Day 251 - How To

 HOW TO 

Prompt - How To : Write directions on how to do something

Beep, beep.  A text.  She checked her phone.  From Dave.  

'Go to the corner of Leith Walk and Iona Street.  Immediately!'

What was the daft beggar up to this time?  But she knew he knew she wasn't busy, so she wouldn't have a viable excuse not to go along with it.  Other than not being arsed...

So off she went, assuming he'd be there, waiting.  But no, not a sign of him.  Her phone beeped again.  

'Find the guy with the mullet who runs Epoca and tell him you're Sandy'

She knew who he meant, everyone did.  Wee fella, always some kind of weirdly smart outfit, and a seventies hairdo.  He was hanging around outside the shop, as he often did.  She approached.

"You must be Sandy.  Just a minute."  And without her saying a word he vanished into his boutique, quickly returning with a small envelope.  "For you."

"Thanks." He grinned and turned back to one of the people browsing the racks of old clothes he purveyed.  She wandered up Iona Street a bit, found some shade, and opened up.  A card said 'Go the gates of Walker Woodstock and take off the green ribbon'

Walker Woodstock?  She Googled.  Ah, the builders' merchants, just a bit further along.  She wouldn't have known the name.  Whatever this was about it better be worthwhile.  She walked along, saw the ribbon, untied it, saw the wee man in the yard who winked at her.  How many people were in on this thing?

Written on the ribbon was another message.  'Walk up to Elm Row and go into Johnson, ask for Megan'  Walk?  In this heat?  The bastard!  She'd be a sweaty heap by the time she got up there.  This had better be really, really good...

But she obeyed the instruction, because, as Dave knew, she could never resist a mystery.  Meg proved to be a chubby wee woman who wanted to mother her.  And to know what this was all about.  Sandy couldn't enlighten her.  

"It's just Dave, it's how he is" was the best she could manage.

There was another wee envelope, another wee card.  'Get the next 11 or 16 from Elm Row, heading to Morningside.  Text me when you get on the bus.'  Where the hell was this taking her?  A 16 came, she boarded and texted, got a smiley face back.  He'd be tracking the bus, wouldn't he? She hoped wherever she was headed would be cool.  

As the bus neared the West End there was yet another text.  'Look at the church railings on Lothian Road'  There was a church on the corner, another behind, and the rails ran for fifty metres or more.  At least she was sat on the right, left, side of the bus.  Around the corner she scanned the rails.  Just before the second of the two bus stops a piece of cloth had been tied on to the rails, stretched out so that the words, in purple paint, stood out.  SANDY- BRUNTSFIELD LINKS  Which she took to mean that that was the stop she was to get off at.  As the bus pulled away she noticed a man in baggy green shorts and a Foo Fighters tee.  Ram, Dave's pal.  He smiled.

She got off at the Links.  What next?  No sign of Dave, no text, no banner.  He'll have done something, won't he?  Then she spotted it, on the inside of the bus shelter.  Another of those wee envelopes, blu tacked up and with 'Sandy' written on.  She opened it, wondering if there was another walk or bus involved.  She hoped not.  The mystery was on the verge of becoming irritating.  

'Head for the balloons'  What balloons?  She looked around and could see, tied to a bench, half a dozen of those silvery helium filled hearts, the kind of thing that they always laughed at as being the wrong side of tacky.  Was Dave taking the piss?  She walked on.  Got to the bench.  On the backrest was another bit of cloth with purple lettering.  RESERVED FOR THE LOVELY SANDY  The 'Lovely Sandy'?  He really was taking the piss...

"And here we are!"  Dave emerged from behind a tree, stupid grin filling his face.  In his hand he carried a couple of cardboard boxes she recognised as coming from Meltmongers.  Had he put her through all that just for a toastie, even if it was from one of her favourite places?  He waved a hand regally, indicating she should take a seat on 'her' bench.  

"What the fuck is this all about?"

"Patience my dear, patience."  She didn't know whether to laugh or tell him to fuck off.  So she sat.  He sat.  Handed her one of the bags.  "Un Cuban Melt pour madame, Mac n Cheese pour monsieur", in his cod French accent.  Credit for him knowing her fave though.  He took off his back pack, took out a drinks bottle and two glasses wrapped in tea towels.  Her best crystal?  On a park bench?!  How dare he.

He gave her a glass, unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured.  The liquid near colourless, opaque.  Ice chinked as he poured.  Dave grinned again and nodded for her to try it.  Marguerita.  On a park bench, in one of her best glasses, with a toastie.  It was different, She'd give him that.  "Eat" he instructed.  So She ate.  As delicious as ever.  She drank.  He knew how to mix a good cocktail.  The sun shone, the traffic noise wasn't too bad, and they watched the dogs chasing balls, legs flailing and bodies twisting as they joyfully undertook their purposeless pursuits.  

"That was good" she said, indicating the now empty box, "but it seems a lot of effort just to have a toastie together."  

In response Dave put down his glass, dropped to one knee and pulled a small box from his pocket.

"Sandy, will you marry me?"