He stood and watched as one of the vans started its engine and moved off out of the car park. Fifteen minutes later two more entered and parked up. He checked the number plates but this gave him little clue. He could read a little English and the plates were mixed. Mainly GB but some F, some D and a sprinkling of others. Maybe he was in the UK after all.
The rest of his group had dispersed by now, but two of the men remained and approached one of the vans. They knocked on the door of a 'van with a brilliantly lit GB number plate and the occupant answered. After a few seconds there was a short argument followed by the door slamming. The men ran off. Clearly, the occupants were not sympathetic towards the likes of Xavi. He must have looked terrible anyway after two weeks without a wash or a shave or a change of clothing. He stank.
Nevertheless, he must get to England – if he wasn’t there already. He decided to find out. He walked off down the road and turned a corner. What faced him made everything clear. A large sign about ten metres high proclaimed, ‘PORT OF CALAIS’ in French and English. This much he understood.
Fantastic, he thought. One step from England, but how do I cross this water? I can’t swim, and I can’t sail a boat and I don't have a passport or money for a ticket. What to do?
But first he needed food and a wash. He also hadn’t formally prayed in two weeks and this was troubling his conscience.
Xavi stopped and looked around, and saw a small group of shops and a petrol station about two hundred metres away. There was a McDonalds next to the garage. Perfect. He hoped that they took US dollars. He walked towards the hamburger restaurant and after checking his money, entered. It was quiet as he approached the service counter.
He showed the assistant his money and she nodded, screwing up her face in distaste – the smell was unpleasant.
He pointed at the board and showed her the $15 again. The assistant was quick on the uptake. She keyed in a Big Mac Meal with coffee. She took the money and handed Xavi €6 change, put his meal on a tray and handed it over. Xavi was starving. The smell of the food was almost too much to bear. He wolfed it down. He considered going back for more but realised that he should save what little money he had. He looked around, saw the international sign for toilets, and headed straight in. He stood at the sink and looked at his sorry state. He was pathetically thin, unshaven and dirty.
He quickly stripped off his jacket and shirt and gave himself a quick upper body wash, using the free soap and paper towels to dry himself. He felt a thousand times better. He used the toilet, redressed himself and looked in the mirror once again. A bit better but still ghastly. He must get to his relatives in London and that meant a plan. Moreover, where would he sleep tonight? It was almost 11pm and this restaurant would close soon. Just maybe he could stay here but he would have act quickly. He stepped into a cubicle - the one furthest from the door and stood on the seat. Seconds later, someone else entered the toilet.
‘Allo, attention!’ a female voice called in French.
Xavi stood stock-still.
The door closed as she walked into the room. She was double-checking that the place was empty. Maybe she had seen him go in. He heard cubicle doors slamming. Then another voice called out – in what he also supposed was French. The girl replied and walked straight out of the restroom and the outer door slammed. Five minutes later the light went out and all was quiet.
Xavi stayed still for at least another fifteen minutes before he dared venture out of the cubicle.
He crept out and inched his way towards the washroom entrance door. He pulled it open and of course, it squeaked. No matter, the restaurant was empty and dark. Everyone had gone. Xavi sighed with relief and walked towards the service counter. He needed more food. There was a cold storage cabinet in one corner and it was filled with assorted salads. Xavi couldn’t believe his luck. No chance of hot food but there was enough here to keep him fed for a month. He tucked in having chosen a plastic box at random. He didn’t need utensils and scoffed the lot in a few seconds, then another and another until he was full. There were tins of cold drinks and he polished off four of those until he sat back – stuffed.
Twenty minutes later, his stomach rumbled loudly followed by a severe pain. Xavi stood up and rushed back into the toilet where he threw up just about everything he’d eaten. Too much food too quickly.
Lesson learned. He would take things easier now. After all, he had all night – until 7am anyway. Xavi looked around the restaurant, selected a corner bench seat, and settled down to get some sleep. He was out of sight of the main entrance door and any prying eyes, and he just hoped he didn’t oversleep! Within five minutes, Xavi was away with the fairies.
He awoke with a start as a large ferry sounded its foghorn. He checked the time on the clock above the counter. 5.45am. Just about right. Xavi went into the toilet and did the necessary. After, washing again he went back into the kitchen area and found a couple of large carrier bags. He filled these with assorted salads and drinks from the cold fridge. Enough for a couple of days. He also took an anorak that was hanging on the wall. It had McDonalds emblazoned on the back – but he wasn’t in a fashion parade. He had to keep warm.
There was no money lying around so Xavi grabbed his two bags and headed for the emergency exit. He would have to move away fast if he was to get away clean. He pushed bar on the door and expecting a loud alarm to go off, sprang out and sprinted through the car park. Silence. No alarm. Silent perhaps? He kept running – away from the garage and into a small wooded area. He stopped to take stock and eventually decided to head back to the strange vehicle park by the sea.
As he approached, he looked for somewhere to spend the day and check out the comings and goings around the car park. He was lucky again. Between two buildings was a narrow alleyway just big enough for a person to squeeze into. If he sat at the entrance, Xavi could see everything unobserved.
He sat down and made himself as comfortable as he could. It was foggy and cold but his thick MacDonald’s jacket kept him reasonably warm. It would be dark for a few hours yet, so the young Turk dropped off to sleep once more.
He was awakened by another foghorn and it was daylight. He had no watch and there was nothing to give him an idea of the exact time. He dug into one of his carrier bags and selected a salad and a drink. This time he would take it slowly. Take on some vital energy for his struggle ahead.
As he ate, Xavi watched the car park. He had never seen vans like these before. Brightly decorated, all different sizes and styles. People were milling about, going in and out and every now and then one would leave or one would arrive to replace it. His favourite was a large grey and silver wagon with a big box on top. It was huge and had a large door at the back where the owner had stored a motorcycle, opening the door every now and then to take something out or put something in.
Other vans had similar doors but this was the biggest.
The day passed with Xavi watching the owners of these vans come and go. Around mid-afternoon, he thought he’d wander about a bit and stretch his legs. He picked up his food and strolled as casually as he could to the far end of the car park. From here he could see the harbour clearly and the sea beyond. There was even a beach and some people were walking their dogs. No one took any notice of him and so he sat down on a bench and watched the harbour.
The traffic was almost constant. Ferries arriving and departing every few minutes it seemed. He could see the queues of lorries and cars and……….WHITE VANS, waiting to go on to the ferries. White vans – going to England. These white vans behind him. They must be waiting for their ferries. An engine started behind him so he looked and saw a small van with a large white bulge on the front drive off. It had a large red stripe across the bonnet that made it easy to recognise. Xavi knew what he must do. He turned back to the port as the van set off – and watched the queues.
And sure enough, after about ten minutes, the van appeared at the end of a line of vehicles and switched off its engine. Half an hour later the line started to mo
ve, and the van eventually disappeared into the bowels of the ship.
Now Xavi had a plan. It was just a matter of picking the right van and not being discovered. He looked back at his favourite van and the owner still had both storage doors open - one on each side. He was loading equipment whilst a woman handed him boxes. She then started to walk round the van checking doors and removing a silver cover from the front window. They were on the move. This was his chance! And it was getting dark enough to give him some cover.
Xavi stood up and dropped his bags after cramming two cans in his jacket pocket. He wandered towards the car park and stood out of sight of his target behind another van. The couple were just finishing off the loading. Xavi could see that there was room behind the motorcycle that a person could squeeze into. He just needed to get in unobserved. He moved closer. The woman had climbed into the van and was shouting something to her husband. He went into the van as well – leaving one of the storage doors open. It was now or never. Xavi ran towards the van, squeezed himself in behind the bike, and lay down making himself as small as possible. It was dark and he might just get away with it. The van shook and the man approached the door. He was shouting at his wife and simply released the door catch and shut the hatch. He locked it and went back to the front of the van. Two minutes later, he started the engine and drove off.
He had done it! He now prayed that this van was also going on a ferry to England and not heading back into France! That would be a nightmare.
To his utter relief the van stopped again after ten minutes, then again a couple of minutes later and switched off its engine. Then about twenty minutes after that, it restarted the engine and moved off slowly and stopped after going over a large bump. He hoped that he was now on the ship. It was cold, but not unbearable, and he dozed intermittently. He had no idea how long the journey was but was relieved when he felt the ship moving and in what seemed no time at all stop – and the engine of the van started again.
The vehicle edged its way out of the ship and onto dry land. A short stop and then the driver hit some traffic, but then stopped again. He was refuelling. Xavi had no idea of British geography and had no idea how to get to London but he made the snap decision to get out of this van – now!
He started banging on the side of the van as hard as he could. There was shouting outside and after a few seconds, the hatch door was gingerly opened. Xavi was ready. He kicked hard at the door. It burst open knocking the owner to the floor – stunning him. Xavi leapt out and ran away as fast as his little legs could carry him. He had no idea where he was going – just away from the van. It seemed everyone was too surprised to react and Xavi found himself two hundred metres away with no one in pursuit. He checked behind him and slowed to a walk. He turned into a side street and stopped. He was away and in England – next stop London – even if he had to walk, however far it might be.
His escape and illegal entry into the UK had been on the day before yesterday, and now Xavi was cold and hungry again, after 36 hours of traipsing the streets trying to avoid attention and especially the police. It had started to snow that same evening and there was little shelter to be found. He hid behind a large department store and found a dumpster to sleep in. It stank to high heaven but was dry and out of the wind and snow. He was still very, very cold – and so hungry. He wished he’d kept his food bags. They didn’t take euros here either so he’d been unable to buy any more food. Several police cars sounding sirens had passed nearby and he wondered if they were searching for him. He had lost complete track of time.
Xavi could feel himself getting weaker and decided to peek outside to see if it had stopped snowing. He pushed at the lid of the dumpster but despite his best efforts could not budge it.
What he could not have known was that six inches of snow had fallen in the night and was now weighing heavily on the lid. Moreover the mechanism had frozen solid. Essentially, he was trapped in the waste bin. He lay on his back and tried to kick the lid open, but with little success as his pathetic attempts proved hopeless against the frozen lock. He began to panic and started shouting and banging on the side of the bin. No one heard or was likely to come to his rescue. A blizzard was raging outside.
Later that morning, at 10am a council refuse lorry drove up the alleyway access road behind the department store. It started automatically emptying the various dumpsters until it reached the one in which Xavi was hiding. He could have no idea what was going to happen next. His dumpster was grabbed and forced up by the hydraulic jack and the contents expelled into the rear of the refuse collector.
Xavi screamed and screamed in terror, but went totally unheard as the council worker working the jack was wearing health and safety ear defenders. He was also wearing a thick cap against the snow that cut out all external sound. Xavi was tipped into the centre of the rubbish and the large hydraulic crusher forced its way relentlessly down compacting everything in its path – including the unfortunate Xavi – newly arrived into the snow from Turkey.
Day 2 – En-route to Paddington – 7:55am
The train to Paddington was chugging along slowly through the snow, which was falling steadily. Pardeep had discarded his newspaper and was transfixed by the stark, white countryside. His concern was growing as each minute passed, and if he’d had a fellow traveller in his compartment, Pardeep would have been discussing the situation with some anxiety.
He stood up and stuck his head into the corridor to see if any of his fellow passengers were around. They weren’t. In fact, it was ominously quiet. He set off up the corridor looking into compartments but failed to find anyone else. Odd!
Then the train lurched to a stop. He returned to his compartment and peered out of the window. They were in a siding and another parked train was on the adjacent line. It was empty.
Then the lights went out - and the power followed shortly.
Pardeep was deeply puzzled and troubled. What the hell was going on?
He jumped up and walked determinedly towards the front of the train. He found nobody. Not a soul. No passengers or train company staff. What the HELL was going on?
He turned around, his heart now thumping in panic, and ran towards the back of the train. Seven carriages – all empty. Then the reality of his predicament hit him.
He was alone on the train.
Day 2 - Grantham, Lincolnshire – 10:00am
Andrew Brady was not happy. He had left home at 6.15am in an attempt to beat any traffic, so that he could get to RAF Cottesmore well in time for the morning Met Brief at 8am.
No such luck!
He had struggled to get out of his driveway, having to reverse down a narrow lane onto the main road. There was a full-blown blizzard in force and even after clearing four inches of snow off the 4WD, he could barely see to steer. Nevertheless, after fifteen minutes of slow progress he edged onto the minor ring road near his house. It was all but deserted except for the odd vehicle and driver with the same idea as himself. He drove through the town centre with few problems, then up the hill out of Grantham in the direction of the A1. That’s when his problems really started. There was a steep hill which crossed over the railway leading out of the town, and sprawled across it was a fuel tanker. Clearly, it had lost purchase on the surface – coming up or down he could not tell – and skidded sideways until it tipped over and ground to a halt in the middle of the road. The annoying thing was that it must just have happened. Literally, minutes ago as the driver was scrambling out of his cab and climbing back down to the roadway. A couple of cars had stopped in front of him and someone had got out to try and help – but it was useless really. No one could do anything – except keep clear of the stricken tanker in case it exploded!
He quickly decided to make a U-turn and get out of town a different way. However, that was easier said than done, as several other vehicles behind him had the same idea and quite a few were already making a real meal out of it. A small van had skidded across the road and lay half in –half out of a ditch. Another car had stalled a
nd couldn’t get started again. Brady re-engaged 4-wheel drive on his BMW, effortlessly steered around both vehicles, and slowly moved off down the hill. This was no time for helping his fellow man – he had his own agenda today and determination overtook compassion – as it usually did with Andrew Brady.
He drove back towards the centre of Grantham and turned left trying to find the next best way out. Under the railway this time and out towards the fire station. No problems so far. Then up to the junction which would get him onto the ramp for the A1. He signalled left, sighing with relief, as he entered the dual carriageway. It was busier than he thought and soon he realised why. There was clearly a hold up and sure enough, within one hundred metres he slowly ground to a halt.
Traffic jam!
And this is where he’d been since 7am. Three tedious, frustrating hours and he had moved hardly half a mile. He had been on the phone to his deputy at the base and had received the mixed news. In a way, he was not too worried. The airfield was Condition Black – snow covered – and in the midst of a raging snowstorm. There was no chance of clearing the runway anytime soon and certainly no chance of flying today. That piece of news took some of the pressure off. He was told that only a handful of people living off base had struggled successfully into work and the Station Commander had authorised section commanders to keep their off-base personnel at home until further notice. Brady had spoken to the C.O. and had been ordered to go home. Fat chance of that, he thought. From where he was there were no turn offs to Grantham for at least two miles, and then could only make progress if he chose to drive through narrow country lanes – which would be choked with snow. He wasn’t going to risk that – even in his smart new four wheeled drive BMW.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 5
