Page 46 of Insomnia

“I have done nothing to hurt Will. All this stuff with the drawings. Maybe Will could have overheard you telling Robert about our past? Seems like you’ve been talking to a lot of people.”

“He didn’t overhear us,” she says.

“Then you must have told him!” I snap loudly. People look over at us but I don’t care. “Like you probably slashed my tire and you’re probably trying to fuck my husband. Still jealous after all these years. Maybeyoueven suffocated Mum. You’re pathetic! There’s no other explanation. You! You’re doing this to me.”

She stares at me, cold, expression unreadable, and then she leans forward. “But it’s not the only explanation, is it?” Her voiceis soft. Controlled. Terrifying. “And certainly not the obvious one. When are you forty, Emma? Monday? You’re not sleeping. You’re behaving erratically. Need I go on? What’s the obvious explanation here? What would you believe?”

She straightens up, turning to smile as Will comes running up to the gate, waiting for the coach to open it. She looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and she doesn’t glance my way as she says, words like ice, “Now leave before Will comes out and I won’t tell Robert I saw you. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

I stumble back to my car, the wind knocked from my lungs, and my face is burning as I slam the door. I want to ring Robert and scream accusations and hurt at him, but I’ll wait. When Darcy gets the camera footage from the hospital exit, then both he and my bitch sister can eat some humble pie. And Robert can fuck off if he thinks he’s getting that bar.

My phone rings and when I see it’s an unknown number I can’t answer it fast enough, thinking it’s Darcy again, but it’s not.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Parker. I called the office yesterday and they said you were having some problems at home.” Oh god. Parker Stockwell.

“Everything’s fine, actually.” I watch Will head toward Robert’s car, hand in hand with Phoebe—has he already insured her to drive it?—oblivious to my presence. As she smiles down at him, the urge to run and strangle her is almost overwhelming. I’m like a tigress whose cubs are under threat.My family, Phoebe. Mine.

“I like when you act tough,” Stockwell continues, smarmy smooth in my ear. “But everyone needs a shoulder to cry on sometimes. Look, the boys are staying at school this weekend. Why don’t you come over? I could cook you dinner. Or get the cook to cook you dinner.”

In Robert’s car I see Phoebe laughing at something as shemakes sure Will is strapped in. How easily she’s sliding into my place beside my son.

“Emma? Are you still there?”

My rage bubbles over down the phone line. I snap. “Why did you take the children from Miranda if you never have them? And no, I don’t want to come for dinner. I have never given you a moment’s encouragement that I might want to socialize with you now that your divorce is done—”

“You came out for dinner,” he cuts in, like a sullen schoolboy.

“Because Buckleymademe, which I’m also livid about, because it smacks of sexism and the worst of 1970s behavior. What is wrong with you men? Grow up and get over yourselves.” I hang up and then immediately block his number. My whole body is shaking.I like it when you act tough.What the actual fuck? I’m pure rage as I screech the car back onto the road.

38.

I’m outside Caroline’s house again, and once more not exactly sure how I got here. It’s past five so I’ve been driving around the city for about two hours, raging in my head. Two hours? It feels more like thirty minutes. Have I had one of my lost time moments whiledriving? I bang my head against the headrest, angry and upset, and then close my eyes for a few seconds. I’m so tired. How can I think straight?

I look again at the terraced houses on the other side of the road. Why have I driven here again? I barely know the woman. I’ve only met her twice, and the first time I was rude and the next I basically forced her to have lunch with me. So why have I driven here? Is she the best option I have for a friend right now? It’s a terrible thing to admit but outside of work colleagues and school mums I don’t have many—if any—friends at all. I got caught up with Robert too soon, and I had too many hang-ups about people’s transience after foster care. But Caroline did text me back, so she must have enjoyed the lunch a little bit. Maybe she’s lonely too. I stare at the door some more.

This is stupid. I can’t sit here outside her house all night, and neither can I bring myself to get out and knock. I should pick up a takeaway and go back to the hotel. Watch some TV. Hope to sleep. I’m about to start the car when her front door opens and she steps out onto the path, staring at my car.

Shit.

She comes a few steps up the path and pauses, frowning. Shit, she knows it’s me. I get out, the only thing I can do other than drive away, which really would make me look crazy, and hesitantly cross the road.

“Caroline,” I say.

“I saw you out here before, parked. I don’t know what you—”

Oh god, she saw me.

“I’m so sorry, you must think, well I don’t know what you must think, I just—well.” I pause then. Her eyes are red and puffy. Has she been crying? “Are you okay? Has something happened to your mum?”

“No. No, nothing like that. Stuff at work.”

She sniffs and I think she’s only a couple of breaths away from sobbing again. “I’m sorry if I worried you,” I say. “I was passing and basically just wondering if you fancied some company and maybe a takeaway. You tell me your problems, I’ll tell you mine? I’m a lawyer. I’m perfectly normal. I promise.”

After a long, almost awkward moment she gives me a wan smile. “Okay. I’m sorry I overreacted. I had a problem with a man once. He used to sit outside the house, right there. It freaked me out.”

“It’s my fault. I should have sent a text.”

Once we’ve finished apologizing to each other, she leads me inside. It smells of clean paint and the hallway floor looks freshly polished and varnished. No wonder she’s tired if she’s been doing all this on top of nursing.

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