Scrap CH TWO part 11

CH TWO 11
It’s good to have some company on a long journey but Robbie is asleep by the time they get to the M2 and Scotty tucks the rough old army blanket behind his back to save him from the draught which comes up through the floor. He smiles to himself as he remembers when he was a little lad going to market with his own father. Don Stewart was a cheerful man; he could do magic tricks and juggle oranges whilst balancing on a rusty old unicycle. He was always looking out for opportunities to make money, most of which ended up costing him more than they earned, but they never went short and everyone was poor in those days anyway.
Young Scotty loved sitting up high in the cab, looking out over hedges and looking down on pedestrians looking up enviously at him. He remembers how he used to help unload boxes of tomatoes and other lighter goods and being paid a few pennies for his trouble. On Saturdays he felt he was the richest boy in the street as he swaggered to the sweet shop to spend his wages. He knows exactly how his own son feels now when he collects an extra fifty pence here and there for helping to unload. You shouldn’t have favourites but Robbie is special. Scotty sees more of himself in him than in any of the others and is proud of the fact the boy actually wants to come with him on these long journeys and help his dad. The other lads grumble like mad if he asks them to go with him, saying it’s boring and cold and they get tired even though they sleep most of the time and help out very grudgingly.
Dawn’s Tupperware box is stuffed full with sandwiches, cake and biscuits; Scotty reaches in and takes a cheese doorstep, his favourite. Tomato ketchup oozes out and drips onto his chest as he takes a big bite and he scoops it up with his thumb and licks it. He replaces the lid so he is not tempted to eat any more and tunes the radio to the only station playing music, which happens to be Country and Western again which he finds annoying but it’s better than listening to the monotonous roar of the Cummins diesel engine. He finds himself singing along to the songs and is even more peeved to realise that he knows all the words. Ah well, it will keep him awake and drown out the sound of the engine and Robbie’s snoring.
The boy stirs and rubs his face awake as they pull in to the market. ‘Had a nice kip son?’ Scotty asks, as he draws the lorry alongside the stand. They share a cup of tea before getting out for a stretch. Robbie is not tall enough to help undo the ropes but he does his best to loop them up before stuffing them into the box underneath the trailer. Scotty helps him up to the top of the load where they fold back the tarpaulin sheet, and then leaves him there while he gets the loader who will show him where to place the trays of tomatoes which came in to Newhaven the day before.
Robbie helps hand down the trays, trying to keep up with his dad and not making a bad job of it. The loader calls up to Scotty: ‘You’ve got a good lad there,’ Scotty says he knows and proudly smiles at his son as they work on until the trailer is empty. ‘Can I do you a box?’ asks the loader. Scotty helps his son down from the trailer and he goes with the man to choose the best of the exotic fruits on offer.
‘Dad, come and look at this,’ calls Robbie as Scotty finishes tying the tarpaulin in place behind the headboard of the trailer. ‘There’s a box of dead mice in here, come on have a look.’ Scotty is intrigued as he follows his son to the back of the stand. The loader pretends not to see them as they gingerly inspect what indeed looks to be a box of dead mice, and then he steps forward to explain. ‘They’re called kiwi fruit, from New Zealand; here try one.’ He takes one of the egg-sized fruits from the box and slices it in half to reveal a green jelly-like substance packed with dark coloured seeds. ‘I don’t fancy that,’ says Robbie. Scotty is dubious also but takes a bite so as not to seem cowardly in front of his boy. ‘Well it’s different,’ he observes, ‘a bit sharp and I’m not keen on the gritty bits.’ The loader says they are all the rage in the smart restaurants and throws half a dozen into the banana box which is already filled with pineapples, oranges, satsumas, dates and nuts. He balances a few bunches of grapes on top and takes fifty pence for his trouble. The men climb back into the cab happy with their booty and drive a few miles down the road to the first lay-by they encounter.
Scotty gets out the box of food and pours them each a cup of tea. They eat most of the sandwiches before polishing off a whole malt loaf each. Scotty decides it is time to head for home and once again Robbie is asleep in no time, a happy smile on his little face.
The radio is still churning out Country and Western music, songs about dead dogs and women doing their men wrong but Scotty is feeling sleepy so he turns up the volume, covers Robbie with another blanket and lights a cigarette. Opening the window he freshens up with a blast of cold damp air which rushes into his face. The headlamps on a lorry coming in the other direction flash full beam in greeting and Scotty flashes back. Poor sod hasn’t made it to Gateshead yet and he is on his way home. The thought of a day in bed is very inviting even though it is unlikely to happen. Dawn always has a list as long as your arm of jobs for him to do at weekends but there is always the chance she will let him go to the Bay club tonight for the talent show. Jason says his mother is taking part and is not happy about it.
Janet and Heather are sitting at the kitchen table when the men arrive with their box of delights. They look up from their breakfast bowls and greet the workers. Heather gets up and pours them some tea as Robbie reaches into the box and takes out one of the kiwi fruit. He winks at his father as he suddenly rolls the fruit across the table, jumps backwards and squeals: ‘Look out, it’s a mouse.’ Janet shrieks, rushing from the room and up the stairs where she calls over the bannister: ‘Get it dad, I can’t stand the things.’ Heather is soon by her side, shivering in disgust. ‘What are you playing at bringing mice indoors?’ She scolds her brother, ‘mum will do her nut.’
Scotty takes the fruit to show them and gingerly they examine the creatures. ‘They do look like mice,’ says Janet, ‘I don’t fancy eating one; maybe they taste like mice too. Yuk, who would want to eat one of those,’ she screws up her face and returns to her breakfast, followed by her sister, who pours another cup of tea. ‘I’m taking this up to Nan,’ she says, ‘I hope you don’t have any more nasty surprises up your sleeve.’
Having slept most of the night, Robbie decides he doesn’t want to waste the day in bed. He is finishing a second bowl of cereal when Mavis looms into the room. ‘Hallo scallywag,’ she grins, ‘you’ve been upsetting your sisters I hear.’ Robbie says it was only a joke and shows her the kiwi fruit, which she turns in her hand, sniffs and squeezes. ‘How are you supposed to eat them?’ Robbie shows her and she has a taste, declaring the exotic fruit ‘not bad,’ before lighting up her second cigarette of the day. ‘I suppose you want to be a lorry driver like your dad when you grow up?’ she asks. Without hesitation the boy replies: ‘I like being a child.’ And there is no answer to that.