Scrap 87

SCRAP 87
Frank drives back to the lorry park to finish sheeting the load of oranges and finds Barry Barnes struggling with the tarpaulin on his load. ‘Need a hand?’ asks Frank. Barry clearly hasn’t the first idea of how to sheet a load and is grateful when Frank shows him how it’s done. To ensure the memory stays in his head Frank gets Barry to help with his own load. ‘How are you getting on with driving a lorry?’ asks Frank. ‘I love it,’ says Barry, ‘its great sitting up high above the traffic and having the freedom of the road. No more stinking of fish and chips all the time and I’m sure I must have lost weight with all this exercise.’ Frank is glad to know the man is enjoying his new lifestyle. He wishes him well and they go their separate ways.
Frank doesn’t envy Barry driving the D1000 as it has been a pig from the start, always getting air in the diesel pipes. Many a time Frank has had to get out and bleed the diesel through only to have it go again five miles up the road. He wonders if the handbrake has been fixed yet but he doubts it.
At five thirty the next morning a milkman is driving his float up Bluebell hill, praying he will get to the top, when he spots a lorry parked in a lay-by with its cab tilted forward. The driver seems to be standing behind the engine. Perhaps he is having problems with the fuel system. Rather him than me, thinks the milkman as he makes it to the top of the hill and turns towards his first deliveries of the day.
Ken Chapman is in a stew as usual and is waiting for Frank at the dockyard when he rolls in at ten thirty. ‘Where have you been?’ he greets him, in his usual charming manner. Frank winds down the window and sticks his head out. ‘Gateshead,’ he shouts down at his irate employer, ‘and it’s a bloody long drive if you remember.’ Ken calms down a notch as Frank jumps down from the cab and stretches his legs. ‘I haven’t stopped, you know,’ Frank grumbles, ‘if you think you can do better, be my guest.’ Ken is clearly agitated about something but it has nothing to do with Frank, for once. ‘I’m gonna get a cup of tea,’ says Frank, ‘do you want to join me?’
They order the tea, Frank orders the full breakfast for himself and they take their seats. ‘So what’s the matter this time?’ Asks Frank, taking a sip from the hot tea. ‘It’s that Barry, he made his deliveries in Borough and Spitalfields and should have been back here hours ago but there’s no sign of him and he hasn’t even bothered to ring in. You haven’t seen him have you?’ Frank says he has not but reminds Ken that the lorry is always having fuel problems so perhaps Barry has been delayed trying to fix them. ‘It don’t take five minutes to bleed a bit of diesel,’ moans Ken, ‘I showed him how to do it.’ Frank frowns at his boss, ‘maybe it would save time if you got Harry Tobin to fix the fuel pump then it wouldn’t keep sucking in air.’ Ivy brings the breakfast and Frank hungrily sets about demolishing the pile of food. Ken finishes his tea and asks Frank to phone him if he hears from Barry. ‘You could get that handbrake sorted out as well,’ calls Frank as Ken walks away. He waves his arm without turning back. Always complaining, these drivers.
The milkman is sure this is the same lorry he saw four hours ago. He slows as he passes and sure enough the driver is still standing in the same position but he has a strange colour to his face. The milkman turns his float round and drives over to the opposite carriageway. He gets out to investigate and draws back in horror as he realises that the driver has been crushed by the weight of the vehicle. It looks like it has rolled backwards, trapping him behind the engine. He flags down a car and asks the driver to phone the police. The driver takes one look at the dead body and takes off in a hurry. The milkman waits for the police, who arrive within ten minutes, but there is nothing anyone can do. He tells them that he spotted the scene early in the morning and thought it odd he had not moved. He is clearly shaken by his discovery, gives his details to the police and hurries back to the depot.
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