CHAPTER 10
MARGARET THATCHER'S UK
A loud scream travels straight to the amygdala, an area of the brain that processes fear and kickstarts the body's fight-or-flight response. The struggle and screaming resumed behind the sealed doors of this eighteen-wheeler. The girl maintained her venom towards their captors.
"Get off me! No! NO! Help! Police! Who the... HELP!"
Strong hands firmly held her ankles and wrists. She kicked hard. Her best volley connected with an attacker's shins yet caused little reaction. A fifth captor appeared from the recesses to tie her swiftly and professionally. Together with a bound Nelson, she was dumped in a corner of the trailer where the sun's rays poured in through a small skylight. The girl continued to kick and shout and scream.
"It's all soundproofed in 'ere, love," said a darkly dressed man. He was built like a bear.
She sustained her yelling. Nelson stayed quiet, breathing heavily with a fearful racing heart.
"We're not here to hurt ya, love" came the matter-of-fact next statement.
The girl stopped abruptly. Her neck and cheeks flushed red, she was breathing too fast and turned to stare fiercely at Nelson.
"Who... ARE YOU?" she screamed.
"I'm sorry..." started Nelson.
"STOP! Look Mister..." she hissed, "if this is some kind of weird abduction thing you can just f..."
"N... no!" stuttered Nelson, "honest."
He took in the trailer's interior, noticing it gleamed improbably white with newness and cleanliness. It was spotless, save for a two empty Coca Cola cans discarded on the floor and what appeared to be an empty Marks & Spencer's cheese and celery sandwich packet. The ceiling glowed from a hidden light source.
Nelson glanced at his captors who were nonchalantly huddled away in the far corner, now preoccupied with a group activity.
Craning his neck in their direction he bellowed, "Who are you!"
One glanced indifferently over his shoulder and, blanking the question, he returned to focus on his cohorts.
"Who... ARE you!" shrieked Nelson again. Still no response, and Nelson surmised not to expect one. He suspected he knew who these people were, or at least who they were connected to. His worst fears from the morning's waking cold sweat were manifesting. He had brought this on himself. And another innocent party.
The girl continued to stare fixedly at him.
"HELP!"
And then, "Get me... out of here!" the words were left suspended in the air.
A moment passed with an unnerving quiet. The girl's awkward, searing stare unsettled Nelson further, flaring his irritable bowel. The stinging panic coursing through to his colon triggered the sudden need to break wind. At the last moment, the girl cracked before he did.
"Who the hell are you?" she hissed.
"Nelson, Nelson Staff. No relation. I'm very sorry about all..."
"To whom?"
"I'm sorry?"
"No relation to whom?"
"Vic Staff. Vic? The documentary about the Vegas Vegan on that new Channel Four."
"Never watch it."
"You have to tune your TV to..."
"And what's a... vegan?" spat the girl.
"Not sure. Look, it doesn't matter."
Nelson saw tears form in the girl's eyes and tremors electrify her body. He struggled to determine if this was due to the cold, shock or hysteria. Guilt coursed through his veins.
"Please don't panic," he tried, "I honestly have enough worry stored up for both of us."
"This isn't helping," she snapped.
"Yes, I realise that."
Reweighing the situation, he adopted a softer approach.
"This may seem like the weirdest thing to happen as you leave Waitrose."
Stemming her shivering, the girl noticed the look on Nelson's face as he studied her raincoat. She cursed her own slack preparation for the morning's shopping.
"I am honestly so sorry. What's your name?" Nelson offered softly. Looking directly into his eyes the girl sensed his genuine apology.
"Tina Reagan. No relation."
"To whom?"
"President... oh you know what, forget it," cursed Tina, and shivered again.
"Of course, Reagan, sorry."
A tense, quiet beat passed, and Nelson studied the interior of the trailer, observing a near side door plus the rear double doors through which they had just been bundled. This anterior door appeared sealed with a glistening black substance applied to cover its whole frame. It housed an unused Push-Bar-To-Open handle.
"So," restarted Nelson, "don't worry. I think we'll be fine."
"We? Let me make it clear... Nelson," she spoke the name with as much disdain as she could muster. "I do not care one toss about you. Just get me out!"
The awkward silence returned. The muffled roll of eighteen wheels on Tarmac formed the backdrop, yet there was no obvious engine noise. Two three four moments passed. Unexpectedly the girl leaned forward and rasped: "Ok Nelson, if I buy it, where the hell are we, and who are these gorillas?"
"Mister Grumpy, Mister Snorty, Mister Meany..." he started.
"Sod off."
"I make jokes when I'm nervous, sorry. I honestly don't know who they are."
"For someone who doesn't have a clue about our situation, you continue to be an idiot who is taking this very lightly."
"No need for the insults. I believe we are on our way to America."
"Where?"
"America. Cape Kennedy more precisely. Or is it Canaveral?"
"Cape Canaveral?" hissed Tina.
"I think so."
"I don't want to go to Cape Canaveral. Help!"
Nelson sensed her hysteria returning. He shook his head and tried to think, then leaned forward and whispered.
"From my perspective, it could be a whole lot worse."
"How?"
"We could be on our way back home."
"Is that some kind of sick joke?"
"No Tina. It isn't."
***
Tina was one of the many unhappy young professionals coping with Margaret Thatcher's realignment of the United Kingdom. From an extended mining family, her father had been a pit electrician, enduring the scorn of their neighbours by poorly timing his return to work across the picket lines - only a week before the two-year national strike ended. Watching her brother subsequently flee to a newly emerging Silicon Valley, Tina made her escape by graduating from a highly respected Midlands university and moving to London as an economic migrant. Inheriting the poor timing of her father, she achieved this feat to coincide with the UK unemployment rate reaching a record three million.
In place of fame and fortune, she took the only full-time job she could find as PA to the owner of a small estate agency. The housing market was contracting and consolidating, and with mortgage interest rates stuck at ten percent, buyers dissipated, and her employer's revenue steadily dried up. He had regretfully made her redundant nearly two months previously.
With her bubble burst, she was fortunate to get eight weeks' redundancy pay, which is the amount of time Tina was giving herself before returning to her parent's northern town.
She pressed on with the slim belief that something would turn up. Yesterday her self-administered grace period had expired.
While she professed not to fathom Nelson's last remark, as the words sank in, they held water. In the same vein as a mining community, London took its toll on the unemployed. Her newfound professional acquaintances had so far kept their City careers intact, and her childhood friends were scattered across the North in jobs that she did not want.
Taking immediate stock, Tina did not know quite what to make of this trusting soul before her with his friendly, green-grey eyes and innocent smile.
Their abduction was clear, yet he seemed confident they were not in grave danger.
Is he insane, or just very calm? Is he in on this as well? How can I open the chocolate Digestive biscuits in my shopping bag with these hands tied?
Tina's mood darkened further, and her shivering worsened.
***
"Are you cold?" asked Nelson.
"No," she lied, "Didn't you say that you were going to get us out of here?"
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"Did it sound good?"
"At the time."
"Excellent!"
"Well, are you?
"Am I what?"
"Are you going to get us out of here?"
He took a long moment to answer.
Nelson had lost his parents to their acrimony, divorce, and full separation many years ago. He had seemingly lost his closest friend overnight to Cyprus, or perhaps a yet worse fate. His career and his boss were no longer the ones he wanted. His own life was now on a mistaken path.
"Well, not exactly," he said finally.
"What? You're not making any sense. Don't you want to get out?" hissed Tina.
"Right now, no. I don't think I do. At present, this might just be the best option."
"But we've been abducted..."
"Yes, I believe that is the correct term, but I don't actually want to escape, not at the moment," admitted Nelson, as much to himself as to Tina. He tried woefully to get up, overlooking the fact his legs remained bound together.
"Why! Why don't you want to escape?" pleaded Tina, searching to understand more.
"True answer... My life has become a mistake. And, we are on our way to the Cape, perhaps to meet my best friend, Duke. Haven't you always wanted to go to America?"
"Not this way."
"NASA wants to see me. I think," added Nelson.
"NASA. You! Pah! Fat chance."
"There's no need to be..."
"I'm sorry," said Tina, she regrated that she had hurt him. "I will apologise, but I'm blind here. From my very uninformed perspective, I fail to see why NASA would go to all this trouble to pick you up. Especially in such a dramatic way." She paused and then suddenly her eyes flared wide. "Do you know what, just saying that out loud... oh my God. Now I am really, really scared. Don't be a fool. It's not NASA... they don't do this sort of stuff."
"But maybe NASA do. I phoned them."
"You phoned... How? Who'd you speak to?"
"I used Directory Enquiries. I spoke to their switchboard I think, Betty Ann. She wanted me to be her pen pal. And then I spoke to someone called Cargill."
"Oh, dear Jesus. I feel sick again."
"Look Tina, you really shouldn't worry."
"Why shouldn't I! I'll do what I want. And why the hell am I here anyway?"
"Well, that point I'm not too sure about. It could be that you were an innocent bystander."
"What!" The word spat out. "I've told you, if this is some weird pick-up routine, I'll be kicking your..."
"It isn't a pick-up routine, I promise," interrupted Nelson, trying desperately and ungainly to get to his feet.
"Please give me one minute."
"I'm not giving you anything."
Nelson began ungainly hopping his way over to their five captors.
"So..." called Tina after him, "we're not escaping after all?"
"Ssshh! No," he hissed.
A few more hops and as Nelson flopped beside the huge bears and gorillas, he was now able to observe they were playing cards. The trailer floor was a highly polished white. Just their seven bodies, the Coca Cola cans, and emptied sandwich packet litter disturbed its brilliance.
"Hello," called Nelson in the direction of the granite faces.
Silence.
"Gin," said one finally.
"Go on then," said Nelson, "any tonic?"
He had their attention now. The five heads swiveled slowly, as though mounted on steel gears. They stared at Nelson with the coldness and contempt clear in their eyes.
"Sorry... I thought you meant a drink."
The silence hung, unbroken.
"It's a joke. I say things like that when I'm nervous," he pleaded in doleful eyes to the gorilla who just laid down his seven cards.
Gears reversing, the heads rotated away and went back to their game. The largest bear began shuffling the cards, and then dealt quickly without a word.
"Will we be flying to Cape Canaveral?" tried Nelson as the last card was silently laid out.
Just one looked up with the same icy stare. Abruptly, a smiled cracked across both cheeks and he burst out laughing. He folded his cards into his giant paw-like hand and grunted:
"Did tha' hear 'im. Is 'e thick? Our mate here reckons he's flyin' t'America."
The others smiled to each other softly shaking their heads. Then another scoffed and turned to Nelson.
"Get back wi ya lad. Tha'll have t'make do wi' the Dark Peak in Yorkshire."
"Yorkshire!" exclaimed Nelson, checking each of the faces in turn. "Yorkshire!"
The one to laugh first placed his cards steadily face-down. He stood up and lifted Nelson by his ropes with the ease of a well-trained bodybuilder. He dragged Nelson back to the far end of the trailer and unceremoniously dumped him next to Tina. Then returning mutely to his game, he sat back down.
Nelson remained in the foetal position, heavily winded and with a bruised masculinity. As he lay, Tina tapped him on the head with the pointed toe of her court shoe.
"You were saying?" she noted quietly.
"I was saying... we have to escape."
Nelson rolled over and struggled to sit up.
"Yes indeed, that is what you were saying," Tina confirmed. "And that's good. I do not want to go back to Yorkshire."
***
Three more uneventful hours ticked by. The trailer's wheels rolling on motorway roads became the soundtrack beat, overlayed with sporadic engine clatter of passing vehicles. Nelson noted the lack of noise from the truck's engines, a scant monotonous whirring, as if the vehicle were fueled like a colossal electric milk float.
He tried no more discourse with the bears or gorillas, maintaining his distant towards the front of the trailer. He was steadfast against the sealed door that had piqued his interest as he and Tina were first dumped at their corner. Tina sat nearby, staring hard away from Nelson. Human nature is so surprisingly adaptable and a combination of fatigue and despondency had permitted her compliance with his bizarre request.
"Could you just hum? Maybe a repetitive song, a little vacantly. Please? Or sing any tune that comes into your imagination?"
In mute acceptance, Tina had picked up on his final word. It's just an illusion. Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, aah-ha, Illusion.
A nice voice, though her melody was out of key.
In the last few minutes Nelson had gaped into the void and was now focused inwardly, with disengaged eyes. His mind raced.
Is Yorkshire our real destination? Is Duke in situ under the Dark Peak and not on a beach? Did I really speak to NASA, or something far more sinister? Tina has amazing eyes. But why the abduction? Coke Is It! Nice slogan, but not to my taste, too sugary. Who do they really want? An empty Coca Cola can. And wonderful legs. For God's sake man, you are pathetic. Am I an innocent bystander? Is Tina the target? This shiny door sealant is new. And there's a can of Coke. What have I got into? I can tear that tin can in half. Perhaps I should escape, but how? Coke Is It! Gimme Gimme Gimme A Man After Midnight. #3 The black sealant, yes! Tear the can in half.
This cerebral drivel had brought Nelson to the anterior sealed door. Hands remaining tied behind his back, he stood awkwardly gouging large chunks of the black sealant, wielding only the torn edge of a Coca-Cola can.
Tina had gently eased the can towards him with one point of her heel and now she was halfway through Just An Illusion by Imagination. So engrossed in Texas Hold'em, the bears and gorillas paid their captives little attention.
_____
#3 Why the ABBA lyrics came in remains a mystery.
Ninety minutes toil made the clearance job as good as possible, though any higher reach was hampered by Nelson's ties. He whispered this concern to Tina.
"Well, if you kick that bar hard enough it should open anyway," she hissed back.
He looked at her wide eyed. Tina struggled to read the expression on his face. Nelson leaned forward, dipping slightly to exhale a whisper.
"Are you any good at untying knots?" he murmured.
"No."
"Me neither. And yet I've realized that all this effort has helped loosen these ropes. I'm going to drop back down next to you. Try pulling them hard while I squeeze my wrists together."
Nelson sat down on the floor shoulder-to-shoulder with Tina, sliding his hands across and behind Tina's back. As much as she could, she tried to reach into Nelson's binds and stretch them away from his wrists. His skin burnt red as it stretched against the coarse fibre, but Nelson started to feel he could remove a hand from his bindings. He took air in sharply and caught his breath. One of his hands had slipped free of its ties. Nelson's eyes widened and Tina immediately understood the implication.
Keeping both hands behind his back Nelson shook off his ropes and manoeuvred to work the same on Tina's. Her wrists were thinner, and with her own short gasp, one hand was eventually free. Taking each other's cue, they moved their hands inch by inch to their ankle ties, with no desire to catch attention by a sudden movement.
The two worked on their ankle restraints. Moments later, Nelson sensed the lorry gradually reduce speed. He sat stock still as it rocked to a halt, and its air brakes hissed. Three of their captors stood to check the situation by approaching the rear double doors – away from Nelson and Tina.
"This could be our chance!" breathed Nelson. Watching their captors move away, they returned both hands behind their backs to continue the pretense of capture. It was a long trailer, and at least ten to fifteen paces separated them from their abductors.
"Correction, this is our chance," roared Nelson, his adrenalin teeming through brain and sinew. He had one chance to escape in a most spectacular filmic manner, kicking down the door with focused strength, leaping onto a motorway embankment pursued by a pretty girl, perform a tumble roll, and career down the hard shoulder weaving between passing motorists and towards an attendant police car, convincing the officers to brake hard and assist his theatrics. This was his one chance.
"Nelson..." said Tina, observing the far end of the trailer.
Nelson was high. If their captors spotted his intentions, none could react before his lightning reflexes kicked open this door and he whirled Tina from danger.
"Nelson..." she tried again.
Nelson's mind was made up, laser focused, and possessed one frenzied ambition. He stood upright. The adrenalin surged.
"Er, Nelson..."
Showing teeth, Nelson's face reddened. He mentally prepared to race down the highway and swerve amidst passing cars.
Kicking free of the final ankle rope, he braced his right leg, muscles tensed, and he heaved...
CRASH! The door splintered from its sealant and burst open.
Nelson primed to jump. He stood at the brink, perched to leap into... the clinically clean, white-tiled, floor of an immensely curved corridor.
"Well done Mr. Staff," said a man dressed in U.S. Air Force camouflage uniform. "We've been trying to get that door sorted since we took delivery of the e-truck."
The air force man had W.J. McGuigan stitched to the right chest of his battle dress jacket. And to its left the letters USAF.
"Nelson..." breathed Tina, transfixed on the double-doors at the rear of the trailer, which were now opened "...I think we've arrived."
The rear doors' opening did not reveal a traffic-heavy British motorway. Instead they gaped onto a lengthy, dazzling white tunnel stretching into a long arc some distance behind them.
"Yes ma'am," confirmed the USAF officer. He spoke from a vantage point below them as he stared up through the truck's small emergency exit, vestiges of its black sealant still clinging to the frame.
"...you sure have arrived."
Nelson wept.