He hesitated in the doorway of the florist’s shop. The girl behind the counter smiled.
“I want some flowers for a funeral,” he said.
“You want to send some flowers?”
“No. It’s my mother. We are having a humanist service and a green burial. But I want just something I can put on the coffin.”
“Oh I see. When do you want them?”
“Now would be good. I’m due at the green burial ground in half an hour.”
The girl hustled off, returning with a simple sheaf of purple iris. He found himself smiling foolishly.
“They were her favourite flowers.”
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