Just Another Day - Clark Steven (читаем книги бесплатно .TXT) 📗
‘What now, what now,’ shouted Chloe’s dad in obvious panic.
Swifty was momentarily stunned and struggling to breath. After a few seconds he groaned, ‘Get back. Back behind the wagon.’ Mark knew that he wasn’t just winded with the force of the impact; he must have banged his head on the top edge of the door as he attempted to dive through. He was struggling to think properly. The fuzziness in his brain was not clearing quickly enough. Fred was not in full control of his faculties either. It’s not every day that a man in a black boiler suit wants to dive into your car from another moving vehicle. It was this development that had made Dave shout out.
Mark’s legs still dangled out of the car and as Chloe’s Dad began to slow the car in order to drop behind the wagon, Dave saw Swifty’s legs about to be mangled by the rear wheels of the lorry. The trailer was some forty feet long and Marks body was inching ever closer as Fred eased off the accelerator.
Dave pulled the steering wheel forcefully to the left ignoring the sharp pain in his injured upper arm. He swerved the wagon towards the reinforced metal barrier of the Motorway hard shoulder as the toes on Mark’s boots scraped along the road surface. He felt the massive tyres of the wagon brushing against the back of his legs. He silently prayed that the material of his overalls didn’t get caught up on some protruding piece of metal or body work of the trailer. The slightest snag would surely rip him from the side of the car and drag him under the lorry. As quickly as he was able, he painfully hauled himself fully into the car.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ said Johnson as he clambered from the bunk.
‘What a bloody idiot’ shouted Dave and gestured to the white van in front. ‘Bastard cut me up as he dived in front. I nearly hit him up the arse.’ Dave sounded his horn. White van man had been driving quite normally and he cursed the wagon driver behind him, completely unaware of the unfolding drama. He couldn’t give a toss if he had cut up the wagon behind. It was always a battle on the roads these days anyway. For the most part, it was everyman for himself.
‘Fuck you,’ he shouted out the window and stuck his middle finger up in the air to the lorry driver in his wake. No words were needed to interpret the gesture!
Johnson jumped down from the bunk and sat in the passenger seat alongside. He was looking up ahead out of the windscreen trying to see the roadside junction numbers. ‘Where are we, when do we get off this fucking road?’
Dave looked in both mirrors. No sign of Chloe’s car. No sign of vehicles swerving across the lanes and no body bouncing along behind. He breathed deeply.
The window slowly wound up and Mark twisted over onto his back. He looked up at the roof lining and then down to his feet. The toecap of his right boot had completely rubbed away and the rubber sole was flapping open. He could clearly see the frayed sock of his big toe peeping through.
‘Fuck me; that was not very clever’ He said quietly.
Not so quietly that Chloe couldn’t hear as she undid her seatbelt and twisted round to look at the man lying on his back with his foot in the air.
‘Did you hear that Daddy?’ ‘He said the ‘F’ word. You said ‘shit’ before and that was bad but he said the ‘F’ word and that’s really, really bad.’
‘And all because the lady loves milk tray’, laughed Mark quietly as he stared at the roof inside and gave a little shake of his head as he realised how close he had come to not making it in one piece. ‘Well, the job can get me a new pair at least,’ he said as he surveyed the flapping sole of his boot.
‘What did you say?’ Said Chloe as she knelt on her seat and pressed her face through the open headrest and looked at the man laying below, cradling his right foot in both hands and staring intently at his toecap.
‘Oh it’s just a silly expression love; your Dad will know what I’m talking about.’ As he momentarily recalled the television advert of some years before when the hero would deliver a box of chocolates to his sweetheart in the most daring of circumstances whilst dressed all in black. Like the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, the mystery man would climb up the side of the balustrade and leave the chocolates and a note on a table inside the room only for the woman to find them later after he had departed. To complete the scene, she would then run through the open doors onto the balcony and stare wistfully over the edge into the darkness beyond thinking of what might have been.
He pulled himself up from his laying position, looked out of the back window at his colleagues several vehicles behind and gave them the thumbs up.
‘What’s your name mate?’ Said Mark to his ‘chauffeur’.
‘Fred, Fred Jones. Shit, did that really happen?’
‘Fred, you probably saved my life. At the very least, you prevented me from being discovered. I think I might have made a bit of a dent in the side of your door. I hit it pretty hard when I jumped off. Not a pretty sight I’m afraid. Haven’t done too much of that before.’ As he rubbed at his knees and thighs and smiled ruefully.
‘Thank you,’ said Fred. “Don’t worry about the door. I guess we’re both a bit new to this. Not something I do every day myself’ he said as he looked in his rear view mirror at the man in the balaclava. ‘Who are you? I hope I’ve done the right thing and you’re on our side. You’re not some kind of terrorist are you?’ He felt a bit stupid asking the question as in his own mind, he was quite sure that his passenger was not a criminal.
‘I can’t tell you at the moment what it’s all about. You will probably read about it in the papers. I can say that I am on the right side. I can’t say anymore than that. You can take some comfort in knowing that what you have done today not only saved my life, but you may well have saved the life of another colleague. Now Fred, much as I have enjoyed our conversation, what I need now is to rejoin my colleagues. If you look in your rear view, you will see a black Range Rover five or six cars behind. Can you see it?’
‘Yep, no problem. Got it in my mirrors.’ Said Fred.
Mark pressed the small button near to the lapel of his overall. ‘Romeo Victor One from Swifty receiving Skip?’
‘Pass your message Swifty.’ He heard the reply clearly in his covert earpiece. He was thankful that it had remained in place and not bounced out of his ear with the violent impact of a few minutes before.
‘OK Boss, let the wagon exit at the next junction and we’ll pull up on the hard shoulder and I’ll join you.’
‘Message received. Good job Mark.’
It would take a few minutes for the wagon to leave the motorway and Mark turned his attention to the little girl in the front seat. ‘And what’s your name young lady?’ said Mark.
By this time, Chloe had folded her arms again and Mark could see by her body language and frown that she was not a happy little lady at this moment. She was still staring at him intently through the open head rest and he would need to use his legendary charm to win her over. She had been left out of the conversation for far too long; She’d had enough of this adults thing; after all, it had been she who had first seen the man and yet her Dad had taken over the conversation. It was as though she had been forgotten about. It was all about her dad and the stranger. Well, we’ll see about that.
‘My names Chloe and this is my Dad. He’s in big trouble off my Mum and you’re in big trouble off my mum too. Dad said shit loads of times but you said the ‘F’ word. My mum says that the F word is the worst of all and that means that you are in big trouble.’ She started rummaging in her school bag for her mobile phone. ‘I think I’d better text her now and tell her what you said.’
‘Mmm, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you Chloe,’ said Mark. ‘And I’m sure your Dad is too.’ He could see the phone emerging from her bag and her fingers starting to hit the keys. ‘Its right that you should tell your mum about bad things that happen but, before you do, just give me a minute to explain something to you.’
