Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

I wake in the morning, my mouth dry and my eyes puffy and sore. My lips are chapped, flaky bits of skin catching as I run my tongue across them. Sunlight streams in where the curtains went undrawn last night. I feel broken in every possible way. The emptiness of the bed beside me is an unwelcome reminder.

I am alone. Noah didn’t come home. Is this really the end of us? I want to cry, and wait a beat for tears to come, but it seems I am drained now.

With great difficulty, I heave myself out of the oversized bed and bring a hand to my temple, which I briefly massage. The throbbing in my head is a result of the wine; the wine a medicine for the heartache.

When I enter the living area, I see that Sukhi cleared up most of the mess last night before she went. She has left a note on the table.

Call if you need me x

It’s scribbled in a scratchy biro, rushed, a looped and slanted script scrawled onto the receipt from the wine she brought last night.

I stare at it for a long time before adding it to the drawer alongside all of the love notes from Noah. A scrap of authenticity amidst a cluster of lies.

My phone flashes. It’s only Sukhi.

Hope you’re okay this a.m. I’ll cover you in the Tavistock meeting today.

It takes me a heartbeat to realise that it’s Wednesday and I’m supposed to be at work. ‘Shit,’ I mumble.

Thanks. I need to call the office , I text her back.

I’m pouring a much-needed coffee into a mug when my phone rings and I rush to it, a wild scramble to hit ‘Accept Call’, hoping and praying that it’s Noah with some sort of explanation, an apology, to tell me he’s coming home.

‘Noah!’ I exclaim down the phone as soon as I’ve hit answer.

‘No, sorry, Claire, it’s David.’

My heart sinks. My boss. Right. ‘Oh,’ I reply.

‘Sukhi has given me the top line on your situation and I wanted to call and let you know you’re not expected to come in to work today, and I’ve set you up with some leave… if you want it. I just wanted to call and confirm that you’re happy with this? If you are, we can chat again in a fortnight.’ David pauses and I still can’t speak, my mind scrambling to catch up.

‘You’re not obligated to take it, of course,’ he continues. ‘But you have plenty of holiday to use up before the year is out and I thought it might be a good time to focus on yourself, rather than having work as an added stress?’ His voice lilts interrogatively but we both know refusal is not really an option I can afford right now. Especially as I can barely speak to him without my head ringing from my hangover. And he’s right– I’ve not taken annual leave since starting. I must have quite a backlog. What better time than when I find out my perfect life is a lie and that I need to learn how to become an investigator so I can trace my missing fiancé?

‘Thank you, David. I’ll take it,’ I manage to choke out.

‘Alright then, Claire. You take care now,’ he tells me, and the sympathy in his voice makes me want to cry.

Spoke to David, hope that’s okay. Just said you were having some issues at home, no details. Sorry if I overstepped! From Sukhi.

No, it’s fine, don’t worry. I appreciate it, I didn’t even think to call in, head is scrambled.

I bet. Hope you’re not as hungover as me. Probably going to vomit on Mark when he does his weekly budget spend presentation. This is why I don’t drink!

I almost smile, setting my phone down. Part of me is mortified that David is now involved in my messy love-life drama, but part of me is relieved that I can take this time off to focus on what’s important. With a jolt I realise once more, it’s midweek. Noah must be at work.

With shaking hands, I look up the number for Gordon the gatekeeper will only turn me away again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Instead, I go around the side of the building, where I can get a good view of the front door but someone stepping outside would have to crane around to spot me. There isn’t a bench or anything, so I lean back against a wall and wait. I check my watch– it’s 11.30 a.m. I’m not sure when he’ll take his lunch, and I admit this is a gamble. He could have meetings all day, or the building might have a canteen. But I know Noah. I know he can’t survive without a hit of coffee at least three times a day, and free office filter coffee won’t cut it. If he doesn’t leave for lunch, he’ll leave for an artisan coffee.

Unless he has an assistant to do that for him now?

I chew on my lip. There are so many variables here, this could be such a colossal waste of my time. But it feels better to be out doing something rather than sitting at home, waiting for him to call. So I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And finally, finally , I see him step out. He’s frowning at his phone, and to my astonishment, he looks perfect. He’s not dishevelled, tired, red-eyed, puffy-faced like I am. Instead, he looks fantastic, striding along without a care in the world. Seeing him so content despite knowing that I have been waiting at home for him, upset and confused, sends a bolt of outrage through me. I find myself imagining that I am Sukhi, storming towards him with clenched fists and unleashing my indignation without a care for how it makes me look. But I’m Claire, and I do care. I march determinedly over to him and try to keep my face calm, even though my insides are quaking furiously in anticipation of conflict.

‘Noah,’ I call, trying to sound casual. Several heads turn in my direction, but the only one I care about is his. His eyes widen and he steps back, arms raised in alarm.

‘Noah, where were you last night? What’s going on?’ I ask, my voice low in an attempt not to call attention to us.

He’s walking backwards now, eyes darting from side to side.

‘You need to go home,’ he tells me, his voice pleading.

‘Home? You mean, the home you didn’t return to last night?’ Several people are listening now, their heads tilted curiously towards us, and I find myself wanting to give up and run away. But I don’t. I watch as Noah’s face turns pale.

‘Stop waiting for me and stop fucking calling me!’ he tells me.

I freeze, my chest tightening at the shock of being cursed at by him. ‘What?’

‘Go home and just drop this,’ he says to me. His voice is low, he’s obviously embarrassed by our audience, but beneath the pleading tone there’s a hint of… anger. And the idea that he could dare be the one who is angry in this scenario snaps something within me, my control of myself and any fear of embarrassment torn away with it.

‘ You’re angry at me? ’ I say, dumbfounded. ‘What have I done?’ I am getting louder. ‘Oh, am I embarrassing you?’ I say, hearing Mother’s mocking tone in my voice, and Noah flinches. He’s still walking backwards.

‘Go home and stop waiting for me,’ he finally hisses, before he turns and runs, like an actual child, away from me and back into his office. I go to follow him, but don’t get very far. Both doormen are frowning at me and have stepped in front of the entry, blocking my way.

‘Ma’am, we are going to have to ask you to leave. You are not allowed inside these premises.’

‘Noah!’ I roar, holding out both arms and spinning away from them, seeing stars in front of my eyes as anger almost suffocates me.

Beside me, some teenagers are laughing, watching me. I think of Mother, of Sukhi, of their fierce bravery, and throw up my middle finger. They laugh even harder.

I am shaking the entire journey home, but one thought calms me. This is not over because I have walked away with new, confirmed information:

Noah works at Alliance & Gordon, and the Facebook page we found is definitely his. Noah knows he has been caught out in his lies, and is afraid of something. Afraid of me finding out something else? I am not able to confront him properly at his workplace and need to find a new way of speaking with him in person. Noah seems to be trying to leave me, permanently. And before I uncovered all of these lies, everything was fine. So whatever it is he is trying to hide, it’s big enough to leave me for. And I’m going to find out what it is.