‘Did I leave the keys in the door?’ I ask myself several times in the car.
I can’t search my bag while driving, and they’re not where I normally put them.
‘They must be in my bag,’ I convince myself, but yet no, I still have this horrible feeling I’ve left them in the door.
I’m five minutes away from work, but this annoying thought festers in my mind. What if someone is able to get in the house because I was stupid enough to leave them in the door.
Unable to take it any longer, I turn around at the roundabout and head back home. The early morning frost catches my breath, as I finally stop. I go to the door, but there is nothing there. I check it’s locked, and it is.
Now I look at my watch; I’ll be late for work, but if I hadn’t of checked it would have bugged me all day. The last time it happened I couldn’t concentrate on my work.
I open the car door, and look down. In the compartment, along with an old pack of chewing gum, a crumpled receipt and my brain are my house keys.