Belgium (Part 3)

8am FOLKSTONE. The Chrysler and me roll off “Le Shuttle” and join a line of cars driving alongside its dusty ribbed aluminium wall for a quarter of a mile. We go up a concrete ramp leaving the giant locomotive that hauled us humming to itself below. The low morning sun dazzles as we join the roadway that winds towards the M20. The grass on the soft round chalk hills that greet arrivals to Kent seems a brighter green than normal. I can just about make out splashes of yellow in it from buttercups ignored by the sheep as we drift onto the nearside lane.

I’m not in no hurry, we cruise along at just under seventy. Half an hour surrounded by traffic taking lemmings to their office desks and factory floors, gets us to the Maidstone Motorway Services. I’m starving and well ready for a Mac. I’m starting to like the Chrysler, it’s sort of elegant in an American way – Gwyneth Paltrow comes to mind.

A BIG MAC MEAL AND A COKE ain’t exactly an ideal breakfast, but even though I’ve had nothing for twelve hours; been up all night planning a Grand Finale for Harry Pettit and driving across Flanders at dawn, it’s better than oil-varnished fried eggs swimming in a puddle of baked beans drowning undercooked bacon.

The open-plan restaurant area ringed with fake high-street shops, is filled with the noise of white van men, truckers and early morning suits sitting at smeary round tables topping up their cholesterol level. The Mac’s a small one, squeezed into a corner like an afterthought. I’m a Lone Ranger sitting at one of their grey tables. The boy behind the counter, wearing the obligatory pimply face and blank stare, looks out at me without seeing. I enjoy my anonymity while I squash pink sauce and bits of lettuce onto one hand and pick at salty French fries with the other. It gives me time to get my thoughts together and I go over last night in my head.

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AFTER I GET OVER MY LAUGHING FIT, I notice Guido and Fransijn are looking a bit concerned.

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t gone mad. Yeah it’s a bit of a jolt being told someone’s out to do me. But Harry? Hard to imagine. He hasn’t got the balls. . . . That’s funny.’

Guido scolds me. ‘You have had a shock, but we are sure it is deadly serious, Jess. I understand your reaction, but this is not time for joking.’

I feel myself colouring up. He’s right. These people are ready to put themselves in real strife just to help me and I’m laughing in their fucking faces. What an arsehole. Then I realise something else.

‘I’m sorry, Guido. I don’t mean disrespect. Without you, I know my life expectancy’s about twenty-four hours, but there is another reason why I laughed. Relief. All bets are off, all debts are paid. From now on I’m free of any obligation to Mr. bleeding Pettit.’

‘Ah of course. He helped you leave the country when you were young. After the trouble in Rotherhithe, no? Help from people like Harry doesn’t come without strings, N'est-ce pas?’

‘Too right.’

‘You are with real friends now’

‘L'accord reprisal. Right?’

Guido nodded. ‘If you get out of this, you will have many decisions to make I think.’

‘Millions, Mate, but I ain’t there yet.’

‘You cannot go to Antwerp now. I’m not even sure you are safe here. The Chrysler could have been watched. It may be a risk bringing it here.’

‘Nobody knows I’m here. Harry thinks I’m taking the eleven o’clock ferry tomorrow morning. I ain’t gonna let him know where I am if I’m coming to see you, am I? He thinks I’m in Essex getting my leg . . ,’ I notice Fransijn coming out the Kitchen with a casserole dish, ‘. . .um spending the night with a girl called Karen.’

‘You have a girlfriend?’

‘No, Karen don’t exist, but Harry don’t have to know that.’

Fransijn puts the dish on the table. ‘Let us have dinner now.’

‘If he doesn’t know where you are, you should go back tonight—’

‘Guido. Laissez Jess manger. Vous pouvez parler plus tard,’ Fransijn snaps.

‘It’s OK love, we can talk while we eat. . . Looks lovely.’

‘No Jess, you will not enjoy your food if you are talking about these things.’

‘My sister is right, of course. We should eat in peace, it could be a long time before we can enjoy a meal together again.’

The Carbonade is brilliant. The meat melts in my mouth. The fries and sauce are to die for. Fransijn was always a great cook and nothing goes better with Carbonade than the Trappist beer. Perfect. While we eat I realise Guido is right, but I ain’t pleased with the idea.

‘Guido, Mate. I know it’s safest for me to go back home, but I can’t leave you to deal with this. It’s not right.’

‘There is nothing you can do, Jess. In fact you could make things more difficult. If you are in England when we, “meet,” your contact they will be know you have strong protection. That will be good for you and probably very bad for Harry.’

‘You gonna meet him?’

‘That is what I was going to explain. It is arranged. We have someone at the Crown Plaza. When your contact comes for you we will find him and send him back to his people with a message.’ Guido smiles but he ain’t making a joke. ‘I am sorry to say, it is unlikely he will survive.’

‘There ain’t nothing they can do to Harry, Guido. Not after I pay him a visit.’

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