The morning has dragged on and it is 10.30 by the time Scotty and Frank park their lorries at the transport café on the A2. They use the freezing, damp, smelly outside lavatory before going indoors to the relative warmth where they find a table by the front window so they can keep an eye on their vehicles.
They order the full breakfast and take two huge mugs of dark-looking tea while they wait. ‘You shouldn’t keep winding Ken up like that,’ advises Scotty, ‘he looked as if he were about to explode at one point.’
Frank takes a gulp of the scalding hot tea and lights a cigarette. ‘You know how hard I work for that man,’ he says, ‘us freelancers don’t get any sick pay or holiday pay. People like Ken take us for mugs. I’m only taking back what I reckon is due. He earns a fortune out of the likes of us so he can’t deny us a few perks. Anyway, his insurance pays for any unfortunate losses. What’s he got to complain about?’
Scotty has to agree; Frank always has an answer. ‘Are you really having that wreck done up?’ he asks. Frank gives him a surprised look. ‘Course I am, it’s nearly finished actually, be as good as new in a day or so. He’ll be getting a bargain and he knows it.’
Their breakfast arrives; Frank has ordered twice as much as Scotty and manages to finish before him. As he pays for the meal he takes a handful of Kitkat biscuits to eat in the cab. Scotty pays for his share and follows Frank out the door. ‘You going to park up at the yard?’ he asks. Frank rarely parks at the governor’s yard as he doesn’t want him searching for his secret hiding places. ‘No, I got something I need to do. See you tomorrow at the docks.’
They part company and drive off in the same direction. Frank automatically looks out for the Ham Sandwich sign and smiles to himself. Why is he doing this? It looks like becoming a habit.
Scotty turns off towards the Island and Frank continues towards London. He has 40 extra boxes of oranges he wants to unload at his other lock-up in Dartford.