Page 16 of Insomnia

“I’ll bring you in some biscuits and a coffee. You missed your lunch.”

“Lovely.”

I wait until she’s left the room and then I retch slightly, my head spinning.

Those are my mother’s numbers.

How long before her fortieth birthday did she stop sleeping?

How long before that night did she start going mad?

13.

I am not going mad, I tell myself for the thousandth time this afternoon as I get out of the car—new expensive tire attached—and lean on it for a moment before heading inside. I have to think logically. I must have drifted into a half-sleep when I was dictating the letters and started thinking abouther.That’s all. Despite having pushed the joys of therapy onto Michelle in my office, I can’t sum up the will to make a call on my own behalf. I just need to sleep. Tonight I’ll sleep. Tonight is another night and it’s going to be an early one.

“What do you think?”

I’m eating one of the fajitas they’ve left for me when Chloe appears and does a spin in the doorway. I frown. “Isn’t that—”

“Auntie Phoebe’s dress. She came around with it earlier. Looks good, doesn’t it?”

Whereas my seventeen-year-old daughter wouldn’t be seen dead in anything frommywardrobe, she’s wearing the tie-dye minidress exactly as Phoebe did, over a pair of black leggings. It’s almost like Phoebe chose it knowing that Chloe would want it. Gold star brownie points for Auntie Phoebe. She’s been here. Again. And once again she didn’t let me know.

“You look great.”

“I’m going to Amy’s. I’m probably going to stay over?”

“Okay. Text when you get there and let me know for definite though.” When did things shift from her asking us if she could go out to telling us?

“Cool.” She’s already racing to the front door, and out to freedom.

“Phoebe came round?” I look over at Robert. It shouldn’t unsettle me. Not after our texts today. But why, after last time, didn’t she tell me she was coming over?

“Yeah.” He’s scraped enough leftovers for an extra fajita for himself and takes the seat opposite. “She brought the dress and played with Will for five minutes and that was it. Barely popped in really.” There are two mugs upside down on the drainer. She stayed long enough for a cup of tea, which to my mind is slightly more thanbarely popped in.

“There was a situation at school today,” he says. “Will wet himself.”

“What?” All thought of Phoebe vanishes. “Why? He hasn’t done that for ages.” Will got dry fast—faster than Chloe and definitely fast for a boy. There haven’t even been any accidents since he was about three and a half.

“Not sure. It was at lunchbreak apparently.” Robert seems unconcerned as he opens a beer. “He won’t answer any questions about it. Phoebe couldn’t get anything out of him either.”

“I should go and talk to him.” A sharp pang of career guilt hits hard. Even my absentee sister was here trying to help my child when I was working.

“He’s asleep, Emma. He’ll be fine.”

“He didn’t say anything at all?”

“No, not really. Said he had a fuzzy head but that was it.”

“He said that the other night too.” All the worst outcomes runthrough my brain. Those things you never expect to happen to your own child. “Maybe he’s sick.”

“He said it’s gone now.” He gives methatlook, the one he saves for when I’m overthinking and worrying too much. “He’s fine. And this stuff happens when kids go to school.”

“Speaking of which, what did his teacher say?”

“She’s not concerned. She said he was playing with Ben when it happened.”

Nowit’s starting to make sense. My worry is replaced with swift anger, my exhaustion brooking no middle ground. “Ben who pushed him off the trampoline at the weekend?”

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