"Um, Matt?" said Rob, looking at me, puzzled. I slipped the keys into my pocket and moved away from the cupboard. There were only a few minutes before the Calcot service was supposed to begin and I'd managed to stash all the instrument cases and cable boxes away, just in time, neatly turning the key and locking the large walk-in storage area with a flick of the wrist and a jangle of keys.
"Yep?" I said, happily, turning to Rob.
"I think you've..."
He didn't need to finish his sentence. Lesley was gently calling my name... from inside the cupboard.
I suppose it might be exhaustion catching up with me. Is it possible to be more tired than you actually realise? I mean what if the part of your brain that calculates how tired you are, is so tired that it can't do any calculating? Like a faulty oil light on the dashboard it just sort of flickers off until your engine crunches to a halt in the middle of nowhere.
Actually, that did happen to me once - on the M40, in a Vauxhall Nova. Paul and I pushed it up a slip road. I still think about it whenever I drive past Warwick Services. I never go in though.
"Oh it's alright, dear," said Lesley, peering up from her Bible, over her reading glasses. It turned out that she was getting some quiet time before leading the service. I apologised like you wouldn't believe.
"I guess when it says to go into a locked room to pray, it doesn't mention who's supposed to do the locking," I said, trying to be funny. I backed out of the cupboard. Rob was chuckling to himself.
I think I need some sleep.
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