The flowers arrived. A sensational arrangement of all her favourites; perfumed roses, delicate freesias, sky-blue cornflowers, striking irises, and sun-bright yellow tulips, interwoven with a background of statice and subtle greenery. The perfect anniversary gift.
She knew every flower name, in English and Latin. This used to stir mild annoyance in him as she’d reel them off in garden centres, at friends’ places, and whenever there were flowers on TV. He wouldn’t feign interest now.
He read the note attached. His name only.
Later, alone at her graveside, he wished he’d bought these for her, just once, when she was here.