Page 65 of Insomnia

Could he really do all these things? My head whirls. Could Phoebe? And why would they? Phoebe may have her messed-up reasons from our complicated relationship and jealousy but why would Robert?

Money.

The word pings into my head instantly. If it’s not love, it’s money.That’s what we learned in law school—the two main motivators for any action. Sure, there are more, but most of what people do is driven by one or the other. Robert’s been unsettled for a while—we’ve both felt it. Unhappy being the stay-at-home husband, wanting his midlife-crisis bar, wantingmore,whatever that is, and resenting my career. But without me working, whatever money we’ve got, even if we sold the house, wouldn’t last long and certainly wouldn’t give him any kind of luxury lifestyle unless of course—

The conversation comes back at me in a flash.Oh, just sign those papers, it’s for the insurance renewal. That’s gone up a bit, hasn’t it? Yeah, but this is gold-standard stuff. Worth it for the peace of mind!

I was shocked by the premium when it came through last week. I was going to talk to him about it, then got distracted by the talk of my birthday party. What kind of insurance did he take out? I didn’t read it, I just signed. Maybe not just death. Is there an insurance for income protection for loss of earnings due to mental health issues? Is he banking on having everything—the house, a big payout, and still more cash? He doesn’t know I’ve been fired, but maybe he’ll back the claim if I lose my shit and go bonkers tomorrow.

Moneyandlove.

Does Robert love Phoebe? Or did he just use her?

I think someone pushed her.

Oh god. Did he get her to do what was needed then try to get rid of her? He knew I was going up to see her that morning. Did he get there first and push her into the road? Maybe they were walking together. If he’s known she’s been back all this time, then he’d know where she lives and where she works and what times. Chloe said he’s been out a lot. With her? I can’t begin to compute it all. Who have I been married to?

My phone rings and I startle. It’s Caroline.

“Hi, Caroline. Listen—” I start.

“Hey,” she cuts in, quietly. “Just checking you got back to the hotel okay. And that the tumble dryer—”

“It’s not me. Any of it. I think it’s Robert,” I say. “Or him and Phoebe together. He knew all about my mother and what she did. Phoebe took him to meet her and he never told me. Don’t you see? They must have—”

“Look, Emma... ,” she says. “You need to get some help.” She sounds odd, slightly muffled and distant. Maybe she’s in the car. I remember how she looked at me earlier, like I was crazy. I need to make her see—point out the logic of what I’m saying.

“No, listen. It all makes sense. He knew about the milk-bottle thing, he could have smashed them himself and trod on them. He would have known about her numbers. Maybe he’s been keeping me awake at night by drugging me, knowing it would make me think I’m likeher—”

“Hang on,youwere the one putting sleeping pills in his drinks, weren’t you? “

“Only NightNight and that barely counts, but they could have been giving me something to make me manic. And what if he suffocated my mother and then pushed Phoebe in front of the van because he didn’t need her anymore and wanted all the money to himself? Or because she changed her mind and wanted to tell me? These new insurance policies—”

I hear something in the background. Three long beeps. I pause and frown. My whole body stills. That can’t be. Can it?

“Oh god, sorry, I’ll let you get on with work,” I say. “I shouldn’t babble on. Not your problem. And thanks again for letting me shower and stuff.”

I hang up before she can say more and get in the car, my blood boiling. I know exactly where I’m going. I know exactly where Caroline is.

52.

I let myself in and head straight for the kitchen, the hub and heart of family life, and where our enormous American fridge door beeps three times if left open for more than a couple of seconds. The kitchen is currently the broken heart of my house, even though everything seems frighteningly normal. There are potatoes bubbling on the stove and the oven is on. I guess kids still need feeding, even if you’ve kicked your wife out and tried to kill her sister.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, staring at Caroline, who’s holding a coffee mug—my favorite coffee mug in fact—and sitting at the kitchen island. At first I think she’s watching something on YouTube, the sound of talking coming from her phone, and then I realize it’smyvoice. I’m talking about Phoebe—rantingabout Phoebe. For a second I don’t understand, and then it clicks into place. The conversation we had the other day, when she had to send a text to work. “You recorded me?” I say, aghast. “But you’re my friend!”

“I like you, but I’m not your friend, Emma. I barely know you.” She looks at me, nervous and pitying. “All I did was bring back your wallet and you’vefixatedon me. The insistence on lunch and you keep turning up at my door. Texting me. I was placating you, but it’s not normal. None of this is. I recorded you to play it back toyou.So you could hear how you sound. But after what happened to your sister... I’m a medical professional, what else was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, get over yourself, Caroline, you’re a district nurse not a doctor, and you’re right. You don’t know me.”

“ButIdo.”

I turn around to face Robert, his face cold. “You drugged me, Emma? I mean fucking hell. Youdruggedme.”

“Come on, it’s hardly like I roofied you—” How am I on the back foot here? Why am I always the one in the wrong? At least Caroline looks like she wants the ground to open and swallow her whole. The back door is open. Will must be in his playhouse in the garden. I stare at the door handle, fighting the urge to go and rattle it. They think I’m crazy enough as it is. And perhaps I am, but as Miranda said, that doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get me.

“And one of our friends’ husbands is abusing our daughter and you didn’t tell me?” Robert’s voice is rising now, filled with so much anger and loathing that I take a step backward.Oh god, Chloe.

“Abusing is a strong word.”

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