It was the gently rhythmical sobbing coming from the bathroom that woke him.
It wasn't a child, nor did it convey danger or injury, so there was no impulse to jump out of bed but all the same, it woke him.
The clock on the TV said it wasn't even 6pm, so when he opened his eyes there was none of the usual 6am de-blurring and in an instant, he was wide awake.
Without moving his head, he scanned for a familiar comfort but nothing checked out. From the view through the window over the lake to the framed street scene on the wall, onto the strange set of car keys resting on the room-service menu and the bleakness of the limp duvet - nothing welcomed him.
Hell, as his arm flopped over the edge of the bed to fumble for his watch, he realised this wasn't even his side of the bed.
He rolled over and embraced the pile of pillows that had earlier done so well to muffle the verses of passion that were being sung with such intent. Catching sight of himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door he recalled the previous reflection he had seen and marvelled at how big his hands had seemed when spread across her back.
Through the half-open door of the bathroom, he could see the legs that had grasped him with such frenzy barely two hours ago were now drawn in tight to her chest, her knees no longer supporting two bodies but simply a resting place for her tear-stained cheeks.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he began to pick through the discarded clothes looking for his shirt like the council men at the tip until the zzzip zzzip of his mobile told him supper would be ready at 8 before asking him if he had won.
The room around him was as bleak as death itself, with the smell of stale wine mixed with sweat and shampoo, tainted by the slowly dawning realisation that some things are best left unsaid, even if it was already too late to leave them undone.
Collecting his wallet and making a half-hearted attempt to tuck in his shirt he walked out of the room, pausing only to close the door gently behind him before sprinting down the maze of corridors and out to the fresh air of the car park.
The discarded sweet wrappers in the footwell, the High School Musical CD on the seat, the colouring books in the pouches and the dog leads in the boot all welcomed him back to his world and after texting back 'a bit sticky on the A1 - home at 8.30' he headed South once more.
