Truck Stop

Nobby pulled into the Oasis car park and found a quiet corner next to a police patrol car. It had been a long day and all he wanted now was the belly-buster special and a brew in a mug he could get his forehead into.

He locked the cab door and skipped around the puddles towards the bright neon
lights, drawn ever closer by the distant whine of Gene Pitney and the alluring smell of hot fat. As he approached the entrance, his mobile vibrated again in his overall pocket. He knew who it was and ignored it.

Ever-present Brenda looked up and smiled as he approached the counter.

‘You’re late Nobby, been held up?’

‘A waggon shed its load of snooker equipment on the M5 Bren. There were cues
for miles.’

Brenda cackled loudly as she selected Nobby’s mug from the shelf and threw
a tea bag into it.

'Usual is it?' she enquired, with familiar affection.

'Please Bren, but knock off the fried bread will you, I'm on a diet.'

'All right love! I'll slip you an extra sausage in instead; OK?'

Nobby was in the process of analysing this statement when his mobile buzzed
again. He slumped into his favourite banquette by the 24 hour news screen and stared blankly at his mobile. Six missed calls from the depot. He stuffed it back into his overalls and peered across at the silent television screen and its relentless, rolling renditions. The latest headline read ‘Putin protagonist poisoned’.

'Did I just hear you tell Brenda that you were on a diet Nobby?' quizzed a familiar voice from behind.

Nobby turned to face Ray, an old mate from their Glasgow trunking days.

'Well I'm trying Ray, but you know what it's like on this job. We wake, we drive, we stop, we eat, we sleep. Day after day, year after year. Then one day you look in the mirror and you see a fat zombie staring back at you.'

'My missus had a mirror like that,’ Ray retorted, ‘ so she chucked it out. She tried dieting for a whole day after that, but said it didn’t work.’

‘One belly-buster,’ declared Brenda as she dropped a huge heart attack on a plate onto the formica table.

Nobby stared at his nemesis and grinned. ‘Is this the low calorie version Bren?’

‘Could be,’ she replied. ‘Depends how carefully you count.’

‘I’ll call those two coppers over Nobby,’ quipped Ray. ‘They could make a cardiac arrest.’

The trio laughed as Brenda retreated behind her redoubt, Ray retreated behind
the Daily Mirror and Nobby treated himself to his feast.

‘What was it today then Nobby, Tilbury or Southampton?’ enquired Ray.

Nobby looked across, still chewing thoughtfully on his extra sausage. ‘Tilbury and Southampton and Portsmouth and bloody Chelmsford,’ he replied wearily. ‘And then the depot rang as I set off back; and you know what that means.’

‘Can you just; that’s what it means,’ replied Ray knowingly. ‘Can you just call at Harwich on your way.’

‘Exactly, Raymondo. The more you give ‘em, the more they want.....so I ignored ‘em.

Nobby polished off the belly-buster, pushed away the plate and belched with satisfaction. The silent TV suddenly flashed pictures of a senior police officer and a new rolling caption read ‘Marijuana discussed by Joint Committee’

‘Can I tempt you to a piece of my chocolate cake Nobby?’ enquired Brenda
as she took away the empty plate.

‘Is it low calorie cake?’

‘No calories whatsoever, they all fell out as soon as I cut into it.’

‘In that case Brenda, I think I’ve just got room.’

Nobby wore the Oasis like an old gardening jacket. It was comfortable and
familiar, pleasingly well worn with pockets for treasured things. He met old friends here and laughed and joked and reminisced; an essential watering hole on a never ending journey. He paid his bill, said his goodbyes and returned to his familiar cab. Tomorrow he would do it all again!