The Blue Truck

Paul Bradley

Robbie started his old Fiesta on the fifth attempt and headed for Lipton on sea. It was a favourite destination in the summer as a lad when the whole family would catch an open top bus near the estate laden with crisps, banana sandwiches, vimto, buckets and spades.  He drove robotically, deep in thought.  His recent girlfriend had found someone new and changed her relationship status on facebook, news that had reached him through an e-mail update. He’d been unable to resist looking at her pictures of joy with this new, immaculately dressed happy man. One was taken at the restaurant Robbie and Linda had visited on their very first date. Comments from mutual friends congratulated her on finally finding that special someone she deserved. Some of those same friends had asked Robbie in person what he thought about the news and had done so, each of them, with a keen eye for his response. One friend pursued the subject straight away, barely able to conceal his glee. Robbie had acted casually, claiming her right to do as she pleases. Once it’s over it’s over. He unfollowed Linda on Facebook so that he would not receive any posts and deactivated his account temporarily.

Then there was that smug fellow at work who had been given the supervisor job they had both applied for at the tile factory recently. The same fellow whose family had been the first on the estate to buy their house under Thatcher’s right to buy scheme and immediately repainted the front door so everyone knew about it. A brusque handshake from his rival and a ‘better luck next time’ spoken with fake solemnity did nothing to diminish the hope that the new supervisor would fail miserably in his new role. The best candidate got the job, Robbie told everyone, no point in hard feelings, just get on with it.  Around the same time he’d received a phone call from his parents inviting him to his younger sister Sheila’s forthcoming PhD award ceremony.  Of course he would attend, nothing would stop him, she’d done well and worked hard. Not bad for a girl from a council estate, the rough end of it too where unwanted furniture rots in the gardens. Robbie had dropped out of university but everyone could be proud of Sheila the achiever.  Dr Sheila, no less.

Arriving at Lipton on sea, Robbie parked up and headed for the beach past the old harbour. It was just warm enough for an ice cream so he treated himself to a double scoop of vanilla with raspberry sauce at the kiosk.  The beach was relatively busy considering the kids were now back in school after the summer holidays. There were dog walkers and couples strolling along the golden stretch to the cliffs and back and a few brave surfers in wet suits out on the waves.  The hypnotic throb of motorboats and jet skis in the middle distance mingled with the more immediate mocking cackle of gulls to create a mood conducive to reflection. He sat on the steps of a battered old beach hut, leant back with his legs out straight, finished his ice cream and wiped his beard with a shirt cuff.

A man prone to low moods, Robbie decided to put his library self help book techniques to good use by applying them to his current concerns.  Linda was entitled to go out with who she pleases. His secret hope that her new relationship with happy man would end in tears represented the dark side of human nature where jealousy, envy and anger cloud the real picture.  In all honesty, Robbie had taken Linda for granted. She had often texted him asking him about his day and he’d regularly chosen not to reply out of sheer awkwardness or to keep her on her toes. Her sister told him that Linda likes yellow flowers but he’d never bought her any.  Linda loved parties and people and Robbie made every excuse not to get involved.  She’d held a fancy dress party and he’d turned up reluctantly dressed as himself.  Linda had been half amused, telling him he’d turned up as a miserable scruffy kill joy.  He moaned about the cost of anything and insisted on regular nights alone in his flat so that he could do his own thing such as watching tele with a take away.  From her point of view she could do much better and his insistence that this was just a see how it goes relationship must have jarred.  He’d needed to raise his game, hadn’t bothered and was now mired in self pity and resentment. He would send an e-mail to Linda wishing her well and thank her for the time they had together.  Her heart was true and she’d been good to him. However, he would be kind to his own tired heart and continue to not follow her and stay deactivated on Facebook until he felt more able to bear it. No harm in that.

The new supervisor, Robbie decided, was probably better suited to the role.  When applying for the job it had become obvious to Robbie that deep down he didn’t really want it and his preparation had been purposefully casual. Too much responsibility dealing with half hearted staff, complaints, shift rotas, deadlines, targets and a demanding management team.  The money wasn’t that much better than the assembly line and Robbie had never been comfortable with work stress. Good luck to the new supervisor and plod on.  There would be other jobs to apply for and a forthcoming winter break would make the world seem better.

With regards to Sheila, his feeling of pride for his sister was stronger than jealousy. It wasn’t her fault that he had flunked University.  Robbie had drunk himself stupid when he should have been applying himself and his late assignments were poorly crafted with little meaningful research. Sheila has dyslexia and had overcome tremendous difficulties.  As a sister she was perfect. Always happy to see him in a way few others are and so encouraging and positive towards him.  She deserved the pride Mum and Dad felt in her. Bitterness will eat away the soul but acceptance and grace will restore the balance. Attend the ceremony, take the whole family out to dinner and make the day special.

Robbie felt very pleased with the honesty and clarity of his thought processes.  It could be that he was becoming a better person, reaching a higher plane.  He decided to see what had attracted the attention of a group of people not too far away.  They were standing near the shore looking at a blue truck that had small waves lapping around the wheels.   As he approached, he noticed that one group of people were wearing wet suits, and they were attaching a rope to the back of the vehicle.  Another group of people stood nearby watching. 

‘What’s going on?’ Robbie asked a young surfer type with a straggly pony tail and baseball cap.

‘The truck is stuck in the sand. They were trying to tow the boat out of the water on its trailer but the wheels dug into the sand and it won’t move.’

‘How come the engine is facing out to sea, surely they would pull it out from the back of the truck?’

‘You’d think so,’ said the surfer, ‘They tried that and then tried it the other way. I don’t think they know what they’re doing.’

‘Surely they don’t think they can pull the truck out of the sand with a rope?’ asked Robbie.

‘I think they want to try and prevent the wheels sinking too deeply whilst hoping some help comes along. If they don’t get it out soon the sea will have it. They were lucky, someone in a land rover got the boat out on its trailer and put it in the car park but couldn’t get the truck out.’

Robbie looked at the blue truck and its big wheels.  The sea was coming in and some of the waves were just beginning to lick around the bottom of the doors at the front.  A big man in a large red truck drove onto the sand, backed up about ten foot from the back of the crowd and waited whilst the wet suit people attached the rope to its tow bar.  A wet suit man got into the blue truck, started the engine and put it into reverse.

The red truck heaved away with the big man looking back through his side mirror whilst sand from the spinning wheels flew up in sprays and clumps.  The blue truck lurched backwards each time red truck man hit the throttle but settled back to its original position each time.  After a few minutes the rope was taken off the back of the red truck and the big man drove off apologizing from his window.  The man in the blue truck turned the engine off and splashed down into the water before heading back to the beach.

Robbie wandered over to one of the wet suit people, a young woman shivering with her arms clasped around her mid rift. She told Robbie that attempts had been made to contact local farmers in the hope that a tractor could be used but this couldn’t happen as the tractors aren’t insured to drive onto the beach.  Robbie went back to the onlookers, informed them about the tractor problem and stood in silence watching.  The wetsuits continued pulling on the rope so Robbie offered to help as did the surfer and two women.  They all pulled the rope but it seemed pointless. 

The sea soon covered the wheels and the floor of the truck completely so that it looked like it was floating.  Water was entering the engine through the grills at the front and the doors were also disappearing at the lower ends.  Robbie’s hands were beginning to chafe when he heard a rumble behind him, a cheer and some light clapping. A big yellow open tractor, all engine and tall thick tyres had arrived with a farmer in a cloth cap sat in the back holding a giant steering wheel.  He quickly reversed into position and Robbie heard him telling the wetsuits that there was no need for anyone to get into the truck; he’d have it out in no time.  Everyone moved to one side and the farmer inched forward to take the rope slack until it was taut. The tractor pulled slowly without too much throttle and the blue truck lurched out of the water onto the shore with water streaming out of the front grills. Someone opened the doors and water gushed out. The engine wouldn’t start so the farmer started pulling the truck slowly towards the ramp and over to the car park. Robbie started cheering and clapping and others joined in. The farmer tipped his cap and the crowd dispersed.

Robbie wandered over to the cliffs and back with a spring in his step. He felt even better about himself. He’d tried to help and had led the applause, making him an all round good guy.  With his concerns dealt with, Robbie decided to head back as it was getting surprisingly cloudy. The car started first time. He put on a cool Jazz CD and drifted contentedly towards home.  About half way he ran out of petrol on a dual carriageway and ended up walking along the grass verge towards the nearest station a few miles away. He was carrying an empty green plastic petrol container. The rain trickled lightly at first before turning into a full on soak that he was ill prepared for in his light jacket. 

It was only now that he fully admitted the truth of his feelings, the extent of his true bitterness.  The arrival of the yellow tractor had disappointed him.  He’d wanted the sea to claim the blue truck and to witness the distress caused.  He hoped Linda and happy man would split up once the initial honeymoon period dissolved into routine.  The new supervisor would find the role very stressful and unravel under the strain.  The graduation hall would burn down the night before Sheila’s ceremony. 

A camper van hooted its horn, there was whooping and cheering and when Robbie looked round he was greeted by the sight of bare buttocks pressed against the back window.  A smile grew on Robbie’s face. It felt good to feel himself again, human, all too human.

© Paul Bradley 2023

Paul Bradley lives and works in North Wales. He enjoys walking in the hills and mountains, cycling, reading and writing. He works as a support worker with people who have learning difficulties. At the moment he can speak a fair amount of Welsh and hopes to be fluent in the near future. Charles Bukowski is a favourite Author along with Stan Barstow, Raymond Carver and a recent discovery has been Lucia Berlin's collection of short stories 'A manual for cleaning women.' 

You can find his short story collection ‘Tales from where the wall is cracked’ - HERE