Page 29 of Insomnia

I look in on Chloe first, lost beneath her duvet. Her phone is just under her pillow—she must have been texting her friends as she was falling asleep—and I carefully pull it out and put it on the side. The screen lights up—two messages that came in at midnight that she hasn’t opened. I have no idea who they’re from. Instead of a name there are just emojis. A heart and kissing lips. A boy? Maybe but maybe not. It could be Amy for all I know. I don’t understand the language of teenage friendships anymore.

I leave her alone and head to Will’s room. One quick look, that’s all. I’ll never get back to sleep again if I don’t, sleeping pill or no sleeping pill.

Oh look, look a candle, a book and a bell, there to remind me...

I open the door, and look to where my little boy is sleeping. Warmth floods through me. He’s fine. Of course he’s fine.

“Jesus Christ, Emma.” A shadow breaks away from the dark corner of the wall, a menacing beast hidden in the gloom, and I almost cry out, one hand covering my mouth.

“What the hell are you doing?” the monster finishes, angry eyes glaring at me. I almost scream, but then I realize it’s not a monster at all. It’s Robert.

“I knew you’d come in here. I knew it.”

He makes it sound so terrible, as if I’ve done something wrong.

“No wonder he’s having bad dreams.” He takes my arm and pulls me out of the room. “You can’t disturb his sleep every night. You can’t.”

“You’re hurting me,” I say. His fingers are tight, hurting me, but once we’re back in the corridor he lets go. “All I did was look in on him. You’re the one who was hiding in here!”

“What is wrong with you, Emma?” he hisses at me, as we climb back into our bed. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

25.

FIVE DAYS UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY

I was at work by six forty-fivea.m., my head thumping with a sleeping pill hangover without the benefit of a good night’s rest. I’d laid awake half the night, and although I could have stayed in bed longer without any real work repercussions, I wanted to get out of the house and avoid any cold shoulder from Robert over breakfast.

Now, more than twelve exhausted hours later, I’m doing my best to appear semi-human as the waiter tops up our sparkling water and wine between dinner courses that are delicious but barely filling. As I nod a thank-you, I smile and pretend to care about some posh boys’ school anecdote Stockwell and Buckley are recalling.

“Poor Johnson,” Buckley says, chuckling. “I think he must still hold the record for the receiver of most wedgies during one school year.”

“Didn’t do him any harm. He’s foreign office now. But as far as I know he never had kids.”

They laugh again.

“How are your boys?” I ask.

“Fine,” Stockwell says. “They’re getting on with the new nanny. Miranda was never keen on nannies and the one I managed topersuade her to have was an old battle-ax. This one is at least young and pretty.”

“Key requirements in a nanny.” The words are out before I can stop them and Buckley gives me a sharp look, so I laugh and try to make a joke out of it.

“Miranda’s rung a few times wanting to speak to them,” Stockwell continues. “Always bloody crying, that woman, as if she didn’t bring all this on herself.”

“Women are very emotional creatures,” Buckley says, and I take a long swallow of wine to try to ease my irritation at their casual misogyny.

“Still,” Parker says. “It makes them easy to predict.” He turns his smile to me. “Unless they’re as smart as Emma. Beauty and brains are quite a breathtaking combination.” His teeth are too white and he’s only one step away from a Simon Cowell over-tan, both of which mar any natural good looks he might have. He makes me cringe. Rich men who are used to getting what they want don’t really float my boat.

“My husband thinks so.”Or at least he used to.“What can I do for you though, Mr. Stockwell? Your divorce is done.”

“Thanks to you.”

“But if you’re looking for more corporate representation,” I continue, “then I’m not sure I can contribute much to this dinner. I haven’t practiced outside of family law for a while now. There are far more experienced lawyers than me for what you might be needing.”

“I wanted you here to thank you and to make sure Buckley knows your worth.” He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Especially as I hear there might be a partnership in the works.” His palm is dry and too hot against my skin. Is he really trying to claim some credit for my potential partnership?

“Well, I hope so.” I glance sideways at Buckley, who gives me a tight smile. Is there a warning in it?Play nice.“So maybe,” I say with a bright smile, “I should refresh some of my corporate law skills. In fact, I already know someone who’s done some work for you, I think. Julian Simpson? In construction.”

My phone buzzes on the table. Robert. I cancel the call. If he’s forgotten that I’m out for dinner tonight, that’s not my fault. It rings again, and I cancel it fast, tucking it into my bag.

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