Page 35 of Insomnia

“Freddie’s mummy and daddy got divorced.” Will looks up fromhis truck. “Freddie’s dad lives with a lady called Jane now. Freddie’s mummy says Jane’s a bitch.”

Chloe barks a laugh, as I look on shocked.Bitch.

I kiss his head. “You shouldn’t use that word, it’s not nice.”

“Freddie’s mummy does.”

“We’re not getting divorced,” I tell him. “And as for the police”—I turn my attention back to Chloe—“that is all a mistake. And I’m sorry I kept—” start to apologize and then pause, feeling a sudden heat in my belly. What the hell am I apologizing for?

“No, actually, I’mnotsorry I kept my mother a secret.” My tone is sharper. “It wasmybusiness.Mypast. From long before you were born. And just because you are my child does not mean I have to tell you everything—or even tell your father everything—that went before. I’m sure I don’t know all your secrets.” I see her falter a little then. She’s a teenager—her life must be one big tangle of secrets. “And trust me, life is complicated, Chloe. We don’t all have the advantage of being cocky teenagers who know everything.”

She glares at me for a long moment. “God, I can’t wait to get out of here,” she mutters before turning and flouncing out to the hallway and leaving us with a slam of the front door.

“What is a bitch anyway?” Will asks, and all the questions I have for my husband about where he’s been going and what he’s been doing are going to have to wait.

“I’m so sorry, Angus.” I’m in his office, giving him my most disarming smile, looking neat and professional, and I’ve put some expensive highlighter under my eyes to battle the dark shadows. “But someone tried to break into the house. Left a mess.” I’m still feeling bullish after my spat with Chloe and I don’t see why I should tell Buckley what’s really happened given that I haven’t done anything wrong.

“Whoever it was—they think perhaps some teenagers who’ve been seen hanging around the cricket pitch at night—tried Robert’s car too. They needed me to come home to make sure nothing of mine was missing. And calm Will down, of course. I think the broken glass scared him. Well, it would, wouldn’t it?”

I’ve got caffeine jitters but my mind is thankfully clear. The mornings have become like crisp clear water after the muddy mental bogs of the night. Can you just go mad at night? Is that possible? Things are always worse at night, that’s what my foster mother, Rachel, used to say when she’d comfort me before I woke her own kids with my screaming. Maybe she had a point.

“To be honest it stressed me too,” I add. “We need to get some CCTV cameras.”

Angus Buckley’s expression doesn’t change, not even a murmur of sympathy, which is very much out of character, and I feel a prickle of sweat under my blouse when he finally meets my eyes. He looks very awkward and uncomfortable.

“The police were here early this morning,” he says. “They’ve just left. They were asking some questions about you. When you’ve been in the office, what time you left, that kind of thing.” He pauses. “Not the sort of questions one would ask regarding a burglary.”

Oh, those bastards.My face flushes. “I see. Well, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m sure you haven’t.” Now that I’m on the back foot, he’s regaining his usual confidence. “But until whatever it is has been cleared up, perhaps you should take a couple of days off.”

“I’m fine to be at work.”

“It wasn’t a request, Emma.” He pauses. Is that wariness in his expression? “At the very least,” he says, “consider it bereavement leave. For the loss of your mother.” The words land anvil heavy in the room.

“They told you about her?”

“They mentioned the nature of their inquiries, yes. Look, your family life is not my business, Emma—”

“Well, it seems to me like you’re making it your business—”

“Untilit impacts on our practice. And last night I was left highly embarrassed at dinner with a client who could bring a lot of business to us.”

I stare at him. All the shit I’ve got going on, and his nose is out of joint because of dinner? “Oh, come on,” I say, all apology gone from my tone. “You only had me at that dinner because Stockwell wants to shag me.Youwere embarrassed? I felt like a slab of steak being held out as an offering. Which, now I’m thinking about it, I should probably make some sort of complaint about.”

His gaze turns to stone. The company prides itself on its equality policies even if we all know that Friday nights can get a bittouchy,at worst, and mansplainyat best after one too many in the bar.

“Go home, Emma.” His voice is low and cold. “I’ll call you in a couple of days. Let’s not make this worse than it should be.”

“Wow, Angus. You haven’t even asked me how I am or what happened. But fine. I’ll go home.” I turn on my heel and try to keep my back straight, even though my legs are shaking. “Thanks for the support.”

Home? The last place I want to be right now is at home. Not with Robert there, probably compiling a list of questions about my past and going through my clothes, picking my best prison wardrobe. And what if Will said something to him on the way to school about finding me in the cupboard last night?

In my office I gather what I need—a few case file notes I need to catch up on, a notepad, paper, and my spare laptop charger—and am cramming it all into my bag when Rosemary comes in.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “We don’t normally have that kind of excitement here so early. I’m presuming that whatever it is, it’s all some misunderstanding.” She gives me a smile but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Not really surprised, given that I asked her to type up a Dictaphone tape full of whispered numbers only days ago.

“Family stuff.” I grab my desk diary too.

---