‘You’re a genius and a saint,’ she says. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
I laugh. ‘My pleasure.’
I swing my legs out of bed and shove my feet into my shoes, gather up my phone and a jumper and head for the door.
‘Callum?’ She’s already sounding sleepy.
‘Mmm?’
‘Did I say thank you?’
OhGod, I love her smile.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You did. But if you remember, I owe you. And you’re the one driving so you need the sleep.’
‘Mmm.’ She’s slid down the bed and turned on her side and her long lashes are against her cheek. Her breathing is going rhythmic-sleepy before I even have the door fully open.
I have to battle with myself not to go over to her bed and basically tuck her in.
‘Night,’ I say instead. ‘You should lock the door from inside.’
She just wriggles a bit in the bed, so I step outside and close the door very quietly behind me, before locking it on my side and sliding the key under the door.
I wander around, tiptoe-fashion, for a couple of minutes before finding a communal lounge area, where I settle myself in a (fairly) comfortable armchair.
It’s now heading towards foura.m. and sitting in the chair free of Emma’s presence I’m finally very sleepy.
I wake up to broad daylight, a cricked neck (and possibly a bit of a dribble; sleeping upright is not flattering) and one of the monks standing next to me with a concerned look on his face.
Before he has the chance to enquire about the state of my marriage or anything else, I stand up and say, ‘I got locked out of the room going to the loo and didn’t want to wake my wife, so I decided to wait here until she woke up, but I must have nodded off. I’ll go and wake her now. Good morning.’
On my way to the room, I check my phone and see that it’s now quarter past eight, so hopefully it isn’t too early for Emma to wake up, despite our very late night.
Obviously, I genuinely am in fact locked out, having put my key under the door, so I knock to wake Emma. No response. I knock again. Then I phone. Then I knock really loudly. I know that logically of course she’s fine but worry’s clawing at the edges of my brain, so I give the door a huge hammering and accompany it with a bit of a shout.
Two other doors along the corridor open before I hear Emma’s muffled voice saying, ‘Yes?’
I smile at the heads poking out of the other rooms while I say, ‘Would you be able to let me in?’
Emma says something that sounds likeUnphnh, and nothing happens.
I knock again, and finally hear a thud inside and then the key rattles in the lock and the door’s opened.
‘Morning.’ I smile.
She blinks at me, heavy-lidded, and staggers back to her bed where she burrows back under the covers.
‘Time?’ she asks.
‘Eight fifteen.’
‘Too early.’ She pulls a pillow over her head.
‘Itisearly,’ I concede, ‘if you’ve been up late. But also it isn’t that early if you have to get washed in a not-very-up-to-date bathroom, breakfasted, packed, back to the van and over to the garage before setting off on a long journey.’
Emma mumbles something that I can’t make out and I sit down on my bed.
‘What?’ I ask.
