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THE LONG ROAD HOME

The Commercial Motor Christmas short story is back! Steve Jackson's got diesel in his blood and fire in his belly as his business faces ruin.

So that was thatA complete life's work under the hammer within three hours. Trucks, trailers,tools and equipment from the workshop, the old beaten up Mazda pick-up and the office gear, all gone to new homes.

The demolition gang would be in tomorrow to flatten the site.A new executive housing estate would cover the three-acre site within six months and any trace of haulage would be erased forever from Hooktown. He had, at least,persuaded the developers to call one of the roads Jackson Close.A final testimony to a life in haulage.

Steve Jackson stubbed out his Benson his last slipped the auctioneer's paperwork into his briefcase, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the door. "Will the last one out please turn off the lights"quite literally on this occasion. He did just that, shut the door to the office and turned the key.

"Don't look back son," his old man had always said whenever they'd done a deal which was slightly questionable."Put it behind you and get on with it." Those words were ringing in his ears as he trudged across the potholed yard, the cold December air whacking against his lungs, making him cough violently.

Never did get round to concreting the car park. Didn't matter now.

The auctioneer had told him it would be an upsetting day as the vultures descended to pick over the remains of the dead. Everything had sold,with many of the trucks and trailers fetching much more than estimated.All the creditors would be paid and there'd be a few bob left over to keep the wolf from the door 'til the New Year. For all the positives, though, he couldn't keep a lid on the feeling of disappointment.What a bloody waste, all the late nights and early mornings, the scrimping and the saving, all for nothing.

Emotion

The last time he'd cried was when they lowered the body of his old man into the ground, and he wept now as the weight of emotion finally hit home. The tears rolled down his cheeks as he scanned the yard for one last time.

Setting up a transport firm just two miles from the Al, great north road, and within spitting distance of Leeds appeared the perfect business decision when his dad had cut the parental ties in the late '50s.The Jacksons had been farmers in the area, but a life on the road had been preferred to one on the land, so when his old man had inherited the farm he flogged off the land and used the farmyard and buildings to run the trucks.

A decision which had come back to bite him in later years.The farmland had subsequently been sold to developers and within 30 years the transport yard had found itself surrounded by houses as the Leeds metropolitan area engulfed the vicinity.

He should have moved the company when he had chance in 1993,but the offer to buy the site had come only four weeks after the funeral of his dad and, anyway, business had been booming.There'd certainly been no inkling of the mayhem that was to ensue.

He'd not objected to the planning permission for 16 exclusive new homes when the notification had come through. Better those than a council estate, at least he wouldn't have to worry about the scumbags breaking in and robbing the place.

But within 18 months of completion the first complaints started to come through. First from the residents.That bastard George Evans led the way, then the council and finally the traffic commissioner had got involved.

Restricting vehicle movements between 7am and 7pm had been the kiss of death, that and getting involved with the German freight forwarders that still hadn't paid him two years since he'd stopped doing anything for them.

A regular and well paid run from Barnsley to Munich was attractive enough for him to stump up for a pair of new Volvo FH12s with Globetrotter cabs for the lads on the run. Not only was the money good, but the 30-day payment terms had seemed too good to be true. It was. For the first six months the money arrived on the button, but then it got slower and slower, until it completely dried up. By which time they were into him for £36,000.The payments still had to be made on the trucks. Instead of pulling out of the international business he'd soldiered on, trying anything to keep the trucks busy. Faced with competition from the Poles, Hungarians and other cut-price foreigners the margins were meagre and by the time he pulled the plug the damage was done.

Regrets, regrets.

"Put it behind you son." He dried his eyes, opened the car door and jumped inside. Six o'clock. earliest he'd been finished for years, Judy would be pleased it was all over.

Just one thing left to do. He fired up the motor and pulled out of the yard. Evans' car was on his drive.This wouldn't take long. He rang the hell. Evans opened the door with a look of horror on his face when he saw who it was. This was the man who'd started the letter writing campaign to hound out the business. While they'd exchanged insults over the phone they'd never been face to face before.

"Just thought I'd let you know you've got your way, the business is finished," Steve said. He could feel the rage building up inside him. He knew he shouldn't and that it would land him in bother, but couldn't stop himself. His fist landed square on Evans' chin with a crunch. He turned on his heels, got back in the car and sped off, his knuckles throbbing.

4am alarm call. Jesus? He hadn't been up this early in 15 years. He heaved himself out of bed, still in shock from the abrupt awakening. His hand hurt. Judy hadn't been amused when he'd explained what he'd done to Evans.The knock on the door from the old bill hadn't been the best way to end the day. Still, the copper said he'd most probably just be fined, so no point fretting,Today was the first step on the long route back.

Contacts He'd kept one of the Volvo FH12s and a trailer back from the auction and now he was about to put them to use. Getting a load had been handy enough, thanks to the contacts he'd built up over the years, and he'd rented a plot around the corner to park it up.All he had to do was find his flaming work boots and he could get out and earn a crust. "They're under the stairs," Judy said, exasperated by his fumbling about in the dark. "Now get out and let me get back to sleep."

Given all the grief of the past 18 months it had come as something of a relief for all of them to finally fold the business. Judy had been a rock through it all, keeping the spirits up and the family together through the toughest times. But he'd known he'd asked a hell of a lot of her. Despite the rollicking she handed out to 110' him last night for lamping Evans. he could sense the weight had been lifted. Hey, she even managed a smile when he'd recounted how Evans had gone down like a sack of spuds The temperatures had dipped below freezing during the night and he needed to scrape the ice from the screen before he could head south. He'd loaded the curtainsider with timber the previous morning, before the auction had kicked off, and if he was honest he'd been looking forward to getting back on the road. Sure,the novelty would soon wear off,but for now he was going to enjoy getting back behind the wheel.Tacho formalities complete, he had a quick scan of the map and threaded the combination out onto the public road.

Of the 15 trucks in the fleet he'd carefully considered which would be the best truck to keep for himself. He'd scrutinised the fuel and maintenance records and reckoned that with a new clutch fitted only a couple of months ago, as well as new pads and discs, all round the 420hp motor was the best bet.

A bit of creative tyre rotation made sure he'd ended up with virtually new rubber on tractor and trailer.The big XL Globetrotter cab would come in handy for the odd night away, as well as ensuring the motor was still worth a few quid if and when he came to chop it in.

Plenty of people reckoned he was bonkers going back for a second helping of road transport, but he didn't know anything else. Running a boozer or a post office seemed cushy enough. but he'd soon get browned off talking nonsense to the drunks or making small talk with pensioners. No, diesel was in his blood. Everybody had to do something, and for him it was transport, no question.

Apart from a bit of early morning mayhem around Birmingham Airport the trip to Bristol was straightforward enough and he arrived well in time for his 9.30 drop at Yate.

Attitude

What is it about security gate men? Put the most mild-mannered person in a uniform and a peaked cap and their persona completely changes. "This hasn't been scheduled into my book." Bite your tongue.

The 'friendly' attitude of security guards was something to which he'd have to adjust, likewise the ignorance of goods inward. It was a nice surprise, therefore, to get a chirpy lad on the forklift to do the unloading.

Tipped and away in thirty minutes he was pulling out of the wood yard just before 10.30.

One of the owner-drivers who'd subbed for him in the early days had put him onto the load exchange service when he'd bumped into him in the pub a couple of weeks ago. Time to put the claims to the test.The exchange reckoned to text you direct with loads in your area.

It sounded simple enough. For a monthly fee, they looked after everything. Credit checked the firm, invoicing. chasing money, the lot.You just registered your requirements and the call centre did the rest. It sounded too good to be true, but everyone who'd dealt with them reckoned they were first rate.

"mt bristo144t csider 2 leeds" he keyed into the phone along with his reference number and pressed send. Fifteen minutes later and still nothing, after thirty agonising minutes the phone finally beeped into life.The message came back "load Yale, call 0123340455".

Just around the corner, brilliant. He called the number and the voice on the end explained it was a full load of tumble driers to an electrical firm in Wakefield. £220.That'll do. Sadly no one had explained he'd have to handball the lot this would test the bruised hand! Two sweaty hours later, he was finally ready to go.

Wiping the sweat from his brow he fired up the 12-litre engine and made for the exit.The past 15 years behind the desk hadn't much called for physical labour. His muscles were aching, but there was a sense of fulfilment from the exercise.And he liked it.

He took a deep breath. No fags and, for the first time in a long while, no worries. Of course.there'd be troubled times ahead. What if he got ill or the truck broke down? But he'd take it in his stride.

Winding northwards back up the M5 for home, the sun chinked through the clouds as it made its way to the horizon.The first signs of light. Christmas was just three days away, and it was going to be one of the best in a long, long time... •