Pink magnolia branch on a calf

The magnolia on Holloway Lane came out three weeks early, which Mr Okafor next door says is the cold's fault and not the tree's. The flowers went up all at once along the bare branches, as if someone had lit a row of candles without asking the wind. I stood under it on Tuesday with the bin bags in my hands and forgot to put them down.

I know you'll say I should be sweeping the petals off the pavement before the council notice goes up, but I've been picking the fallen ones out of the gutter instead. They're thick and waxy and the colour of the inside of a shell. Some have gone brown at the edges already, and the sky above the roofs is so pale a blue it looks washed, as if the morning hasn't made up its mind yet.

Here's what I need you to do. Come on Sunday and bring the old jam jar, the one with the chipped rim. I'm going to cut one branch, just one, with three buds still closed and a flower open at the top, and put it on your windowsill at the ward. The nurses will tell you it's against the rules. Tell them it's a magnolia, and they'll understand that nothing in England is supposed to bloom in February.

Keep the buds closed as long as you can. I want to see which one opens first.

Love, Tom