Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Jane reassessed the situation in her mind. If she got to Grantham or Sleaford, she knew she could get a connection to Lincoln – on a normal day – but the snow was going to affect that. What were the other possibilities? Taxi? Probably the best bet. Pricey, but probably essential. That’s, of course, if the roads were still open out there in the back of beyond.

  The regional train crawled on through the snow. It was now 8.30am and they were well behind schedule. They pulled into Bottesford, a village about six miles from Grantham. No one got on - or off. The train was packed to capacity anyway. Then the ‘good’ news came over the public address, as the engine chugged on towards Grantham.

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Central Trains apologise for the delay to this service and, due to extreme weather conditions, regrets that this train will terminate at Grantham. The line to Sleaford is blocked by snow and this service cannot continue. It will remain at Grantham and return to Nottingham at 9.15. Any passengers wishing to travel to Nottingham should remain aboard, and may do so free of charge. Once again, Central Trains apologise for any inconvenience caused. There will be no trolley service on this trai,’ as if there was room for a damned trolley!!

  A loud groan rose up in the carriage. However, Jane was not really surprised. This sort of thing must be happening all over the country. Nevertheless, she had a decision to make. She found her phone and rang her editor. She quickly explained her situation and he sounded alarmed.

  ‘Jane, forget the bloody interview. You should never have left Warwick. Sorry! But this weather is much, much worse than the Met Office anticipated. It’s all over the news. Lots more snow expected all over the mainland UK from John O’Groats to Lands’ End – from Anglesey to Dover. It’s everywhere. Just get yourself back home as best you can. I’ve rung the Judge – the interview will have to wait or be done over the phone if necessary.’

  As Jane fumed, things got worse. The train’s guard came on again.

  ‘Just a second, the train PA is going again,’ she shouted at her editor.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, Central Trains apologise but the connecting service to Nottingham is now cancelled due to snow on the line. We apologise for any inconvenience, but all passengers should now disembark in Grantham, where we shall arrive shortly.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ she thought, and continued the conversation with her editor.

  ‘Over the bloody phone? Why didn’t you just do that in the first place? Now I’m stuck in bloody Grantham with nowhere to go. No trains – no way to get home. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Calm down, Jane,’ he countered, ‘I’ll ring the Angel and Royal, a pub come hotel in the High Street, Grantham and reserve a room for you until this weather clears. On the paper of course – for a few days anyway,’ he quickly qualified.

  Jane was still not a happy bunny.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ she replied, with not a little irony in her tone. ‘I’ll do that then, fester in Grantham until I turn into an icicle. Cheers.’

  Then she hung up. If she could have slammed the phone handle down, she would have!

  God, she was pissed off. Stuck in a smelly, damp train that was now pulling out of Bottesford and the prospect of having to hold-up in Grantham – Britain’s most boring town! Moreover, Christmas was just around the corner. At least she’d avoid Jake’s mother for a few days! ‘Every cloud,’ she thought.

  Jane realised that there was little else she could do and as the train shunted into Grantham Station, she stared at the blizzard pounding against the window, and wrapped herself up as warmly as she could. It was a twenty-minute trudge to the Angel and Royal. Jane just hoped that there really was a room reserved!

  Day 2 - Long Bennington, Nottinghamshire – 7:00am

  Chris Davies woke up early and instantly sprang out of bed and looked out of his bedroom window.

  ‘Wicked!’ he exclaimed. He was looking down at about four or five inches of nice thick snow. Nothing moved on the road outside and his mother’s car was covered. He was a bright, enthusiastic twelve year old who enjoyed school but like all children of his age, he loved a day off even more!

  ‘No school for me,’ he mouthed confidently, and walked out of his room onto the landing, where he bumped into his mother.

  ‘Morning, mum.’ Chris said brightly.

  ‘Get yourself washed and dressed, and breakfast will be ready by the time you come down,’ was the tart reply.

  ‘But, Mum,’ he whined, ‘There won’t be any school today – just look at the snow.’

  ‘Just get dressed, Chris, we’re leaving at 7.30, as usual, so get a wriggle on.’ Chris sloped off to the bedroom protesting, but his mother was already halfway down the stairs.

  He was ready in five minutes, and followed his mother into the kitchen for breakfast. She was watching BBC Breakfast – the local edition news. It was announcing that due to the weather, all local schools would be closed for the day, and that many expected to stay shut until after the Christmas break. A council official was explaining that the snow clearing and heating bills did not justify the three days of term remaining – especially as hardly any real work was done this week anyway! Apart from that, it would be much safer if everyone stayed at home.

  ‘Whoo-hoo,’ Chris shouted from the kitchen door, doing his best Homer Simpson impression.

  His mother turned and smiled.

  ‘You got your way then. But you’ll have to stay at home alone all day – some of us have to go to work. Have you got any school work to get on with?’

  ‘Oh, yes Mum,’ Chris lied, ‘I’ve got loads.’

  ‘Good,’ said his mum ‘that school is not cheap and I don't want you wasting the opportunity.’

  Chris sighed and said nothing. Best not to when she started on this track. Always going on about getting a good start in life – blah-blah-blah. He’d heard it all before, and knew it was advisable to keep quiet or she just went on and on.

  ‘I'm off to work in ten minutes, so just behave yourself today – please? I’ll be home at one o’clock.’

  ‘No problem, mum, I’ll be as good as gold. I’ll get some studying done and I might go round to Stephen’s later and get some serious snowman building done. Should be a great day.’

  Day 2 - Barrow, Cumbria – 8:00am

  Mike Norman had a large load of eggs to deliver, up and down the country to ASDA supermarket stores, ending up in Grantham for an 11.15am slot.

  Mike had been a lorry driver nearly all his life, since leaving school at sixteen. He loved driving and had got himself a licence at seventeen and then an HGV as soon as possible after that. It took him a while to get established, but now he had this lucrative contract with ASDA, which earned him and his family a reasonable living. He thoroughly enjoyed the life in his cab. It gave him time to himself and the odd night away. His wife Carole was quite happy with the situation, and was well used to Mike being delayed by bad weather or because of road traffic issues.

  Indeed, bad weather was the order of the day. He had been on the road since 5am and progress was slow. A drop off in Skipton was followed by a transit to the A1 and he was now stuck in a slow moving jam on the dual carriageway just north of Doncaster. It was about an hour and a half to Grantham on a normal day but in this weather and at this speed, his Sat Nav told him to expect a journey time of over two hours. Even so, he should make his slot. He might even have time to stop for a bite to eat.

  The traffic started to move a bit faster as it passed the reason for the hold-up – three cars and a lorry were off the road in a ditch. It looked as if the vehicles had just been bulldozed off the road. The radio was full of news about the weather and clearly, someone had decided that keeping traffic moving was a priority. That made perfect sense to him.

  The snow was still falling hard, but the weight of traffic was keeping the carriageway clear and traffic plodded on at about twenty miles per hour. No problem, he should make his delivery slot comfortably and set off back to Barrow as quickly as possible.
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br />   Day 2 - Long Bennington, Nottinghamshire – 9:00am

  Chris Davies was bored. He had absolutely no intention of doing any schoolwork, and had just finished phoning his friend Stephen. They were supposed to meet outside Stephen’s house at 9.30 and Chris was growing impatient. He desperately wanted to get out into that snow and go down to the park and try some sledging. Never mind, he thought, at least I’m not going to school for at least three weeks and that should give me plenty of time for a bit of fun in the snow.

  He went downstairs and started to dress for the weather. Jeans and several top layers plus a pair of nylon over trousers – which his mother insisted he wear. Probably a smart idea so that he stayed relatively dry. He had a good quality, breathable, cold-weather anorak, a bobble hat and scarf. Good waterproof gloves made up the ensemble and he pulled on the snow boots that his dad had bought him last Christmas, when he had visited for agreed access on Boxing Day.

  Chris checked himself in the mirror and headed for the back door. He pulled it to and used his key to lock it securely. He left the key under the agreed flowerpot and set off into the snow.

  As he reached his friend’s house, just one hundred metres away, Stephen was walking down his driveway. Similarly kitted out, he was pulling a bright red sledge on a piece of nylon cord.

  ‘Brill,’ shouted Chris, ‘Let’s go up to Harper Hill and get some speed up.’

  The pair set off full of boyish excitement, oblivious of the fact that the snow was coming down yet harder and gave no indication of stopping any time soon.

  Day 2 - Central London – 9:00pm

  Quincey Roberts was exhausted. He had been at the studios all night and had had precious little rest, let alone sleep.

  He had phoned the airport and then his wife to explain the situation. She, of course, was thoroughly dismayed by the entire state of affairs, but even she could see that the weather was unrelenting. When Quincey had said that it was unlikely that he would make it home until tomorrow night, she was not amused.

  ‘Why you, Quincey? You are not even the senior presenter. Let that bloody woman come in and take over!’

  ‘Mary, no one can get in or out. London is becoming gridlocked. I’m here – and here I will stay until the weather abates. There is nothing I can do about it. I suggest you do not leave the house. Ring your mother and father and advise them to do likewise. If they go out, they’ll probably break a leg or worse. I’ll do the same with mine. Also, call the kids and make sure they are okay. Apart from that, keep the TV on and keep abreast of things – I’ll give you a little wink when I’m on air. Look, I’m really sorry about Cyprus – because I was looking forward to it as well. I will make it up to you after Christmas, I promise. We’ll take a month – they will owe me that much at least. We can get our air fare back via the travel insurance – which reminds me. Give them a ring and start a claim going.’

  A long sigh came back at him down the phone.

  ‘I suppose you are right. Try and get some rest and hopefully I will see you tonight. I’ll get on the phone and speak to the family. Take care, Quince, don’t work too hard. Bye.’

  Quincey hung up and looked at his watch. The nine o’clock report was due in three minutes. He pulled on his jacket, straightened his tie and checked his hair in the mirror. There were no make-up staff remaining in the building. All had been sent home last night – and none had made it in today. A skeleton crew were operating the news desk and he was the sole presenter. He walked to his position on the studio couch and glanced at the weather man, who had his head in his hands.

  Day 2 – Slough, Berkshire – 7:30am

  Pardeep Aluwahlia left his house earlier than usual that Monday morning and quickly realised that the snow had fallen with some force overnight, and that getting to the station would be a challenge - to say the least. He started the BMW, edged slowly out of the drive and was surprised at the lack of traffic on the road into town. He was quite pleased to reach the station car park unscathed, and slid into his normal pre-paid slot with no incident. The car park was relatively empty, so Pardeep walked into the station and taking up his habitual position on the platform, checked the departures board. Many trains had been cancelled and he ran his eyes down in alarm until he found with relief that his own train was still displayed. It was remarkably on time – the only one on the board, and by the look of it, the last train for a while departing for Paddington. He briefly considered his options. If this were the last train to London – how would he get home? However, he rapidly dismissed the problem, as the lines would certainly be cleared by 5pm. Consequently, he decided to catch the train and could then chair the important meeting scheduled for 11am. No problem – a little bit of snow was not going to stop him getting to work. It was time to set an example to the junior staff, and demonstrate some determination.

  The local train pulled in on time as the snow continued to fall. Pardeep got into his normal compartment, took his normal seat and started to read his copy of ‘The Times’. No one else sat with him as the train pulled out and Pardeep glanced outside, watching the flurries of snow beat against the window. He was starting to have second thoughts about his decision to continue into work.

  Day 2 - Dover, Kent – 10:00pm

  Xavi Yamam was cold. Very, very cold. Colder than he had ever been in Turkey and that could be extremely cold.

  It had taken him two weeks to travel from his small village outside Izmir. He had paid US$2000 to the man that promised him a new life in Western Europe and that had resulted in an appalling journey via truck to the port at Calais. There he was dumped with twenty-three other young men and left to his own devices. The truck driver just took off, leaving them standing in the car park with nothing except what they stood up in.

  Xavi had always been unemployed and had few prospects in the small village he lived in with his large family. Not yet married at nineteen, he still lived with his parents in a shabby house in an even shabbier district. He yearned for the life he saw on the Sky TV broadcasts at the local bar. Things seemed so much better in the west. So he made the decision to get out. Raising the money had not been easy. He had to take any part-time work he could – legal and mainly illegal – and that's when he met Mustafa.

  Mustafa was a violent crook and con man. He ran drugs and women – but he had connections Xavi needed to escape from his despair. After a year of ‘working’ for this dreadful man, Xavi had enough credit to afford a place on one of Mustafa’s human trafficking runs. It was a big risk but the only way out of his misery. He bade farewell to weeping parents, and jumped aboard the lorry with nothing but a small suitcase and a few scraps of food.

  However, the passenger’s meagre possessions had all been confiscated by the driver and his heavies shortly after leaving Turkey. Xavi had less than US$15 in his pocket and was cold and hungry. He was better off than some though. Two men had died on the trip. One was killed by Mustafa and his thugs, and the other fell trying to escape from out of the back of the moving truck after having second thoughts. All the escapees saw was a motionless body by the roadside, fading into the distance.

  They had no idea how they had reached their final destination and didn’t even know what country they were in. However, Xavi had come this far and was determined to make it to the UK, where he was told there were plenty of opportunities to make a better life. Xavi had distant relatives in London – and if he could get to them, they would surely look after him. They were blood relations and could not turn him away. But first he had to find out where he was. He literally had no idea. His command of other languages was pitiful, so distinguishing French from German, for example, was impossible.

  Xavi wandered away from the crowd of men, who were attracting attention and he certainly did not want that. If someone called the police and he was arrested – that would mean a return to Izmir. No way! He looked around to try to get his bearings. One thing he did notice was that he could smell the sea. He was certain of that. He listened and sure enough, he could hear wave moti
on – on a beach perhaps. They hadn’t been on a boat during the journey west, so he must still be on mainland Europe. France maybe?

  He moved into a doorway of a small building and looked around. It was dark now and as Xavi looked across the car park, he saw a strange sight. Parked in neat lines were maybe thirty or forty large white vans. All similar, but not exactly the same. Some had lights on inside and he suddenly realised that people were living in them. Houses on wheels! He had never seen anything like it before, but maybe these people could help him.