I Hate Mondays (Prologue I)

September 19, 1994 — 5:00 AM | Aylesford, Kent

Monday morning greeted Aylesford in perhaps the most British way imaginable: cold, grey, and covered in a fine drizzle—not quite heavy enough to justify an umbrella, but more than enough to thoroughly ruin your mood.

"Hey, Peter! The pipes are loaded and secured!" Jack called from the half-open window of his forklift.

Peter pulled the collar of his work jacket higher and looked over the loaded trailer.

"Jack, you can't be serious!" he shouted as Jack started towards the next lorry. "This load's way too heavy!"

"Orders from above. If you've got a problem with it, take it up with the boss!"

"For fuck's sake!"

Jack didn't even bother turning around. He simply stuck one arm out of the window and gave Peter the middle finger.

Peter stared after him. "What an arsehole." As if being stuck with an overloaded lorry wasn't bad enough, apparently it was his problem now too. He climbed into the cab and slammed the door behind him. "I hate Mondays," he muttered.

He started the engine and pulled away, still cursing Jack and his boss under his breath. The last time he had refused a load because it was too heavy, they had punished him with the worst routes for weeks afterwards, and he had no intention of going through that again.

Still distracted, Peter turned through the gate a little too sharply and clipped the kerb. The entire cab jolted beneath him.

"Ah, damn!" He straightened the lorry and rubbed a hand over his face. "I really need a coffee."

Peter continued down the road, completely unaware that the jolt had loosened one of the straps securing the heavy steel pipes to the trailer.

***

5:00 AM | Maidstone, Kent

Meanwhile, only a few miles away, the day was slowly beginning in Maidstone as well.

Lights were already glowing inside a small but cosy two-storey house on the outskirts of town. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, with its narrow driveway and small front garden, but it was more than enough for the family of three who called it home.

"Dan, are you sure you've got everything?" a woman's voice called from upstairs.

"Yes, sweetheart! How many times are you going to ask? We're only waiting for you!" Daniel Bennett called back from the front door. "The suitcases are in the car, and I've got the money, passports and tickets in the backpack."

The strongly built man in his early thirties ran a hand through his short, dark hair before checking the pockets of his jacket one last time.

"Dad?"

Daniel looked down at his four-year-old son. Oliver still looked half-asleep, his brown hair sticking out in every direction.

"Yeah, son?"

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"Why does Mum always take so long?"

"Mum doesn't take long. Time just moves faster in the bathroom," Daniel replied with a broad grin.

"Very funny."

The grin disappeared from Daniel's face. He turned towards the stairs and found Sarah standing there with one eyebrow raised.

"I was just explaining how time works."

"Of course you were." Sarah walked down the last few steps, giving him a quick kiss as she passed. "I'm ready. Let's go."

"Finally!" Oliver cheered, earning a playful tap on the back of the head from his mother.

"Hey! What was that for?" he complained as they headed outside towards the car.

***

6:00 AM | Maidstone Services, M20

Peter's week had not exactly got off to a good start. As if the nonsense at the depot hadn't been enough, some idiot had managed to block the motorway entrance, costing him another thirty minutes without his morning coffee.

By the time Peter finally reached the services, he was already far behind schedule. Instead of sitting down inside like he normally would, he headed straight for the petrol station shop, hoping to grab a coffee and get back on the road.

He walked up to the coffee machine, reached for his wallet and stopped when he noticed the handwritten sign taped across the front.

OUT OF ORDER

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Peter stared at the sign. It wasn't even seven in the morning, and he was already driving an overloaded lorry, half an hour behind schedule and standing in a motorway service station that couldn't even give him a bloody cup of coffee. Somewhere along the way, he had clearly made some questionable life choices.

"I should've studied law," he muttered.

With any hope of getting a coffee gone, Peter headed back across the car park towards his lorry. He was almost there when he noticed that something looked wrong with the load and slowed down.

One of the securing straps was hanging noticeably looser over the steel pipes than it had when he left the depot. Peter walked over to the trailer and reached for the ratchet, only to notice that part of the strap was worn and starting to tear.

He ran his thumb across the damaged section and grimaced. He should probably replace it. On any other morning, he might have done exactly that, but he was already half an hour behind schedule and the damage didn't look too bad.

Peter tightened the ratchet firmly and checked the remaining straps.

"That'll hold," he muttered. "At least until Dover."

Peter gave the damaged strap one last look before heading back towards the cab. By now, all he wanted was to get the delivery over with and go home.

"I fucking hate Mondays," he said as he climbed back into the cab.

***

M20, southeast of Maidstone | Heading towards Dover

"How much longer until Disneyland?" Oliver asked from the back seat.

Daniel glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. "About five minutes less than the last time you asked."

Sarah laughed. "We're not even in Dover yet. Try to get some more sleep, sweetheart."

A few minutes later, Oliver opened his eyes again.

"Mum?"

Sarah sighed. "Hmm?"

"I need to pee."

"I asked you before we left if you needed to go."

"I know."

Daniel laughed.

"Dan, this isn't funny. We have a ferry to catch."

"Then we'll stop for five minutes."

"Five minutes? We already left almost twenty minutes late this morning." Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

Daniel glanced at her. "And whose fault was that?"

Sarah turned towards him. "Excuse me?"

"Forget it."

"No. Go on."

Daniel sighed. "I'm just saying maybe we could relax a little. We're going on holiday, but for weeks all we've talked about is schedules, tickets and how much everything costs."

"Because everything does cost money, Dan. We've been saving for this holiday for almost two years."

"I know."

"Do you? You're the one who wanted to buy a new telly last month."

Daniel tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Oh, here we go again."

"I'm sorry," Oliver said quietly from the back seat.

Daniel glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw that he was trying not to cry.

"Hey, it's okay. Mum and I are just—"

"WATCH OUT!"

Daniel looked back at the road.

"Shit!"

There was something directly in front of them. He pulled the steering wheel hard to the right, and the car immediately began to slide on the wet road.

Sarah screamed as Daniel tried to regain control, but the rear swung around and sent them sideways across the motorway.

"HOLD ON!"

Oliver was thrown against the side of his child seat. He didn't understand what was happening. He could hear his mother screaming, the tyres on the road and then the sound of a horn somewhere ahead of them.

Daniel looked up, his eyes widening in terror.

A truck.

Right in front of them.