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With a shy smile he stood there. A small bunch of flowers in hand; brilliant orange gerbras, snowy-white daisies and a single blood-red rose. He'd bulked out the bouquet with some greenery, leaves he'd picked from the hedge on his way here. I couldn't help but return his smile - feeling my lips spread wide and my eyes crinkle. I knew he couldn't afford a big bouquet, but what little he had he'd splashed out - on me of all people! - and then my darling little boy had gathered sprigs of beech and oak and apple, and bunched them altogether on his way home from the school bus.