car. He grabbed three pots with the familiar logo of ‘The Pot’ and, before being stopped again, disappeared behind the door of number thirteen.

‘Bizarre, really bizarre,’ Lisette said in a strange anticipation of something else coming up.

They all got that odd feeling at this conversation. When the neighbours, one by one, finally made their way to their own houses, everyone kept turning their heads towards the, at once mysterious, door. The last neighbour was not even out of sight when the situation took a new turn.

Margriet came...

Nothing could better describe her appearance than the word carefully written on the side of the red Volkswagen van. ‘Thorn. Florist and garden specialist.’ Everyone on the island knew Margriet. Even the new residents quickly learnt her name. Right away with the arrival of fresh bouquets and cards.

The most beautiful flowers came from her shop, which had been located in Sint Annaland in the north of the island for the past fifteen years. They were also expensive. Very expensive, at a time when supermarkets and petrol stations were teeming with flowers, but the demand was no less. Besides, although she delivered exclusively on the island, she was the only florist who had a waiting list. But there was something special about her flowers....

Something remarkable, almost magical, but what exactly it was no one could pinpoint. Only rumours, stories... Nobody could prove it, but everyone experienced, that when one of Margriet's arrangements came into the house, everything suddenly became very cosy, warm and peaceful. It brought a blissful feeling, so that even bitter hatred gave way to understanding and forgiveness.

Margriet herself, her shop in the last street of the village, and her two small greenhouses, to which no one had access, were always shrouded in mystery. And her difficult character equated her with local celebrities. Conflicts between her and the islanders were part of the talk of the day. In her presence, one had to be careful not to make a remark that would fuel the florist's explosive nature.

According to Margriet, everything had to follow its natural course and anyone who wanted strawberries in January, tulips in September or just a neatly trimmed boxwood hedge risked being rejected forever. Margriet was intelligent, artistic, devoted to nature and hard as steel. As an excuse, it must be taken into account that everything put in the ground by her grew and bloomed fantastically. Her flowers exuded an enchanting harmony, and often contained very special plants grown by no one else.

Now this in every way remarkable woman stepped out of the car. Red fierce hair raised and her eyebrows critically lifted to the middle of her forehead.

‘Ohh,’ said Hidde, trying to shrink in size, which in his case was doomed to fail. ’This is not good.’

‘Totally agree,’ Jeroen confirmed and took a step back.

Such a promising expression on Margriet's face could only mean one thing - troubles.

‘Poor boys,’ Lisette whispered.

The trio remained on the pavement, enchanted by the approach of the inescapable disaster. Sneaking, like a cat, Margriet walked around the van, where there were still quite a few orchids and unrecognisable plant elements left behind. After this brief inspection, her eyebrows drew together on the bridge of her nose. She jumped into the van. As the twins came for the next load of flowers, they bumped into the unexpected obstacle.

‘Seriously?!’ came from the inside with ill-concealed rage. ‘Seriously?!! That's all you guys could get?! Kobe!!!’

Mr Owl very cautiously stuck his head out from behind the door and gave Margriet his best professional smile.

‘Margriet! What a nice surprise! And we've only just made tea, with honey. Are you coming in?’

‘Kobe,’ said Margriet with an attitude as if she were addressing a retarded person, ‘what on earth do you expect me to do with it? Do you know how badly bred these are?’

‘Um, no,’ replied Mr Owl, glowing even more professional than before.

‘They are blind and deaf!’ burst out Margriet in roars. ‘Just like you, old donkey! Have you gone completely mad?!’

‘Margriet, darling, please come in. I will explain everything to you,’ Kobe begged. ’I don't think we have a choice, things are moving too fast. No time, Margriet, simply no time.’

Margriet was silent for a while and looked at Kobe as if estimating his price.

‘Do you know what it will cost me?’ she asked. ‘You are expecting the impossible.’

‘Darling, you are genius. I'm sure, you can do it. Come in.’

‘In a moment,’ snarled the wayward florist. ‘Come and help me out first.’

She walked to her car. To the astonishment of the intrigued onlookers, it too turned out to be filled with flowers. But what flowers! Some dedicated botanist would be jumping a hole in the air right now. Everything in the van belonged to a rare, almost extinct sort. Apart from that, no one had ever managed to cultivate them. From three large crates modestly and shyly peeked out the fragile buds of a native orchid, which usually blooms only once every fifteen years and only in June on coastal meadows and dunes. Kobe immediately ran into the street.

‘Margriet, you are a miracle! Do you know that? A real miracle!’

‘And you are a donkey,’ Margriet replied irritated. ‘Get it in quickly and God forbid you drop it.’

‘Never!’ promised the notary solemnly and gave the almost frozen twins a shove.

It was probably the first time anyone had seen Kobe engaged in physical activity. As the last of the precious crates was brought inside, Kobe winked at Jeroen.

‘Never argue with a fae,’ he said before closing the door.