The man fiddled with the bouquet of flowers in his gloved hands, his sigh coming out as puffs of smoke as he gazed up into the dull grey sky. He was late, he knew. She’d told him to be there early, to help her as she prepared for the happiest day of her life. She wouldn’t be angry though. She was never angry at him.

He stood up reluctantly, dragging his feet across the field of dried, brown leaves, ignoring the buzzing of his phone in the pocket of his brown Burberry coat as he made his way across the lonely park.