It was Christmas Eve. The grey of London had turned to pearly white. Barnaby trudged his way through the glimmering city. Children were throwing snow balls at each other. Housekeepers swept their doorsteps. The bakery was open early.
Barnaby breathed in the sparkling ice air, and turned up his winter coat. In his hand he held a bouquet of lush red flowers. They were magnificent. He hoped she liked them. So many thoughts were running through his head. His heart was beating fast.
Almost there. More than a little bit early.
Ahead a door opened. A slender girl with auburn hair led a tall young-man into the street.
She planted a kiss on his lips.
She waved good bye.
She watched him leave.
And then she went inside.
That morning a bouquet of roses lay abandoned on a lonely street corner. A boy called Barnaby made his way home through the dirty snow.