Page 14 of Insomnia

“I just wanted to say thank you for the flowers. You shouldn’t have, but thank you, they’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.”

Did he really say that? So gross. And then I realize how this must seem to him. That I’ve been waiting to call him all weekend because I didn’t want to in front of my husband.

“I was wondering, have you had any problems with Miranda?” I ask. “Any kind of comeback since the court’s decision?”

“Miranda? No. She’s gone to her parents in London. I’m pretty sure they came up and got her on Saturday. That’s what the boys told me she said. Some time with her family might make her get help.”

“Good. That’s good.” Itisgood. If she was out of Leeds on Saturday then she wasn’t slashing my tire on Sunday night. Maybe itwasthose supermarket kids. “If anything does happen, then report it to the police rather than reacting. That’s what she’ll be looking for.”

“It’s very sweet to hear you looking out for me still. Look, about that dinner—”

“I have to go, sorry, Parker. I’ve got a call coming in that I need to take.” As it is, my phonedoesping, and however great it may be proving for my pelvic floor, I really don’t want to prolong this conversation now that I have the information I need. I’ve already given him the wrong impression.

I hang up and check my mobile. A text from Phoebe. An essay.“Sorry I didn’t answer, I was asleep. Sorry I got pissy too—we’re both stressed. Also, were you up early or late??? I know you say you don’tcare but Mum is apparently slightly worse this morning. I’m going to the hospital for a bit. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was back.”

Were you up early or late???I stare at those question marks. The weight of them. I can read the subtext. She doesn’t mention being outside the house last night, but judging from the content of this text maybe she was going to apologize. Who knows with Phoebe? Still, it’s good we’re not fighting. For today at least.

By lunchtime, between coffee, tiredness, and the stink of the roses, mild nausea has morphed into a headache and I really need some fresh air. I open the window, drinking in the first few gasps of almost-fresh city air, and lean out as far as the glass will let me. I feel better almost instantly and rest against the frame, enjoying the moment, looking down at the passing world. I pause and frown.

I don’t even know why the figure standing just inside the alleyway opposite catches my eye, but she does. Maybe it’s the stillness of her as others go by. Is she waiting for someone? Such an odd place to meet when around the corner are several cafés and bars. The alleyway isn’t exactly classy. She’s an older woman, with steel gray hair, in a checkered coat, perhaps too funky for a woman of her age, her face half-covered by enormous sunglasses. She’s looking up at the building. As my eyes meet her glasses, she takes a quick step back into the shadows. As if she doesn’t want to be seen.

Was she watching me? Or just embarrassed?

I make a big deal of looking the other way and then she darts out of the alleyway and hurries along the road. She doesn’t look back. I stare after her.

“A friend of yours is here. Michelle? Wonders if you’ve got ten minutes.” I spin around to see Rosemary at my office door. “I did say it was your lunch hour. Oh, and the garage will be bringing your car back by two.”

Michelle’s here? What could she want? I’m surprised she knows what company I work for, let alone where to find it. I glance back out the window, but there’s no sign of the old lady. Of course she wasn’t watching me. It’s a ridiculous thought. It does prompt another thought though. Someone else I’ve seen from a window. Phoebe standing out in the drive yesterday evening. Could she have slashed my tire? Her clenched fist. Her quiet anger. Would she go that far? No, I tell myself. It was the kids. It had to be them. I close the window, push the negative thoughts out of my head, and tell Rosemary to bring Michelle in.

“What we talk about here is confidential, right, Emma? You can’t tell anyone?”

It’s strange to have her here, in my domain, but she takes a seat, limited pleasantries done, no coffee required, and looks around. She’s fully made up of course, but her skin looks dry and her eyes slightly bloodshot. Maybe she’s not sleeping either.

“Yes, that’s right. We’ll call this a free consultation. It’s confidential.”

She nods and then fires me a sharp glance before speaking. “I want to know where I stand if Julian and I were to get a divorce.”

I’m a bit stunned. There was some tension between them at the barbecue but nothing that would have hinted at this.

“And I haven’t mentioned this to any of our friends—including Robert—so please don’t.”

“Of course.” I’m not quite sure what to say. It’s not as if we’re close. “Are you okay?”

She stares at me, a brittle hardness in her expression. “Julian’s having an affair. I’m pretty sure of it. Has been for a while, I suspect. Works late. Stays away more.”

“He’s probably busy. He always has a lot on, doesn’t he? Somany projects to manage.” I’m trying to soothe her, but experience has taught me that a woman’s gut instinct is normally bang on about these things. It’s also true, however, that a fling doesn’t always have to mean the end of a marriage. “Have you talked to him about what you’re thinking?”

“He said I was being stupid. But he’s hardly going to just come straight out and tell me, is he?” She looks at me, defiant. “He’s played away before, when we were younger. Occasional one-night stands at work events, but nothing that mattered. To him anyway. And although of course they mattered to me, I could always see he regretted it. His remorse. This one is different. He’s distant. I irritate him. He hides his phone. It’s all so fucking cliché.”

I leave a long pause.

“Do you know who the woman is?”

She looks around the room again. “Roses. They don’t strike me as a very Robert gift.”

It’s strange how well this woman knows my husband. “You’re right. They’re not from Robert. A client.” I say it dismissively, embarrassed, although I have no reason to be. Maybe because even though she’s come here for my help, she’s being so snippy.

---