Tiverton Southbound by Matthew Roy Davey

‘Tiredness can kill. Take a break.’

The sign expanded, glowing in the beam of headlamps, and was gone.

The lights in the darkness were beginning to blur; the flecks of winding taillights, the flickering ribbon of the lane markers, merging to one. He put on some Iron Maiden to drown the hum of the engine and lowered the window for an inrush of air. The icy blast stopped him yawning. He blinked and leaned forwards.

And then another sign, miraculous.

‘Services 6m’.

He’d been wondering if he needed to pull onto the hard shoulder, but six miles was doable, he could stay awake that long. The temptation was to speed up, get there quickly, but he knew it was dangerous. Stay in the granny lane. Slow and steady wins the race. Kim was expecting him, had said she’d wait up, and he’d told Freddie they’d have breakfast together tomorrow. He’d get to the services, pull over in the carpark and sleep for half an hour. Then a coffee. After that, he’d be fit for the last sixty miles.

But as soon as he pulled into the parking bay, an overwhelming urge to piss gripped him. So much for the rest. He got out, wondering if he could relieve himself by the side of the car. Glancing around, he realised that, despite the hour, there were too many people. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he made his way towards the building.

It was busy inside, far busier than he’d expected at that time of night. He followed the sign for the toilet. Didn’t they used to be by the entrance? Nowadays they seemed to position them as far as possible from the doors. So that you had to pass all the outlets, he supposed.

He hurried past the shuttered shops, the arcade, its fruit machines blinking and driving games on playback mode. Why anyone would want to have a go on one of those after spending hours behind the wheel was beyond him.

Next to the arcade was a coconut shy. A stubbly man in a striped T-shirt called over, asking him to try his luck. He shook his head and smiled. Stuffed toys hung behind the coconuts. Maybe he’d give it a try on his way back through, win something for Freddie.

He found a urinal without neighbours. Why were there so many people? His piss seemed to take forever, but it felt good. As he was zipping up and walking over to the sink he saw a familiar face and, after a moment, realised it was a teacher from school. Mr Lear. He’d taught Physics, had been the terror of the hallways. Their eyes met and Mr Lear smiled and nodded. He nodded back. It couldn’t be Mr Lear. He must be dead by now. He’d seemed old back in school. Frowning, he wiped his hands on the seat of his trousers and walked out of the toilets.

The coconut shy had closed and it was much quieter on the concourse. Darker too. Where had everyone gone? He walked into the arcade, climbed into the seat of a driving game – ‘Nite Rider’ – and put a coin in the slot.

The game was dull at first, lines of traffic travelling at the same speed; however hard he pressed the accelerator, he couldn’t speed up. He began jabbing at the pedal, wondering if the game wasn’t working properly. And then it kicked in, the speed, but this time he couldn’t stop it, it just kept going faster. He whipped the car in and out of the lanes, into the gaps, out again. And then he lost it, began veering from one lane to the next, bashing into cars on either side, the violent swerving travelling into the seat itself until the vehicle careened off the carriageway, mounted the verge and flipped. There was a brief moment of silence, whistling, before the car landed on its roof and the air filled with pebbles of glass before the ceiling collapsed, crushing his spine.

Matthew Roy Davey

Image – Google images – Motorway sign saying tiredness can kill take a break