Page 20 of Insomnia

“For a minute there I thought you were asleep.” His little laugh implies that he’s still not sure I wasn’t.

“I was stretching my neck. Trying to fend off a headache. What can I do for you?” I smile brightly, although I’m still in that awful, vague no-man’s-land between asleep and properly awake.

“Parker Stockwell. He wants to bring us more business on the commercial side. He suggested we have dinner on Thursday. The three of us. He’s booked The Elderflower Garden.”

“I’ll have to check with Robert and . . .” I see his expression harden. “But I’m sure it will be fine,” I finish.

“Good.”

Great. An evening with Parker Stockwell. As Buckley closes the door I slump back in my chair and realize that is the least of my problems.I fell asleep at work. My heart thumps hard as that sinks in. This is worse than the car—at least then I’d made a conscious decision to close my eyes. This time I’d been working. And then, just like that, gone. Out like a light. How long had I been asleep? It’s one twenty. I figure I was out for maybe thirty minutes and I’m lucky no one else came into my office. I’m not sure what Rosemary would have thought after the Dictaphone incident.

My brief sleep has brought me some clarity. It’s been only five nights of insomnia but it feels like a lifetime. A long tortuous nightmare of a lifetime. I remember, suddenly, how I snapped at Will’s teacher, and then how I... Well, enough is enough. I can’t go on like this. I’ll end up getting fired. And divorced.

In the ladies’ I splash water on my face, getting too much of my hair wet as I do, and then touch up my makeup. I have only an old mascara in my bag and it clumps in my lashes. There are dark rings around my eyes and dry patches of skin on my forehead that have made my foundation flake. I look a mess, crumbling on the outside as I crumble on the inside.

You are not like her,I tell my tired reflection.

My reflection stares back at me, unconvinced, and I’m not liking what I read in her expression.There’s only one way to get past this. You have to go and see her. While you can. Phoebe was right. Make your peace. Before you do actually drive yourself mad.

I collide with Alison, coming in as I’m leaving. “You look awful,” she says bluntly as I try to get past her.

“Migraine.”

“I’ve never known you to have those.” Her face is a mask ofsympathy, while her eyes are calling bullshit on my headache. “Maybe you’re working too hard.”

“I’m fine,” I snap back. “But thank you.” I keep walking, heading straight to Buckley’s office. I need to go now before I change my mind.

18.

My hand trembles as I sign in and then I hurry along the corridor to where Phoebe’s waiting for me outside the room.Herroom.

“Well, that text was a surprise,” she says, but for once without her droll tone. She sounds genuinely pleased. “But I didn’t believe it until just now. You’re actually here.”

“I won’t come again.” I feel sick but I’m wide awake thanks to the adrenaline pumping through me. “Only this once.” I glare at her as if she’s physically dragged me here rather than its being my idea.

“Shall I wait?” she says. “Or do you want me to come in with you?”

“Can you go somewhere else? You didn’t need to come at all. I’ll feel weird with you standing out here. I need privacy.” My fingers are ferociously picking at the skin around the edges of my nails, and there’s a sharp sting as some tears away. I haven’t done that since I was a kid.

“If that’s what you want.” She shrugs. “I thought you might need the support. I’ll go home for an hour or so.”

“Where are you living anyway?” I ask. She’s wearing a pub polo shirt:the hand and racquet. I can’t imagine Phoebe working in a bar, putting up with all the bullshit from drunks. She’s too high and mighty for that. But if she’s here for only a few months, maybe it’s all she could get.

“Not too far from here.” She leans in and nearly, but not quite, kisses my cheek. “Just go in and see for yourself that there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

That’s easy for you to say,I think as I watch her stride down the corridor, smiling at the nurse who gets up from behind her desk and walks out with my big sister, who can’t relax with me but can chat away easily with strangers. I feel a pang of envy. Phoebe no longer has forty looming. And she was never afraid ofitbeing in her blood. Not like I’ve always been. She wasn’t marked by our mother as the one who’d go mad. I feel completely alone and afraid and as if I’m five years old again, but this time no one is holding my hand as I get ready to see Mummy.

I take a deep breath. I’m not five. I’m a successful career woman with a beautiful family, and I can do this. I grip the handle, twist it, and go inside.

The blinds are closed, the lighting soft in the warm room, and a machine by the bed lets out a softwhooshand thenclickin a steady rhythm.

I look at the figure in the bed. Theresheis.

Her hair is still long but now it’s steel gray against the pillows instead of matted dark brown. Her face is sunken below her closed eyes—finally got to sleep then—concave under her cheekbones, and her arms are sticks over the blanket, veins blue and angry under her pale, papery skin. Her hands are clenched in fists and that’s how I know the bundle of twigs bound by loose skin is my mother. Somewhere deep inside, she’s still raging.

I’m surprisingly calm, as if I left all my anxietiesout therein the real world when I stepped across the threshold into this window in time. Maybe it’s because it’s so surreal to be actually seeing her, this decrepit stranger, that I can’t quite process that it’sher.

There’s a vase of fresh flowers on the side table, a medley of cheerful blooms that stand bright and out of place against the magnolia wall. There are more flowers on the card beside them. “Get Well Soon!” Inside it reads, “Dear Mum, lots of love, Phoebe xx.”I look at those kisses. How could she? I remember drawing kisses onthatcard on that day. Before school. Before she...

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