My first chapter for In Your Dreams

The shoal of little pearls of water soared and fell, making a gentle but consistent splat upon the window screen. Vehicles were few and far between but one was a constant force. The lorry was clad in a hide of dirty white. The luminescence of the moon blended with the it, making it some ghostly mechanical beast haunting the bare motorway. The frantic screech of the wipers made a rhythmic beat. Dave Bower absorbed the beat until it became a part of him - it is the sorrow anthem of a lorry driver.

Bower led a callused hand to his head, caressing, rather scraping, his receding tufts of mild-brown hair. His patterned shirt was the home to a scattering of loosely based scraps of cheese, bread and bacon, about to rebound off Dave Bower’s bouncy castle of a belly. His face was of a gaunt complexion. Underneath his soulless eyes, lay two great shadows of darkness, two pools of mind-numbing fatigue. His workspace was uncluttered and devoid of idiosyncrasies. Bower liked it that way – a simple, honest man doesn’t need superstition and all that lark. In a quick jerk, his arms relocated to the wheel as he deftly shifted to its course. Once he saw a straight road that went on forever, Dave Bower relaxed and let out an almighty yawn. His attention switched from the wheel to the crackle of the radio. With an intensity he never used for his driving, Bower listened.

Marcus Rashford dashes past the defender! Bower clutched the gear in anticipation, his back crouched closer and closer to the radio. He shoots! He misses! He lofts it over the goal! All of Bower’s tension slumped in a miserable heap. And that’s full time! Manchester United have lost 1-0 to Brighton Hove Albion! Brighton have been sensational but United have… With one violent thump of disgust, Bower turned off the radio. He murmured something about passion and playing for the badge with some expletives thrown in for good measure. As the red mist began to recede, Dave Bower re-absorbed the rhythmic beat of the wipers. He became embroiled again in the misery of a lorry driver.

His external emotions lulled into silence, his internal demons awoke with a roar. It is during these long drives that Bower’s mind ventures into the realm of past regret. Why did I be so mean to Mum that day? Why did I have to be in that friend’s group? Why didn’t I take school seriously? Why didn’t I go the gym? Why did I make the wrong choice every step of my life? Choices. In the end, it is what life is all about. Make one bad choice and life bites you with its vicious teeth and then makes you a lorry driver. Dave Bower pondered and pondered until he decided it was time to change. The two shining lights of his life needed him. A plan formulated in his mind. I’ll start a business, a renovation one just like my dad. I’ll bring over all my mates and I’ll start a business. For a moment, Bower was booned with the drive of purpose. But with inevitable speed, it all deflated. Every drive, he sketched out a road map to financial resurrection. Every day after the anthem of the lorry driver was expelled, his unmotivated, undisciplined self emerged. Good old Dave Bower would settle in on the sofa, with a loyal can of beer in his hand, watching whatever the heck is on the telly without a care in the world. On other days he’ll brawl with some guy at the pub about Manchester Utd’s stinky situation while his wife toiled at home. What’s the point? I’ll never change. I am who I am. With this in mind, Dave Bower drowsily clutched at his can of beer and chugged it. It keeps him sharp. Apparently.

After running away from his internal demons, Bower checked Google Map and there was only 10 minutes to go. Nearly there. Boss said today was an important delivery, so important that he didn’t want Bower touching it. “You get in the lorry Bower!” he barked while gesticulating wildly “Can’t have a lummox like you handling that delicate thing!”. He asked no questions – that was his strength – and just got on with his job. Dave Bower peered at Google map again. 3 minutes to go. The location is apparently a scientific research center so it must look fancy. Bower clenched his fist in focus. It’s sometimes hard to find locations in the dark, even with Google map. The rain was still pounding down, if anything more vigorous than ever. Bower was not looking forward to going out in this eternal rain-storm we call Manchester.

Bower’s fist unclenched. He found it. The scientific center was a swanky place, the shiny metal glistening in the rain. Outside the facility were some gates. This was not made of shiny metal, this was solid, unbendable metal. These lads must take their security seriously. He slowly stopped the car in front of the speaker and opened the window. As rain soaked his stranded strips of hair, he pushed his face out to the speaker and spoke “Anyone in there? I’m here with the goods,”. There was silence for a few seconds until a crackly voice replied. “Bring it over then I’ll let you in,” it said. The voice was doused in urgency and a bit of nervous fear. Bower drove through the gates and got ready for business. A mousy looking man came scurrying towards the lorry, his spectacles threatening to fall. His black hair was disheveled and his face was greased with exhaustion.

David Bower was just beginning to climb out of the lorry before the scientist said “No need. I don’t need you getting soaked in the rain. Just open the back for me,”. Confused, Bower obliged and stayed rooted in his seat. He wondered if one scrawny scientist could carry the goods but what did he know. Quickly enough, the scientist emerged with his fingers around a package. It was half the size of your palm, delicately encased in a neatly constructed white cover. It effused simplicity and crispness. Bower was angry. “Hey! So you’re telling me I’ve toiled for two hours to deliver this goods for it just to be a cute little package? Are you having a laugh?” he demanded. In response, the scientist wore a cool look perhaps tinged by acute annoyance. “I appreciate your hard work but this “cute little package” is far too essential to be lugged around in some car,” he said with courtesy. Bower eyed the package again. What on earth could be so important that it has to be transported in lorry? It’s not even like my lorry has top class security. Without countering the scientist, Bower pulled down the window and started the engine. But then the temptation of curiosity struck him. Without thinking, he re-opened the window and barked at the outgoing scientist “What’s in there anyway?”. The scientist shed all previous meekness and stared Bower down with a lion’s snarl. His anger at Bower boiling within him overflowed in a moment of aggression. When he knew he wasn’t getting an answer, Bower drove the lorry through the gates and set off. On the journey back, he rebuked himself – no questions asked, remember?