Page 68 of Insomnia

The big day.

The first thing I realize is that I’m freezing; my sodden clothes are clinging to my skin. I’m still standing in the small space at the end of the bed, and my legs almost crumple under me as soon as I take a step forward, they’re so tired and stiff. I can hear the shower running and I go to turn it off. The water’s freezing, set to cold. I have no recollection of being in the shower, only of being wet. The phone starts ringing again. Michelle. I don’t answer it. I can live without her ranting at me as if it’s all my fault that her husband sleeps around. And if she’s not ranting, I don’t have the energy for her emotional upset. Let her talk to Robert. He’s her friend after all. I’ve got enough of my own shit to deal with.

I glance at the mirror above the kettle. The numbers are written in pink lipstick in three lines. 222113155218222. I vaguely remember doing that. A flash of my reflection, hair hanging over my face as I muttered and scribbled. I could have been my mother.I look back at the unslept-on bed. The only thing disturbed is the pillow on the floor.

I start to cry then, and I keep crying as I peel off my clothes and stand in a hot shower trying to warm up, my whole body shivering and shaking. Fractured moments of the night come back to me. Pacing. Singing.Look, look, a candle, a book and a bell...Staring out at the night. It’s me but not me.

The truth is clear in my head. They’re all right and I’m wrong. I am the cuckoo in the nest. I am the threat to my family. What will I do to them tonight? What am I capable of in these lost moments? Is this how my mother felt? This terror?

“I just want to sleep,” I whisper, over and over.

Finally, the tears stop. I know what I have to do. I’m going to go and sit with Phoebe. I’m going to hold my sister’s hand until she wakes up.Please wake up, Phoebe.Then I’m going to apologize to her, tell her I love her, tell her how grateful I am that she was my big sister and made me feel safe when I was small. I’m going to tell her how sorry I am that we lost our way, and then I’m going to drive myself to the nearest private psychiatric facility, hand over my credit card, and tell them to keep me for my own and everyone else’s safety.

I feel calmer as soon as I’ve made the decision. I’mnotmy mother and I have the benefit of hindsight. I know what she did and I will not repeat the mistakes of the past. I’m numb as I start to dress, going through the motions, my new zen doing nothing to ease my crushing exhaustion.

My own family can wait until I’m better. I won’t try to speak to them today. No good can come of that. As long as my children are safe, that’s all that matters. I need to get past tonight. Somewhere safe. Somewhere locked up.

There are two birthday texts on my phone, one from Darcy and one from Rosemary. I don’t answer either. I don’t have space for other people. I barely have space for me.

In the end, I don’t even try to clean the mirror but leave a twenty-pound note under a cup for whoever does the rooms. The rest isn’t too bad. The bathroom floor is wet from the shower running with no curtain and I’ve shoved my soaking clothes into the bin, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty of discussions at reception about the strange woman who stayed in room sixteen, but in this price bracket and this close to the station, they’ll have undoubtedly seen worse. And at least they don’t know my name.

It’s quiet in the hospital and almost deathly silent in the room where Phoebe lies so still in the bed. A few days ago, my mother gripped my arm from her hospital bed, and here I am, gripping Phoebe’s hand, as if she, with her bandaged head and broken body, can somehow be an anchor for me. Maybe I should go outside and throw myself under a bus. Break my bones. Keep my family safe. Whenever I close my eyes, I see my hands on a pillow. And I see that pillow going over Will’s face.

“What’s happening to me, Phoebe?” I whisper. “I can’t keep hold of anything in my head.”

She doesn’t answer, and I go back to singing softly. I know all the lyrics, but I don’t know how. My throat is dry. I must have been singing quietly for hours.

“Look, look, a candle, a book and a bell. There to remind me.”

Beside the bed there’s a cup of tea a nurse brought me a while back. It’s gone cold. I don’t think it’s the first. They’re worried about me too. I’ve been here for hours, not moving. My hand is numb in Phoebe’s, but I’m scared to let go. That if I do, I’ll be lost and won’tfind my way back. I don’t want to hurt my family, and yet I can feel the cotton of the pillow and a cold rage in my heart, and if I don’t stay focused, what’s in my head will be real.

Maybe I can jump from a window somewhere here? End it. Outside, night is falling. The night of my fortieth birthday.

Help me, Phoebe,I think.It’s getting late and I’m afraid.

She’s stays silent, a broken sleeping beauty. I hold her hand and I drift as time washes over me. What will be, will be. The music is my companion. Hours pass. I drift again.

“Emma?”

My eyes flash open. I don’t know where I am for a minute. Did I sleep? Was Iabsent? My hand is still gripping Phoebe’s, but now she’s gently squeezing back. I look at the clock. It’s past midnight. My heart thrums and I feel spaces in my head cracking, wanting me to fall through again, but I focus on my sister. She’s awake. This isn’t some weirdness in my head. This is real.

“Phoebe?” I lean forward, tears filling my eyes in an instant. “Oh god, Phoebe.” Her eyes are open but bleary, still woozy with drugs and no doubt a lot of pain. She swallows carefully.

“Do you want anything? Water? Shall I get the nurse?” I want to burst in this moment of joy. She’s woken up and she’s here. She can talk. She can think. Maybe there is no permanent damage done.

A barely imperceptible shake of her head. “I saw you,” she whispers, and my heart drops to my stomach as she pauses for breath and energy.Was it me? Did I do it?

“You were farther along the road, I saw you coming and then someone pushed me. Were you there or did I dream it?”

I almost laugh with relief. I didn’t push her. It wasn’t me. I bring my chair closer. I want to be as close to her as possible. Mydarling big sister, who held my hand as we ran to safety. “I was there,” I say, kissing her hand. “I wanted to say sorry.” It’s a lie, but if I could change the past that is what would happen. “I’m sorry for accusing you of all those things. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Phoebe.” I’m snotty with tears, and she gives my hand another weak squeeze.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Emma.” She’s struggling to get the words out, wheezing them as much as speaking. “Some of it was true. I said some terrible things to our mother. I couldn’t help myself. I get so angry about it all still. I didn’t expect her to...” Her face distorts slightly, emotional, so unlike Phoebe, and I wish I could scoop her up and hug her tight.

“It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault. Shit just happens. You didn’t know what she’d do.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I know. I didn’t either.”

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