Page 7 of Insomnia

“Matthew’s on the trampoline.” Michelle has one hand on Will’s shoulder, casually caring, and I’m reminded of how blended they all are. After-school clubs, grabbing one another’s kids when a hairdresser’s appointment overruns, all that kind of thing. The life Robert leads that I know so little about. “And there’s some Fruit Shoots in that ice box by the table tennis.”

“Nice set up,” Robert says.

“We see enough of them during the week, don’t we?” Michelle hands him a beer.

“True enough. How did you get on with the last lot of spellings?”

“Oh, come on, that was just a mental glitch! I was full marks this week.”

They laugh and I smile, pretending to be part of the group, as Will wanders over to the other side of the garden where the children are playing. Michelle’s youngest, Matthew, is one of Will’s best friends, but her seven-year-old, Ben, I’m less keen on. He’s a bruiser and likes to be in charge. Today though, Betty’s two girls are here and her eldest is ten and beautiful, so Ben will be doing whatever she tells him. There’s a trampoline, table tennis, and a paddling pool all set up and ready to go, even though it’s not too hot today.

As for the adults, there’s only us, our glamorous and handsome hosts, Michelle and Julian, and Betty and Alan, the newest of the posse, recently moved from Scotland. They’re all, the women anyway, in Robert’s school WhatsApp group. Maybe I should tell one ofthemto remind him to wash the gym clothes.

“Wine, Emma? G and T?” Julian has set up a bar next to the large gas BBQ, where he has various prepared plates laid out. I can see prawn skewers, chicken satay, and fish parcels. I hope to god they’ve got sausages or something for the kids.

“Have you got a diet Coke?”

“Come on, have one drink. Celebrate.” He pours me a glass of white wine.

“What am I celebrating?”

“The Parker Stockwell divorce. There was a piece in the local rag.”

“Oh really?” It’s a nice surprise and will go down well with the partners, who’ll be pleased with the free advertising. Good for my promotion too.

“My company does some construction for him,” Julian continues. “Not someone to be messed with.” He lifts his glass. “So well done.”

“Thanks.” I’m a little surprised, because I’m usually in no man’s land at these things. The men don’t include me in their conversations about their work or golf or whatever else they talk about, and I can’t really talk school with the women, so this makes a nice change. I glance toward the paddling pool.

“Chloe, could you go and keep an eye on Will for me? Just for a bit?” She’s standing close by me, looking uncomfortable too.

“I’m a guest, not free labor,” she says and then eyes my glass. “Although it looks like I’m going to be the driver.”

“Ha, touché.” Julian laughs. “Come on, I’m up for some Ping-Pong. I guess one parent should supervise these unholy monsters.” He looks back over his shoulder. “Looking forward to your birthday bash, Emma. No children allowed, I hope!”

I force a smile at the mention of my looming big day and watch as Chloe nudges him, laughing.

“Okay, old man. Get your game on,” she says. My daughter’s teenage moodiness is reserved only for me, it seems.

“Challenge accepted.” He looks to the others.” Alan? Can you get those chicken burgers on for the kids?”

Chloe walks away, laughing at something Julian says, and thenslaps him on the arm before they take their ends at the table. Even she’s more at home with these people than I am, but then she’s looked after most of the kids at some point—her penance for being the accidental baby of my youth—and if I’m honest I’m just glad she still wants to come out with us as a family.

As it is, by the time the burgers are cooked and the children are sitting on a blanket eating, I’m having a good time. The wine has given me a pleasant buzz and Betty has that great Scottish wry sense of humor that makes me think that in different company her jokes would be filthy and that would be a night out that could be fun. She’s mercilessly mocking some of the other school mums, and even though I don’t know them beyond their names, her comic timing has me laughing out loud. Maybe I could be friends with these women if I tried harder. I add it to the endless to-do list.Try harder with the mums.Perhaps I could have them over to ours. Or take them out for dinner—that would be easier.

“You had one, didn’t you, Robert?” Michelle calls across and Betty’s story stops immediately. “A battered old Land Rover? A while ago? They’re very in vogue now.” She’s loud. Did she start on the wine before we all got here?

“Yeah, he did.” I’d forgotten all about that boy toy. I bought it for his thirty-fifth birthday after I made senior associate. “It was jinxed.”

“I only had it about six months.” Robert drains his beer. “So, have you all responded to Emma’s fortieth—”

“Jinxed how?”

“I’m exaggerating.” I laugh. “It was old and cheap to be fair. But something was always wrong with it, and then Robert wrote it off. Just before we decided to move, wasn’t it? I was away at a seminar and came back to find a bruised husband and the Land Rover sold for scrap.” How had I forgotten about that?

“The steering failed and I went into a tree.”

“Good job we got rid of it,” I say, looking at my daughter. “Otherwise, that could have been your first car, Chlo. A little run-around for uni. Eighteenth birthday present.”

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