Page 2 of Insomnia

2.

ELEVEN DAYS UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY

Work is busy. By ten forty-five I’ve had two conferences, dealt with some billing, and returned calls to three more clients to calmly explain that I can’t make the courts work any quicker, nor can I speed up responses from their partners’ solicitors, however infuriating the delays might be, and that each time I have to call to reassurethem,it’s costing them money. People always seem to be hastier to exit a marriage than they ever were to get into one.

I check my mobile. There are three missed calls from a number I don’t know, but whoever it is will have to wait. I’ve got something else to deal with first. Alison.

There’s a knock at my door and I take a deep breath. Alison is never easy.

“Come in.”

Alison Canwick is in her mid-fifties and of the mind-set that age in and of itself brings authority, and the fact that she’s been a solicitor for a lot longer than me should supersede the fact that she’s junior to me. If I make partner, she might actually kill me.

“Well done with the ex Mrs. McGregor.” I smile as I wave her to a seat she doesn’t take. “She must be happy with the result.”

“As happy as someone can be when their husband of thirty years has run off into his sunset with a woman the same age as their eldest daughter.”

Just take the praise,I want to say. Alison’s forte is angry wives who want vengeance. I’m not even sure they alldowant vengeance, but Alison fires them up to go for broke, just as she did herself when her husband left her for another woman ten years ago. Maybe if she stopped fueling rage in others, her own might fade. As it is, the McGregor result was all right, but it wasn’t entirely in her client’s favor. I only complimented her to try to smooth what I’m about to say.

“Well, yes, there is that.” I sit even though she’s still standing. “It’s about your billable hours,” I say, and her face tightens.Here we go.“You’ve been below eighty percent for two weeks now, and I thought I’d check that you weren’t under any pressures that we don’t—”

“I’m sure that stupid computer program doesn’t always log everything right.”

“Please, Alison, let me finish.” That’s the other thing. Alison is never wrong. Nor can she ever admit weakness. “I’m not pulling you up on it,” I lie, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. You’re normally so good at hitting the targets.” To be fair to her, that last is true. She’s quite competitive and she might not always be on top of things, but she definitely knows we need to be at 80 percent minimum of our working hours being ones we can charge for.

“I’m fine,” she says, disgruntled. “I’ll make sure it’s better from now on.”

“Any problems, I’m here to help.” The moment the words come out I can see it was the wrong thing to say. Her jaw tightens and her eyes flash with indignation.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” She squeezes the words out through gritted teeth.

A second knock at the door saves us both. Rosemary, my secretary, also in her fifties but someone who oozes warmth and joy at the world, comes in carrying a large vase of roses.

“Just look at these!” She takes them straight to the decorative table by the window. They are beautiful, at least twenty blooms.

“For me?” I’m confused. It’s not a special occasion and Robert would never buy me roses. He knows I’d rather have a plant that carries on living instead of something that’s condemned to rot even when it looks so beautiful.

Alison is lingering, curious, and I can’t be bothered to tell her to leave.

“This was in with the bouquet.” Rosemary hands me a card. Oh god, Parker Stockwell.“Once again, thank you. And if you ever feel like that dinner, just call. Parker x.”

I groan and where Rosemary looks at me quizzically, Alison is all knowingly snide. “Let me guess, Mr. Stockwell?” She turns and leaves, with an air of victory somehow, which irritates me more.

“I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t such a creep,” I say as I look at the flowers. “Asking me out for dinner. I don’t think he was expecting a no, even though I’m married.”

“I should imagine he doesn’t get many nos.”

“True. But he’s definitely not my type.” I take a deep breath and cross Alison off my diary schedule for the day. “Maybe I should set him up with Alison.” I laugh a little at the thought. “Why does she have to be such hard work?”

“She’s jealous, that’s all it is,” Rosemary says. “You’re younger, more successful, have a lovely family, and—ah, that reminds me—your sister called. She said she’s tried your mobile a few times. She wants you to call her back. As soon as possible, she said.”

Phoebe.

The flowers, and Alison, and my busy day, and my lack of sleep are suddenly all forgotten. Phoebe’s called. I bring up the missed calls on my phone from the unknown number. A UK number. Phoebe. My sister. She’s back. And the only thing I can think is...Why now? Why so close to my birthday?

3.

I’m at the hospital. Ward fifteen. You’d better come.

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