Harvey Franklin, the transit driver, laughed out loud and
heartily, Young grinned as Harvey laughed at the story that he had just told
him. Decker who was reading a novel, smiled secretly, as he tried to pretend he
was not eavesdropping on the conversation. Everyone was feeling exhausted from
the journey they had travelled, somehow Harvey had managed to slip through
Customs and Excise even though he carried three illegal, hunted terrorists,
wanted by the international authorities, in his lorry. Decker thanked god that
the customs officer had a nicotine habit and was familiar with Harvey and his
friends.
Harvey was a black man in his late fifties; he had short
grey hair with a bald spot and receding hairline. His face that was once chubby
and round had worn thin and lined with age, he had a scruffy stubbly beard,
some stubble around his jaw and chin had grown long as he had missed or forgot
to shave there. It reminded Decker that he needed to shave or trim his now fairly
long beard. Every time Harvey laughed at one of Young’s stories, he showed of
his crooked row of cigarette stained teeth, he chuckled and coughed in his deep
Caribbean voice.
"...I’m tellin’ you Harv that’s what the stupid bitch said."
Young said smirking like a Cheshire cat. Decker hated the way Wayne always
shortened people’s names, Decker became Decks, Harvey became Harv. Young also
gave people stupid nicknames, he always called Decker "old timer" and "gramps",
and Decker detested this, as it reminded Decker of his age. Decker suddenly
realised he was criticising again he seemed to always do this around Young, he
did not know why, age had probably made Decker grumpy and too judgemental or
maybe Decker secretly wished his was Young’s age again.
Decker and Young sat in the cab with driver, Harvey
Franklin, whilst Erin slept on a small seat behind them. For miles they had
been driven, past countless bare fields and farmland on the long straight
stretch of dual carriageway. Every field was similar; the surroundings seemed
to be on a repetitive movie reel playing over and over. Occasionally there
would be a old neglected farmhouse, made of crumbling stone and dark brown roof
with half the slate missing showing the naked wooden timbers or an old French oak
tree, grey and rotting, occupying a single empty field, bare of leaves due to
the winter. Decker thought France was similar to the open farmland of the
American country. Young was chatting to the driver about sport, and who he,
thought would win the National Football League, as Decker stared out at the
boring, bland, featureless countryside.
Just as the blue and white road signs started to read
Paris 10 kilometres the lorry indicated left and drove into a service station
pulling in-between a group of similar transit lorries.
"This is as far as I can take you," said Harvey "The
authorities are too strict around the capital and pull over every lorry to
check for any passengers travelling illegally."
"Thanks for risking the journey, mate." Young said appreciative,
shaking Harvey’s plump hands.
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