Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

‘You getting out any time soon or what?’

The taxi driver has turned around to face us both, the stench of stale smoke wafting through his gappy teeth. He looks bored, as though this moment is an insignificant blip in his life, when for me it’s everything.

Sukhi is gripping my hand.

‘Give us a second,’ she snaps. For the hundredth time in the last thirty-six hours, I’m grateful for her being here, and let her know as much by giving her hand a little squeeze. I glance into the rear-view mirror and can see my blue-shadowed eyes, patchy red blotches tainting my nose and cheeks, ugly and harsh against my pallor. I’m not looking my finest, I’ll admit. A far cry from the woman Noah first met in the wine aisle. I take a shaky breath in and try to calm my mind for whatever is about to happen.

‘Do you have a plan of action? Know what you’re going to say?’ Sukhi asks me gently.

I shake my head. ‘No plan.’

‘No plan is a good plan,’ she says with a small smile.

The city lights are reflecting on the windows, bouncing off Sukhi’s bright eyes. I wrap my trench coat around myself a little tighter, hugging my stomach, and she reaches over and gently pats my hand.

I suddenly want to run back home; to crawl into bed and pretend the last day and a half never happened. I don’t usually confront things. I don’t storm recklessly into nightclubs with no plan. Even when I left Mother, I wasn’t brave. I just stepped away and, when she didn’t follow, carried on walking. But this time it’s Noah stepping away, and I have to find some sort of strength within myself to force this confrontation. I want to run, but my mouth says, ‘Let’s get this over with.’ I open the car door.

‘Finally,’ the taxi driver mutters under his breath as we get out of the cab.

‘No tip for him,’ Sukhi tries to joke with me, but it falls flat. Will I ever laugh again?

As though on cue, the sound of laughter erupts into the evening air as the door of the cab in front of us swings open and a trio of men floods out onto the pavement beside us, lighting cigarettes and speaking loudly about stupid, frivolous things that nobody cares about. Least of all me.

I step to the side to get away from them and Sukhi and I stand awkwardly in the queue for the club as I try to work out how to move, how to think, how to exist. The club is small and typically pretentious in that West London sort of way; potted plants dangling invitingly around the sleek exterior walls, gold sans-serif lettering spelling out the establishment name, matching vinyl pasted onto the condensation-fogged glass through which I can see bodies writhing against each other, hear the dull thrum of a beat.

‘Got a light?’ a guy asks me, his eyes glazed with alcohol. I flinch away from him instinctively, the smell of whisky fiery on his breath.

‘No,’ Sukhi snaps, putting a protective arm around me and ushering me away from him like a geriatric patient.

What am I going to say when I get in there? Where do I even begin? What do I ask? Who is Noah in there with? The new work friends that he didn’t deign to tell me about? The thin blonde? I take in another deep breath as my stomach clenches with nerves. We make it to the front of the queue quickly; for clubbers it’s still relatively early. The bouncer raises his eyebrows at our jeans and trainers combo and for a moment I panic, thinking he may turn us away. But it’s obviously a quiet night because he ushers us inside without a fuss.

As soon as we step in we get stamped on the wrist, a bouncer rifling through our handbags in search of weapons or drugs. After that we’re waved through quickly and the stench in the air is a mix of alcohol and sweaty skin.

‘I remember now why I never go clubbing,’ Sukhi says, her nose wrinkled.

It’s dark, with hazy blue lighting tinting the room in a way that seems menacing. I’m squinting in search of Noah amidst the bodies contorting and curling around each other on the dancefloor, limbs flailing.

I begin to feel extremely claustrophobic as people keep shoving past us to get down to the main dance area and Sukhi clings on tightly to my arm. ‘Let’s get out of the entryway’ she bellows into my ear, the music pounding over her voice.

I nod silently and let her lead me up towards a mezzanine overlooking the lower level. My eyes are frantically scanning the room, searching for my fiancé. My heart is thudding, the loud electronic music making it difficult for me to think. My senses are overwhelmed and I grip on to the railing tightly, conscious of how sticky my hands are.

‘Maybe he’s in the smoking area with someone?’ I suggest, though the Noah I know doesn’t smoke.

‘Oh, God,’ Sukhi breathes. I follow her gaze and across the mezzanine, through the thick smog of a smoke machine, I see him. He’s in a velvet-lined booth, and of course he’s with the dimpled blonde girl. She’s thrown her head back, laughing at something he’s saying. His eyes are twinkling, oblivious to anyone else in that bar, in his life. She leans forward and they hold hands over the table, his thumb circling her palm lazily, a gesture laden with affection. I don’t dare blink. Beside me, I can feel Sukhi stiffen into a fighting stance, her fists clenched.

I see Noah gesture to the blonde’s empty glass, already standing to get her another. She smiles at him gratefully, and then my fiancé bends down and kisses her, his hand around her neck. I cannot move.

It’s not a Hollywood kiss, but somehow that’s worse. It’s familiar. It’s sweet, warm and tender, automatic… a kiss they’ve clearly shared before.

‘Bastard,’ Sukhi whispers under her breath. That word seems to snap me out of my paralysis and before I know what I’m doing, I’m marching towards him.

My claustrophobia has been replaced by determination as I shove and elbow my way through the crowd waiting to be served at the bar, my eyes quickly scanning countless suited City workers keen to quench their thirst. Frustrated, I head round to the side where the booths are. I see him, he’s back placing two drinks on the table. Quick work, Noah. Sukhi is behind me, holding on to the back of my coat. I’m not sure whether it’s so she doesn’t lose me or so she can pull me back if necessary. I spot Blake, recognise him from the Facebook photo, but he’s beyond the booth, flirting with a brunette woman, his hand grazing her hip as he leans in to hear her over the music. My gaze returns to my cheating boyfriend.

Noah’s eyes widen as soon as he sees me. ‘Oh my God. What are you doing here?’ I can barely hear him, but I can read his lips and his panicked body language. He did not expect to see me here.

He edges back in his seat. He has gone ghostly pale, eyes bulging out of his lying face.

Before I even have a chance to answer, Sukhi has leapt to my defence. ‘I think the better question is: what the fuck are you doing here?’

Noah’s eyes widen a fraction and I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Around us, people stop sipping through their straws to eye the show with interest, eyebrows raised, girls smirking and guys gawping.

‘Excuse me? Who the hell are you?’ the dimpled blonde pipes up, her words laced with indignation.

I’m about to tell her I’m his fiancée when Noah moves. It’s subtle, a small movement, but the response it triggers from me is potent. He shifts so she is slightly behind him, his left arm coming down protectively in front of her.

He is protecting this woman from me. He is choosing this woman over me.

I want to slap Noah across the face. I want to rip the blonde’s pretty little necklace off her dainty little throat. I want to flip the table over. I want to tackle them like a rhino running through plate glass, so that they’re cut and bloody with tiny shards caught in their flesh, red specks decorating me. Of course, I don’t do any of these things. But God, I really, really want to.

Sukhi must sense my shock and outrage because she mirrors the action, placing herself ever so subtly between myself and my fiancé.

I tear my gaze from Noah and direct it towards the blonde. I notice that at the very front there is a single grey hair in her head, slightly thicker than the others and falling in front of her eye. It somehow makes her more beautiful, this tiny flaw proving to me that she is just as human as I am.

I rip my engagement ring off my finger and throw it at him, with all the force I can muster. It hits him on the shoulder, bouncing off into the depths of the club. Another bit of meaningless bling to decorate the tacky interior.

‘It’s over ,’ I scream, my voice breaking into a distressed warble. I turn to rush out before I cry. I notice Sukhi beside me in my peripheral vision. She grabs a glass off the nearest table and chucks the contents at him, her aim perfect. ‘Sorry,’ she shrugs to the bewildered owner of the drink, which is now dripping off Noah’s perfect golden hair. He is bright red. I glance quickly at the girl beside him in the booth, who has shrunk back, her eyes perfect wide circles, hand covering her mouth. ‘What the fuck?’ she yells after us.

I turn back to face her. ‘What, you didn’t know he was engaged?’ I yell back.

‘He’s not engaged to you, you psychopath!’

At this, I see Noah put his hand on her waist, lean in and whisper something to her. He’s trying to usher her away. He doesn’t want her to know the truth.

‘Walk away, Claire,’ an older girl told me, her disapproving glare fixed on Laura and her cronies as they cornered me in the hallway. I was thirteen at the time.

‘Poor pathetic Claire needs defending, boo-hoo,’ my main tormentor, Laura, mimicked making a show of wiping away tears from her face, balling her hands into fists. The girls she was with laughed. I tried to hold my head up tall and stay strong. I tried not to cry.

I went to walk away, to push through the small crowd that was forming, but she yanked my arm back, pulling me into the centre again.

‘Leave her alone, Laura,’ the older girl tried again, and I heard her voice crack as she tried to maintain some level of authority over the situation.

‘Or what?’ Laura sneered.

Her followers crossed their arms, eyebrows raised expectantly at my defender, waiting to see what would happen.

My heart was in my throat.

The girl shrugged, walked away.

Laura turned back to me, grinning. ‘Poor sad Claire, with her shitty cheap backpack and her greasy hair. Ewwww! I bet it smells,’ she screeched.

I saw red flames and tried to push through again, but some boys blocked my way, intent on the confrontation, and was sent staggering back towards Laura.

I started to feel angry, trapped like a wild animal.

‘Fuck off, Laura,’ I said.

‘Oooh, Claire has grown a backbone,’ she jeered, turning to the crowd of spectators.

I stepped forward, fed up of being walked all over, ready for a confrontation.

‘And I heard your mum’s a filthy slag,’ she hissed.

I lunged at her.

I lose it then. Beside me, there’s a tall bar table and some empty glasses left behind by a group. I swipe my arm recklessly over the top of it and a wine glass hurtles towards Noah and his mistress. He pushes her out of the way at the last minute, a scream erupting from her.

‘What the hell!’ someone shouts as the glass shatters against the wall, shards twinkling under the flashing blue lights.

Some of the men who were standing around start towards me, yanking me back and away. ‘That’s enough,’ one of them is saying to me.

‘Don’t manhandle her!’ Sukhi spits, wrenching me out of his grip.

A swarm of people have surrounded Noah and the blonde, a wall of bodies between us.

I don’t wait to be thrown out or to see what will happen next.

I storm out, Sukhi hot on my heels.

I don’t remember the journey home.

I leave her in the taxi and refuse to let her come in with me. I need to be alone. I get into the flat and the first thing I see is the picture on the wall of Noah and me in Barcelona, his arm around me on Las Ramblas, both of us beaming into the lens. I pick it up and hurl it across the room, crying out as I do so. It hits the wall and glass shatters everywhere. I’m thrown back to that moment in the club, directing the wine glass at them both. I’m sobbing in a heap on the floor. I feel Sukhi heave me up and drag me into bed. I hear her saying soothing things that I cannot fully make out or care about. She’s come in anyway, followed me from the taxi. I want to be grateful for this friendship, but all I can think about is Noah; my Noah, kissing that beautiful blonde girl.

His hand around her neck. My hands around her neck.