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I had only lain down on the couch in the darkened interior of my Winnebago, when there was a panic banging at my motor home door. I went and opened it fighting against the cold icy wind and rain to hold it open. A woman dressed only in a sari her hair in a mess and soaking wet, stood there.

In poor English “Please let me hide here, bad men want to harm me.” She blurted our casting a worried look behind her.

“Come in, Please,” I said glad to get the door closed and us separated from the outside elements.

Even though she was shivering and wet by the look on her face she was amazed at the luxury that these vehicles have.

“I am i*****l migrant, bad men brought me this country, to marry but want me to work in brothel, I run away from toilet, please hide me, no let them take me.” She pleaded.

“Well you can’t stay in those wet clothes and I have no clothes for you, what I do have is a pair of pyjamas, I will get them for you, and you change out of these wet things at the back, I won’t let the men take you.” I said trying to be the white knight in shinning armour.

To be on the safe side I thought I had better leave this rest area, but first I would have to fill my tanks. As I got into the drivers seat and swiveled it round into the driving position. I saw three dark skinned men walking around the car park in the pouring rain, no rain gear on looking for someone.

I pulled into one of the numerous filling bays and alighted to fill my tank. As I was filling the tank, one of these men approached me and asked if I had seen a woman dressed in a sari, it was his wife he said.

“Why are you looking for your wife out here in the pouring freezing rain, surely she would be sheltered in one of the warm buildings.” I replied to him.

“She would want a lift, we had a tiff.” He replied.

“Well it’s easy to get a lift here, as you see traffic is continually entering and leaving all the time.” I told him.

At this time one of his friends, a real seedy looking character appeared from behind my motor home and said, “Forget it Ali, she’s not worth it.” Then they both disappeared into the night.

I paid for my fuel, and headed north towards Edinburgh on the A1(M). Shortly after the Indian woman came forward, and I told her to sit in the passenger seat and do up her seat belt. She was dressed in my pyjamas and had let her hair down, and must have used my comb to comb it out. Her hair reached to her bottom, and was luster black.

“Now tell me what this is all about,” I asked her.