Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

18 September 2024

Dear Diary,

I met a man today. This is probably the first time in a long while that I’ve written anything in this diary regarding someone other than myself, or Mother, which feels both strange and exciting. It’s as though the universe is spinning around to try and make up for what it’s put me through recently. This time last week I was a wreck, an emotional rollercoaster, and now I’m writing about something as frivolous as a man. I’m sure I will look back on this and hate myself for my flippancy, but right now, I feel like a flattering distraction is exactly what I need to take me away from my current situation.

I was in Morrisons and immediately noticed him in the aisle with me because he was gorgeous.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just, I’m desperately searching for a lovely bottle of red, which I don’t usually drink. You don’t happen to have a recommendation or favourite, do you?’ he said, almost nervously. He was obviously just out of work because he was wearing a suit in deep navy, which brought out the specks of blue in his eyes. His hand came up to his black tie, loosening it ever so slightly before he spoke to me.

I was flustered. I couldn’t believe that out of everyone in that supermarket, I was the one he wanted to speak to. I actually turned to double-check he was looking at me, and could feel myself going red at the realisation that we were the only two people in the aisle.

I cleared my throat. ‘Is it for a special occasion? A date perhaps?’ My voice came out in an embarrassing squeak.

‘No, no, a business thing. I need to present a client with something nice… fancy, you know. Apparently the guy is a red man. I usually go to the wine place near my office but they’re shut for renovations.’

I immediately felt a little bit self-conscious. He was obviously some big, important City boy, but I just nodded. I knew the wine place he meant. I’d gone in once, seen the prices, paled, and left quickly before anybody tried to offer me any assistance. Some of those bottles cost hundreds.

‘Perhaps this one?’ I suggested meekly, holding up a bottle without any idea what it was. I hoped it didn’t taste like vinegar. I started getting those intrusive thoughts I always get, about him trying it and hating it and therefore hating me, but I tried to push them away using the techniques I’ve learned from my mindfulness app.

He peered at the label, then the price, and shrugged.

‘I’m sure it will do, it’s only business after all, and courtesy of the office credit card! You’ve saved my bacon with this, it must be my lucky day.’ He smiled at me and I swear his teeth twinkled like in a cartoon.

But actually it was my lucky day. He turned to leave.

‘There’s a Chardonnay I quite like too,’ I added quickly, desperate to prolong our conversation. ‘It’s not quite as fancy as that one,’ I blushed, ‘but it’s very light and dry.’ And I’ve even tried it , I didn’t say.

He looked at me with interest then, one eyebrow raised slightly. My insides turned to jelly.

‘Light and dry sounds good. Maybe I’ll take one of those as well, just for me.’ He smiled. ‘Is it your date-night go-to?’ he asked.

I could feel him looking at me intently and knew I was blushing, my cheeks doing their best to imitate a frying pan. I stared at my feet for a moment, trying to calm myself. ‘No, no! No dates… no date-night wines for me. I mean, I’m single.’ I trailed off and smiled at him, embarrassed.

‘Are you now? That’s interesting,’ he said, and his smile curved into a wide, sparkling grin.

We ended up chatting for ages in that aisle. When he asked if I’d like to carry on the conversation over a coffee, I leapt at the chance. A tiny part of me could hear my mother sneering in my head. For God’s sake, Claire, darling, he’s making a fool of you. Why would a man like that want a girl like you?

But I shook her voice away. She’s gone, and I’m not going to let her hurt me anymore.

So we went to Costa and had a great time. Conversation was easy and low-pressure. We talked a little bit about what he did and what I did, and he seemed genuinely interested. He worked in banking, which obviously I don’t know much about, but he didn’t go into detail and I feigned enough interest to keep the conversation going. It all felt fated, as though after such a terrible week with everything that’s happened with Mother, I was owed this slice of happiness. I’ll try to play it cool. I know how these things usually go and have heard all the horror stories. But I hope I’ll see him again.

Claire