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“Easy does it, don’t choke, you can have some more later.’

“Where are we?’ I asked, vaguely remembering what seemed like hours of
rumbling travel.

“Italy,’ Pete answered. “I drove all night and most of today in case
anybody decided to pick us up for bashing that customs man in Germany. They
won’t bother us now we’re out of the country, though. Those men at that
customs post are real bastards — I used to have a lot of trouble there
until I made … friends with one of them.’

He paused, looking sideways at me, obviously wondering if he should
explain, but decided against it. In any case I was still too dazed to sense
his hesitation.

“I’ve made some tea. Do you want a cup?’

“Yes, please. Boiling water from the engine?’

“No, you twerp, I always bring a spirit stove and things like tea with me.
They make disgusting tea over here.’ He grimaced.

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It was almost dark. I was lying on my back on a comfortable bed. Somebody
was bathing the side of my head with cold water, which felt really good. My
mouth was dry, and I seemed feverishly hot. Even in my muzzy state, I was
confused about a picture of Robert Redford which seemed to be floating a few
inches above my face. There were other pictures, too, but it was too dark to
see them, or perhaps my eyes wouldn’t focus properly.

Pete’s voice beside me broke in gently, “Thank God you’re all right. I
didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t try to get a doctor because they’d have
asked awkward questions.’

He moved sideways, and I realised that I was on the bed in the back of the
lorry cab. I felt a good deal better, and said so. Pete lifted my head and
gave me a swig of water from a bottle. I swallowed eagerly.

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Pain and sudden shouting dragged me back to awareness. The blurred images
resolved themselves into Pete struggling with the guard, who was naked from
the waist down. Pete was much lighter, but evidently had the advantage of
surprise, because he suddenly pushed the man off balance across the room.
The guard tripped on the edge of the carpet and fell heavily, cracking his
head on the wash basin.

“He’s out for a bit!’ Pete exclaimed, “Come on, for Christ’s sake get
dressed before somebody comes to find out what all the noise is about.’ He
threw me my clothes, and I put them on as best I could. He half-dragged,
half-carried me out to the lorry and heaved me up into the cab. As he got in
he glanced anxiously at the side of my head where the gun had struck me, but
it couldn’t have looked too bad, because he started up and drove quickly
across the border. I was still seeing stars, and felt rather sick. I began
to thank him for coming to help me, but suddenly keeled over on to the
steering wheel. That was the last thing I noticed for a long time.

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“Turn,’ he grunted, having evidently finished that part of the
examination. I paused for a moment, waiting for my excitement to subside,
then turned to look at him. The sheer lust showing in his face confirmed
what I had already suspected, and the realisation of the true purpose of my
being brought in here alarmed me. This unknown man was about to have sex
with me, whether I liked it or not, and he wasn’t going to take no for an
answer.

I had always been well-known for doing the wrong thing, and I did it now.
I hit him in the solar plexus, expecting him to double up so that I could
get away. German border guards are tougher than that, as I soon found out
when he snatched his gun from its holster and hit me on the side of the head
with the butt. Dazed, I collapsed on to the bed. As he came to stand over me
I remember thinking, “This is it, you’ve had your chips, Tony.’ Then I must
have lost consciousness for a while.

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“You take off clothes now.’ Another statement. Eyeing his gun, I thought
it better not to disobey. In a few seconds I had stripped, putting all my
clothes on a nearby chair. It was cold. He grinned, or rather leered, at me,
and stepped closer.

“Legs apart, turn round, arms up, hands against wall.’ I did as I was
told, wondering what he was going to do if he suspected me of carrying
drugs. He came nearer and stood behind me, breathing heavily. Then he felt
under my arms, looked at the soles of my feet, and ran his hands up between
my legs. Despite the strange circumstances, I immediately began to feel
randy, though I didn’t like the man at all.

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I woke with a terrible start, wondering where I was and what was
happening. Looking up, I saw a German border guard in his uniform towering
over my chair. He must have shouted at me, and that’s what had woken me up,
because he repeated something incomprehensible. “I’m sorry, I can’t speak
German,’ I muttered, feeling rather silly and wondering what I’d done to
make him angry. Perhaps this was *his* chair?

“You are English.’ A statement, not a question.

“Yes,’ I answered quickly, “what’s the matter, what have I done?’

“Come with me, we look for drugs.’ Protesting that I didn’t have any
drugs, I was led off into a back room which was obviously used as a resting
place at night, because it had a wash basin and a hard bed in it.

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“We must be getting near the border, mustn’t we?’ I cast about in my dimly
remembered geography lessons for the relationship between the various north
European countries. “Yes, we’ll soon be in Germany, but the German customs
people are very fussy with loads like this. It may take some time at the
border post.’

He was right. He disappeared into the customs office with a sheaf of
documents, including my passport, and left me to my own devices. I couldn’t
leave the border area, of course, so I sat around, stood around, tried to
read all the notices in French and German on the walls, and finally settled
myself as comfortably as possible in a delapidated old armchair in a corner
and fell sound asleep.

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As we drove along the Belgian motorway, he began to tell me a little about
himself; his upbringing in an orphanage until he was fostered and then
adopted by an elderly couple, his short spell in prison for an idiotic smash
and grab raid which went wrong; his good fortune in getting his present job.
He had a beautiful speaking voice, and sounded better educated than most of
the other drivers. I caught myself fancying him, as I had sometimes in the
past when I saw him stride past the office window.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not interested in you,’ I thought to myself,
and thrust from my mind the sudden image of him lying naked on the bed in
his flat. I’d never been there, of course, but people said it was a small,
comfortably furnished place overlooking the park. Hurriedly I hunted for
another topic of conversation to put the disturbing visions from my mind.

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Driving on the right was absolutely terrifying for me as passenger. I
seemed far too close to the vehicles on the other side of the road, and when
we overtook a slower lorry, the oncoming traffic hurtled straight for me.
Pete was a good driver, though, and took no unnecessary risks. After a while
I relaxed and started to notice the strange Flemish town names. My efforts
at pronouncing them made Pete smile, and when I overheard two locals
conversing in a shout outside a bar, my mimicry of them was so accurate that
he nearly drove off the road, laughing so much.

“Come on, pack it in,’ he grinned at me, “you’ll have no voice left if you
go on like that!’ Then, more thoughtfully, he added, “Perhaps this trip
could be fun, after all.’

The Belgian port loomed up, gantries black and menacing in the fog. I went
back to the lorry. Pete got in, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Were you having trouble with that sailor?’ I asked him. He shot a
surprised look at me, then smiled.

“No, I often meet him on this trip. He doesn’t have much to do while we’re
out at sea.’ He hesitated, then stretched out across the steering wheel, his
chin on his hands, and stared at me. “There’s a lot you don’t know about,
isn’t there?’

This enigmatic question caught me off guard. What did he mean? I knew that
I wasn’t an experienced traveller like him, but it was a peculiar remark,
all the same. It certainly did nothing to put me at ease, only made me feel
more out of place. No appropriate answer came to mind, so I just kept quiet,
watching the cargo doors of the boat opening.

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The tea and hot sun sent me drifting off into a deep sleep. When I woke up
we were at the docks. Pete was nowhere to be seen. After a while he came
back and muttered something about “seeing to the paperwork’. We drove into
the bowels of the boat, one of the last lorries in, and the boat sailed
almost immediately.

Pete disappeared again, so I had some breakfast and began to wake up a
bit. I went to the upper deck for some fresh air, watching the English
coastline slip away into the mist. Suddenly I caught sight of Pete,
apparently having an argument with a young sailor. I didn’t want to get
involved, and I thought Pete could probably take care of himself. As it
happened, the argument soon came to an end, and the sailor smiled and waved
to Pete as he set off down the steps.

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I reached through the curtained area behind the seats and found his
jumper. With great agility he managed to put it on without driving off the
road.

“That’s better, I don’t like having the heater on, it sends me to sleep.
Let’s see if there’s anything good on the radio.’ Loud rock music
forestalled further conversation.

The sun was fully up now, driving the mist from the fields and hedges as
we hurtled along. We stopped once for a cup of tea at a service area.
Several good-looking lorry drivers greeted Pete, glancing curiously at me. I
felt nervous and out of place. They all seemed at ease with each other, but
treated me as an outsider.

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Jack was a legend at the depot. He had worked there longer than anyone
could remember, becoming dirtier and dirtier each year, rarely sober, and
with a vicious temper. Most of the lads were terrified of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,’ Pete continued thoughtfully, “Jack’s all right when
you get to know him. He’s had a difficult life. But I certainly wouldn’t
want him on a trip like this. Have you been to Italy before?’

“No, I’ve never been abroad,’ I answered, “I’m looking forward to it.’

“A factory in Italy is just the same as one in England, but it’s good to
be out here away from the cities. Get my jumper for me, Tony, it’s in the
back.’

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“Well, it looks as if we’re stuck with each other for now,’ he commented,
glancing quickly round at me. “I’m used to being on my own — I don’t know
why they’ve sent you on this trip. Just don’t expect me to talk much, OK?’ A
sudden grin lit up his features as he changed gear down the motorway slip
road. “Ah, well, it could have been worse, I suppose. They might have sent
Jack out with me.’

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Neither of us spoke for a while. Few people were about at this time of the
morning, just an occasional stray dog returning from a night’s foraging in
the city’s dustbins. The road unrolled itself before us, lined with
warehouses and factories, many now derelict. As we crossed the canal and
turned right into the road leading out to the motorway he seemed to relax,
settled down further in his seat, and ran his hand through his short fair
hair.

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His tattoos swirled from the sleeves of his white teeshirt down his brown
muscular arms. He looked tired and drawn as he leaned against the wall,
listening to the foreman describing the next job. I knew he was an experienced and reliable
driver. I had never been on a trip with him — he usually worked alone –
and it wasn’t going to be easy, judging by the surly way in which he had
greeted the announcement that from now on he was to have an assistant.

Without speaking Pete nodded curtly to the foreman and swung himself up
into the cab. I walked round the front of the huge gleaming lorry and
climbed into the passenger seat. The lights around the yard glinted in oily
puddles, but the sun was beginning to break through the early morning mist.
He pressed the starter; the engine roared into life, and the lorry slowly
moved out of the yard into the dreary length of Commercial Road.

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