Scrap 2

SCRAP 2
Frank and Scotty drive out to the Low Road and park in the gateway to a field. The sky is getting light and they are soon over the gate and on the forage. In the distance the sound of a Land Rover diesel engine alerts the mushroom gatherers. They dive behind the hedgerow out of sight and watch as the police vehicle glides slowly past. ‘Cheeky buggers are after our breakfast,’ grins Frank.
‘My heart nearly jumped out of my chest,’ puffs Scotty, lighting up a cigarette and offering the packet to Frank. They sit for a while with their backs to the road, listening to morning sounds of birds and insects. ‘Must be a lovely life,’ muses Frank, nodding towards a group of cows, ‘Nothing to do all day but roam around eating or lying in the sun.’
Scotty grunts ‘Wouldn’t suit me. I’d be bored silly after a few hours. We gonna get any more mushrooms?’ Frank inspects the cap full of big, flat field mushrooms. ‘No,’ he says, ‘this will do for today. Come back to the van and I’ll do us a fry-up before we have to get back to the queue.’

They parked their lorries outside the dockyard gates at 2am so as to be first called down for loading as soon as the stevedores arrive. If they can get loaded by 10am they have 8 hours sleep to look forward to before heading out on deliveries.
Frank’s caravan is parked up on the cliffs overlooking the sea. A nice secluded spot surrounded by trees and a few old holiday chalets used mostly by weekenders from London. He lights the calor gas stove, places a huge frying pan on the hob and proceeds to load it with strips of bacon, sausages and the mushrooms, which Scotty has been peeling on the journey. When the food is almost cooked he cracks four eggs into the fatty pile, tips a tin of tomatoes in and crumbles an Oxo cube over the mix. He divides the food onto 2 plates which have been warming under the grill. Scotty has sawn off some chunks of bread from a crusty loaf and they squeeze behind the tiny table to eat.
It’s probably the only meal they will get today so they eat their fill, washing it down with mugs of milky tea. Once they are finished, Frank eases his bulk from the seat and sets about washing up. He doesn’t bother washing himself but he likes to keep a clean caravan, so everything is washed and put away before they leave.
They drive up the main road heading for the docks. On the way they are passed by four police vehicles. They seem to be dashing about in all directions this morning.
They park at the docks and walk to the security box. ‘Morning lads,’ says the security guard. ‘Gonna be a bit late getting started today. Someone cut through the main power cable and put the whole area out of electric. The law are going mad trying to find out where the break is. They say it could be a terrorist attack.’
Frank steals a sly look at Scotty, who is stifling a smirk. ‘Bit far-fetched isn’t it?’ The security guard leans out the window of his pill box. ‘It’s not just the electrics, it’s the whole communications system. Their radios won’t work without electricity.’
‘Blimey’ says Scotty, ‘Who’d have thought it?’
Frank pulls him away. ‘Better get our heads down mate.’ Scotty whispers: ‘Yeah, get ‘em down and keep ‘em down.’