Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

I am the other woman. Not perfect Lilah.

But why? Why would Noah even have entertained the thought of being with me when he’s had her all along? And why take it as far as proposing to me? My mind is spinning with possible storylines for the situation. Maybe it’s an abusive relationship and he’s been trying to leave her for years, tempted away by my meekness? But it didn’t look that way at the club. I rub the space on my ring finger as though a genie might appear and give me all the answers, but nothing comes. I wish I hadn’t thrown that ring at him. It seems too final, as though I had made the decision I was cutting him and our engagement off when really I want to work this out. I want him to come home. I want everything to be fixed.

I pull out a notebook from one of the kitchen drawers and begin scrawling on it, trying to get my thoughts out on paper. I write down the date of the upload of the first photograph of Noah and Lilah together, I write down the date we met, I write down our engagement day, I write the day he supposedly left Pulitzer Haas; I write and I write and I write until I’ve covered two sides of paper with random dates, random names.

I look down at my manic jottings and slam the notebook shut, shocked by my own ignorance, my desperate search for answers now permanently recorded in ink for anyone to see.

But then something I’ve written catches my attention.

Feeling a rush of determination, I leave the flat. I know one place Noah always goes, and it’s worth swinging by to see if he might be there now.

The smell of hot air and stale sweat hits me as I step into the gym. I feel distinctly out of my comfort zone, hard bodies brushing past me with a confidence that tells me they’re frequent gym-goers.

‘Can I help you?’ the young girl behind the counter offers. ‘Are you looking to join?’

‘No, actually, I just wanted to check if my boyfriend had been here this week at all?’

A guy behind me barks out a laugh and I feel my cheeks grow warm.

‘I’m not checking up that he’s exercising or anything,’ I explain quickly. ‘But he’s been lying to me about where he is and I’m trying to piece it all together,’ I say, lowering my voice and holding steady eye contact.

‘Oh! I see,’ the girl replies, and her eyes flit from side to side as she chews on her lip. ‘Look, I’m not supposed to do this, it’s against policy to share customer information, but between you and me, I know what it’s like to be cheated on,’ she confides under her breath.

I bristle. ‘Nobody said he’s cheating. It’s probably nothing. He’s probably got a good explanation,’ I tell her, flushed with embarrassment, the shock of seeing his kiss with Lilah hitting me once more.

‘Sure,’ she replies, and I can tell she thinks I’m a naive little loser.

I sigh. ‘There has to be an explanation for where he goes when he’s missing, right? One that doesn’t include a full-blown affair?’

Am I speaking to her or myself?

‘What’s his name?’ she asks me, obviously not wanting to give me her honest opinion on my situation. I wonder who hurt her, if she has mended from a similar pain as the one I am feeling right now.

‘Noah Coors.’

She gives me a tiny nod and types it into her computer. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t give out customer information.’ She speaks loudly, I assume for the benefit of the other people in the reception area. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ she asks. She’s frowning at the screen, then lowers her voice again. ‘He must have transferred. Same gym, different part of the city. He’s registered at the Limehouse branch now,’ she tells me.

I scrunch my nose. Limehouse? Then I realise that it’s right next to his new office.

‘You’ve been so helpful. Thank you, thank you so much,’ I tell her, putting my hands together prayer-style.

‘I hope you work it all out,’ she tells me. ‘Or kick his ass to the kerb,’ she adds with a smile.

The gym at Limehouse is identical to the Clapham one, the same musty smell of dried sweat and condensation dripping off the glass panels that divide the workout space from the reception area. It makes me feel dirty just breathing the air.

‘Can I help?’ the guy at reception asks me. He’s young, barely out of his teenage years, and lean.

‘Yes, I’m looking for my boyfriend. He’s registered at this gym and I think he comes here a lot?’ I hold my phone up.

‘Yeah, I recognise him. He comes either early morning or pretty late, right?’

‘Yes,’ I reply, even though I don’t know when my boyfriend goes to the gym because I don’t even know where he lives.

‘So… what do you want from me?’ the guy asks.

I realise for the hundredth time today that I really have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, or what I hoped to gain from leaving the house. I was just so desperate not to be at home, to be doing something to try and fix my relationship, that I came out in search of answers.

‘I guess just… Does he come alone?’ I eventually settle for.

The kid shrugs. ‘He signed up with one of our personal trainers and so he has pretty regular sessions, which he does alone.’

‘Okay.’

‘You want me to tell him something next time he checks in? I can leave a note on our system?’ he offers.

I give a tiny smile. ‘No, I think he’s got the messages. It was more just for me to know that he’s coming, working out, staying healthy, you know?’

The boy stares at me when I say this. ‘Er, right. Do you want to join? We do joint PT sessions for couples?’ he asks.

‘No. I’m good. Thanks,’ I tell him.

As I turn to leave, outside the gym I see a flash of golden hair above the groups of lunchtime workers.

‘Noah,’ I say out loud, rushing out of the gym reception. ‘Noah?’ I call again, pushing through the crowds. He’s walking away from me, a takeout coffee in one hand, a phone I don’t recognise in the other.

‘Noah!’ I call louder, several heads turning my way before returning, uninterested, to their lunches.

He’s walking towards a small park, and I’m weaving between people on the crowded pavement before finally grabbing his arm and spinning him around, my heart in my throat and my chest bursting with adrenaline.

But it’s not him. It’s another tall City boy, frowning at me.

‘Oh, God. Sorry, I thought you were someone else… sorry, sorry!’ I tell him, backing away. He’s already returned to his phone call, heading for a nearby bench, and I hear him say, ‘I dunno, some weird girl,’ to the person down the phone before wiping my presence from his mind.