Three Steps To Heaven

    Ray pressed the play button and tucked the old cassette player out of sight under the counter. That was certainly not for sale. He’d had it longer than he cared to remember.
    He looked with some satisfaction at his stall with its ornamental plates on display. Each one had been unpacked with great care, dusted and placed just so, with a new hand-written tag tied to its stand. The tissue paper and bubble wrap they’d been transported in were stowed away under the stall in plastic crates, ready for later. 

    ‘Step One. You find a girl to love,’ he sang softly to himself.

    All around him there was a great deal of activity. Battered old vans were being marshalled into place by men wearing santa hats. Endless cases of goods were being conveyed here and there. Sacks of almost frozen veg were being shouldered and emptied into neat piles; the finest brussels, carrots and cabbages. There were dates, satsumas, mangoes and mounds of rosy-cheeked apples for those people old enough to remember them as stocking-fillers. 
    The veg men and women were as busy as bees rubbing their fingerless mittened hands together whilst exchanging the usual banter. Their breath was visible, crystallised in the cold air as they guffawed or snorted as they laughed. They shot furtive glances at neighbouring displays before scribbling the day’s prices onto scraps of cardboard, to be kept face down ready for when only the customers were looking.
    Christmas trees arranged by size leant against stalls in neat rows, looking like they had been left behind by receding flood waters. Bunches of mistletoe hung cheekily over piles of muddy spuds, alongside sprigs of red-berried holly. The warm aroma of roasting chestnuts hung in the damp air. 
    The majority of the stalls in the market sold fruit and veg but over in Ray’s corner there was more variety. Household-ware venders stood shoulder-to-shoulder with book sellers and dealers in antique jewellery. Some sold bric-a-brac, curios or nik-naks. Others displayed what could only be described as junk. But nobody in the whole market place could rival the quality of what Ray had to offer. He was justifiably proud of his merchandise and considered himself something of a connoisseur. 
    He draped a string of fairy lights tastefully amongst his display. He noted how they pulsed to the music in a very satisfying way, and nodded with approval at the sight.

    ‘Step Two. She falls in love with you.’ 

    I will never grow tired of this song, Ray thought as he sang along. Fifty years had passed since he first heard it played at a concert that his old pal Greg had dragged him along to. 
    ‘There’ll be girls,’ he had said. ‘I can’t go on my own. What would that make me look like? I wouldn't have a chance!’
    It was the night when Eddie Cochran and Gene Vincent played the Demont on a cold February night in 1960, shortly before Eddie died. And it was a particularly great night for Ray. A girl with film-star looks set his heart on fire. 
    They had seen each other regularly after that but when Beryl’s parents found out they put a stop to it. She was a grammar school girl and Ray was just the son of a market trader. 
    He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since the Coventry train was due in, the length of time that he’d calculated it would take to walk down from the station. He reached over and clicked the kettle on. 
    It seemed like an age to Ray since he’d sat at home finishing off the morning’s pot-full, strong and slightly sweetened. The customary hot buttered toast with a scrape of marmalade and the Mercury crossword completed his routine. His lovebirds had stretched and yawned doing their first cheeps of the day in their cage over by the boiler. They were awake earlier than usual. 
    ‘Big day, my little friends,’ he said to them as he hung a fresh spray of millet in the cage before leaving the warmth of his kitchen. ‘Big Day.’ 
    It had been as dark as night when he set out from home.
    Ray unwrapped two delicate looking matching china mugs before setting them beside the tea-making paraphernalia, and glanced over towards the end of the street. Any moment now Beryl would turn that corner, he thought, with just a little spike of apprehension.
    He unfolded his chair and moved it into position, a tricky job that had to be done just right. The packing cases take up a lot of space and he had to ensure that he has easy access to the money box, the kettle and the cassette player. But today he had a second chair to fit in. It would be a bit crowded, but he would make room somehow.

    ‘Step Three. You kiss and hold her tightly.’ He always smiled at this line. 

    He turned the halogen heater at his feet on to its highest setting and eagerly waited for it to warm up before settling down in his chair. His face was bathed in its orange glow as he looked out at a spectacular sunrise happening over the rooftops of the city.
    He closed his eyes and mouthed the words to his favourite song as the heat warmed him through.

    ‘And as life travels on. 
    And things do go wrong. 
    Just follow steps one, 
    two and three.’

    The kettle clicked off.
    
    'Now that sure sounds like heaven to me. I'm more than ready for that cuppa,’ said Beryl, as she danced the last few feet up to the stall.