by Lorna Gray
Chapter 30
Angels and gods and gurning serpents; I was so mesmerised by the crazed illustrations unfolding from the grubby rolls that for a moment I did not register the change in pitch of the road noise. A sudden crash as we went over a dip in the road caught my attention however and then, with a sharp rush of fear, I realised that we were slowing.
Hastily, I stuffed the papers back into their hold and rolled the hessian back. One corner would not lie flat and I flung myself down on it as the lorry rolled to a shuddering halt. The engine sounded louder than ever before as it idled and after the steady roaring of the road, its changeable tone felt horribly menacing.
A sudden thought occurred to me. I leapt up again to snatch the nailed strip of wood from the Luton just as a door in the cab slammed shut. There was barely enough time left to arrange myself in a pose of sleepy carelessness before the jockey door was wrenched open and then abruptly my darkened little world was flooded with the blinding brightness outside.
His head was silhouetted against the open doorway as he peered in at me. I stayed very still, miming out the part of one who was still drugged to stupidity in the hope that he would just shut the door again and leave me, but then, with a leap that defied his heavy build, Simon Turford climbed in.
He was huge. His vast bulk filled the doorway and as he towered over me in my little huddled corner, I suddenly realised how very, very small my space really was. Beechnut shied away from him, her agitation making her throw herself against the partition until it cracked alarmingly under her weight but he didn’t seem to notice. Completely unconcerned, he stared down at me with such an ugly expression on his face that I feared what he might do. But all he did was laugh and turn away, seemingly satisfied.
Beechnut flinched away again, throwing her head wildly, and he batted his hand carelessly at her face as he prepared to climb down from the box once more. His hand was gripping the frame to the jockey door, bracing himself for the leap and he had almost done it when he suddenly, terrifyingly, stopped. For a long agonising moment he stood quite still, simply staring at the mat by his feet but then he turned back and looked at me.
I blanched and shrank feebly back into my little corner.
“Just what have you been up to?” His low demand came as an incredulous snarl. I couldn’t answer.
He stared down at me for a moment but then he took a step back into my space and reached for me. I gave a short strangled cry and cringed away as he took hold of the collar of my shirt but all he did was snarl again and then, oblivious to my pathetic attempt at resistance, gave a heave and dragged me bodily to the open doorway.
Frozen by sheer paralysing horror, I had no time to repeat John’s final instructions or to remind him of my immunity from harm and quite without thinking, I swung the strip of wood I held concealed in my hand. It connected. With a bellow of pain he flung me away and then I was airborne for a moment, rushing through the damp air only to crash down heavily onto my side on the cold soaked grass of the verge.
Winded and very scared, I blinked painfully up at him through eyes that ached after the darkness of the box. With barely a thought, he wrenched the nails out of his sleeve and as he tossed the wood aside, I suddenly realised just how foolish I and my burst of reckless defiance had been. I think my legs tried to push me away through the mud and grass but I didn’t get far.
With a roar he leapt down and took hold of me again. The suddenness of his movement made me cry out and he gave a guttural sneer at my hopeless attempts to shield myself from him as I recognised the full force of his violent intent. He drew his huge fist back ready to strike.
“Car!” yelled Davey from the cab.
Fist still held high and threatening, Simon lifted his head and sought out the black shape that had appeared on the horizon. He stared at it for a few long agonising seconds as it wound its way closer down the hillside before he finally lowered his hand, and then, with a sharp curse, he dragged me painfully to my feet and thrust me towards the cab.
“In,” he growled and wrenched open the door. Davey slithered over into the middle of the bench seat and I was practically thrown up into the space he had made. The door was slammed shut and then I was abandoned to the leering stupidity of Davey’s care while Simon inspected what I had done to their cargo.
It seemed to be a long time before he finally climbed down and set the lorry on its way once more.
I don’t remember much of the journey that followed. We seemed to drive for hours, although it was probably only about fifty miles. The two men exchanged grunting conversation occasionally and once I feared Davey was going to touch me but for the most part they just ignored me and I was able to lean my aching head against the cold glass of the window while my closed eyes burned with the shock and pain of what had happened.
As far as I could tell through my distracted wanderings, their conversation mainly consisted of brutally mocking John’s obsessive adherence to rank, and judging by their tone, I was not entirely sure that he was in nearly as much control as he thought. With a bitter twist of satisfaction it occurred to me that John’s life would not be nearly as comfortable as he anticipated once the artwork made its destination and these two men laid on a tidy little bit of blackmail when the money started coming in.
“Don’t know what’s so special about her either,” muttered Simon as we lurched across a busy crossroads. “Seems a hell of a lot of trouble to go through just for some girl. He should have finished her and had done with it; she’s not exactly a prize amongst women, is she?”
“Dunno about that. I’d do her.”
“Davey,” Simon growled. “You’d ‘do’ anything if it wore a skirt.”
I blinked and out of the corner of my eye I saw Davey’s mouth stretch wide as he laughed.
“My guess is that the real story is she said no and he just can’t take it.” Simon gave a hard snigger. “Ah well, she won’t get much say in it now – the other will be dealt with by the time we get back and I suspect her allure for our friend Johnny will end with him…What a happy marriage that will be, makes you almost feel sorry for her, doesn’t it? Although it certainly serves her right for getting smart with us, dumb bitch. If you ask me, they deserve each other.”
I felt a shudder run through me that ought to have been one of sheer unadulterated horror, but somehow seemed to verge on uselessly murderous fury and I felt an unexpected touch of warmth to my limbs. In the wake of this momentary easing of my lethargy, the lorry checked and slowed and as a faint trace of intelligence began to hint at a re-emergence, I noticed that we were pulling in at a garage. With barely a lift of hope I wondered if I dared try to scream for help but Davey’s forbidding presence remained inexorably by my side while Simon climbed out to rouse the pump attendant from his house and I knew that if I even so much as drew the breath to scream I would regret it.
There was an oddly comic moment when the two men scrabbled about in search of the ration book and as I lay with my head limply resting against the window, it occurred to me that John must have been using agricultural fuel to still have so many vouchers. Then I experienced a different kind of mirth at the realisation that I was actually marvelling at a man who was prepared to go to such lengths as these being equally unconcerned by the misuse of a few ration slips. I almost giggled at the thought and I began to suspect my mind was wandering completely but then all giddy humour abruptly evaporated as Simon climbed in to the cab once more and restarted the engine.
He leaned past Davey to peer at me. There was a fine mist of rain on his skin. “Has she said anything?”
“Nothing.”
“She looks half dead, doesn’t she; do you think the boss gave her too much of that stuff?” A hand reached past Davey to roughly shake my arm, “Hey? Are you still with us?”
I was not exactly acting when my head lolled against the seat-back and with a concerted effort, I turned my head look at him. Simon stared at me for a moment and then, with a dry laugh, let go of my arm.
&
nbsp; “Water,” I croaked weakly. “Do you have any water?”
I must have looked so awful with hay in my matted hair, swollen reddened eyes and a face that looked like death that for a moment I almost saw pity in his eyes. Then, with an irritated grunt, Simon climbed out of the cab again.
“Watch her,” he snapped before marching off towards the office. Davey smiled at me and I grimaced, and turned my head away.
There was a sudden crash as one of the horses became impatient, swiftly followed by an unpleasant rocking of the lorry as it stamped about. The cab resounded with another crash and Davey looked at me in alarm. I ignored him and shut my eyes.
The lorry shook again and Davey swore nastily. Through lowered eyelids, I felt him throw another glance at me before he slipped across into the driver’s seat and stuck his head out to see what was going on. Another crash was accompanied by what sounded horribly like splintering wood and this decided him. Lying limp and lifeless in my seat as Davey climbed out, I hardly bothered to notice when he took one last glance at my passive form before turning away. Clearly not nearly as stupid as he looked, he left the door swinging as a security against any attempt of mine to slip unheard out of the other side; but at last, after another crash sounded from the back, he finally stepped out of sight towards the rear of the box.
Instantly, my eyes snapped fully open and my heart began to race.
Nervous blood began pounding back into my exhausted limbs as I cast a rapid glance across the dripping forecourt towards the office. I could just make out Simon’s shape behind the dirtied glass and my breath caught in my throat as I slithered very cautiously across into the driver’s seat. I had to wait for long painful moment before I could eventually bring myself to muster the courage to slowly peep outside. Nobody noticed; Davey was peering intently at a bulge that had appeared in the side.
Trembling excruciatingly, I slipped the lorry into gear. He didn’t hear the change in pitch of the engine as I depressed the clutch and after a brief fumbling search I found the hand-brake. Carefully, I eased it off. Davey seemed oblivious.
Slowly the lorry started to roll forwards and knowing that if I failed my death would certainly swiftly follow, I threw the clutch out and stamped my foot down hard on the accelerator. The engine roared and then gave a sickening cough that made my blood freeze. But then by some miracle it caught and suddenly with a crash of unbalanced horses, we were lurching violently forwards.
I managed to snatch at the door and drag it shut just as Davey lunged for it. I screamed at him as his fingers clawed uselessly at the glass; I do not think I will ever forget the look on his face as he tried to batter his way in. But then, flinging the wheel hard over, I swung the slowly accelerating lorry around the last of the pumps and we were grinding our agonising way past the office just as Simon ran out with a cup in his hand. He lumbered into my path, shouting something and looking impossibly deadly, and I am afraid to say that I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt as the wing mirror clipped his head and he went down in a flurry of flailing arms and spilled water.
The lorry gave a great jolt as we hit the road surface and then all of a sudden we were roaring up through the gears and away in a great cloud of smoke. As we went, I could just see in my mirror the wonderful sight of Simon clutching at his head, Davey staring helplessly after us and lastly, the pump attendant plucking at his sleeve and gesturing at the disappearing lorry in startled and suspicious agitation.
Chapter 31
The hours and miles of the long drive home passed in a confused blur of exhilaration and worry that I would dearly like to forget. Directing the lorry along the undulating roads of Hampshire and Wiltshire was a nightmare of junctions and gear changes; every time I had to stop, I was terrified that the lorry would stall and every time I got to a straight stretch the frustrated cars behind would roar past in a whirlwind of spray and gravel. I wished that I dared pull in to a lay-by to gather my bearings but I had not even the smallest clue about how to start this great hulking machine if the engine died and I fervently prayed that nothing would happen now to force me to learn.
I had set off with my foot flat to the floor but a very scary incident when a corner approached much more quickly than the brakes could safely tackle with horses in the back had made me slow down considerably. On any other day I might have got a thrill out of handling such a vast machine but today, with my nerves hanging by a thread and any confidence in my judgement severely reduced, I was driving with cold hands fiercely gripping the large wheel and tired eyes fixed anxiously on the road ahead.
I think that we must have been very nearly at Southampton as it seemed to take forever for any signs to appear with a place name that I recognised. Junctions and their myriad of impossible decisions were navigated more by lucky guessing than any real idea of where we were and I found that the burst of adrenalin that had helped me make this crazed getaway began to abandon me as we rolled slowly across the high plains of Salisbury and on towards home.
I almost got the lorry stuck at a narrow turn out of a village that I vaguely remember thinking was one of the Winterbournes, but may have been any of the indistinguishable settlements that have since blurred to a nameless mess in my memory. The junction was wide and any normal lorry would have made the turn easily but with inexperience and a heavy exhaustion taking its toll, I very nearly took the side of a building away. It would have been a disaster and there was a terrible moment when I nearly disintegrated into a sobbing heap but thankfully with much enthusiastic waving of hands from a few pedestrians and a dark cloud of smoke from the exhaust we managed to extricate ourselves and set off once more on our long journey home.
Roads slipped by in a blur of routine. I don’t believe that I thought very much at all as I drove along. I braked, changed gear and accelerated with regular monotony and when I felt something suddenly drag hard at the steering wheel, it actually made me jump.
I straightened the lorry again, setting it back on the road only to find we were sent firmly left again. Wearily, I dragged the wheel straight once more and with a shock that betrayed my alarming lack of attention to the road, I finally noticed that the hedges and bare trees lining the great sweeping hill down from Swindon were bowing and shuddering violently. Another gust hit us and then another, and we nearly veered into a ditch when a great bucket of windblown rain struck us hard across the windscreen.
In increasing desperation, I spotted a lay-by ahead. It was just beyond Cricklade, so regardless of the scene downstream clearly the Thames floodwater had not yet risen this far, and with a dubious show of gear-changing and indicating, I safely managed to navigate us to a halt on this narrow strip of dirt, blessedly without stalling. The frantic search that followed was almost comic but finally after discovering all sorts of useless knobs and buttons I located not only my courage but the headlights too and, newly armed with these resources, I set the lorry back onto the road once more.
The wind had clearly been building for a long time in Cirencester. As we ground our way along the horrifically narrow streets and up through Stratton onto the last stretch of main road before home, I began to realise that the route ahead might yet prove to be too much. The road was strewn with broken twigs and branches dodged by other vehicles and when at last we crawled towards the final turning, I knew I could take the lorry no further.
There was no way that I was brave enough to face the narrow lane with its overhanging trees – we were being beaten about badly enough on the main road – and with a groan of exhaustion, I finally swung the lorry into the haulage yard that was linked to the Mason’s Arms. Thankfully the sodden yard was reasonably wide and, equally mercifully, quite empty and just as I began to panic about how on earth one was supposed to park one of these great machines, the engine gave a great coughing shudder as I slowed and then, by way of having the last word, generously stalled.
Barely believing that we had truly survived the experience, I pulled the brake on with hands that were too leaden to tremble and then sat there for
a moment just trying to come to terms with the fact that we were actually here. Outside it was wild; the rain cut instantly through my thin layers as I forced open the door to climb stiffly down. The loss of my coat meant more now than ever and I was quickly soaked to the bone as I fumbled with the fastenings on the ramp, although I was so numb by now that I barely felt it. I was moving deliberately and with exacting detail and, with as much care as if it were a climber’s lifeline, I unlashed the rope that hung from the top of the ramp, took a step back and then pulled.
Nothing happened.
I stepped back a few more paces and gave another tug. Nothing; it didn’t even do me the credit of rattling slightly. I gave a dry humourless laugh at that. It really was too funny that I should be defeated by a ramp of all things after the day I had just had.
“Can I help you, love?”
A man’s voice penetrated my lunatic mirth and I whipped round to discover a burly man approaching from behind. He had only shouted to beat the fierce moans of the wind and beneath the sensible raincoat, he wore the rolled sleeves and over-stretched waistcoat of a barman. He actually took a step back when I turned and I wondered what kind of vision he found before him; I could imagine I made quite a gruesome sight.
“Can I help you?” he asked again. The rain snatched away his words.
I actually managed a hapless smile. “I can’t get the ramp down.”
He hesitated but then came forwards and reached for the rope in my hands. The look he gave me as he took it was of one who knew he had offered but was equally sure he would rather hurry back inside to his cosy fire and a beer instead of stumbling about beneath the grey sky with a hopefully harmless but clearly unstable horsewoman. Perhaps he was worrying that I would expect him to offer us accommodation.
He prepared himself to heave. “Are you going far?”
I shook my head and stepped back as the ramp obediently lowered before him. “I just have to get them up the lane. Not far.”
