Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When I exit at Notting Hill Gate tube station the sun is streaming down. It’s busy, heaving with people looking to soak up the sunshine and enjoy the boutique shopping, so I step back into the doorway of a bank to catch my breath and still my thoughts. I’m pondering Lilah’s reason for staying with Noah despite my very public outburst at the club. There are so many questions and loose ends that my mind can’t get past. I feel like I need a notebook, spider diagrams and a full-on thriller-movie-style pin board with red strings linking facts and evidence, to help me work out what the hell happened and what Noah is thinking.

Tourists heave in waves in front of me, all moving in the same direction towards Portobello Market. I slot into the swarm, letting them carry me along with them as I follow the little blue Google Maps trail. Usually, I’d feel flustered by the sheer volume of people, but today I hold on tightly to my purse and phone and focus on reaching my destination.

When I reach Lilah’s office, I need to double-check I have the right address. I’m just surprised; it’s such a fancy company but this is a small office, based above a random restaurant. There’s no signage at all until you get to the front door and then the company logo is stuck on the buzzer for Floor 3. I hop from foot to foot, unsure of what to do now that I’m here. I decide to go into the restaurant beneath the office and try to be rational about things, work out why I’m here and what I hope to gain.

I’m relieved to discover that it’s not a typical overpriced Notting Hill restaurant, more like a small traditional cafe, and because it’s only 11 a.m. it’s still quiet before the lunchtime rush. A little bell rings as I push the door open and a chirpy-looking girl greets me. ‘Eating in or taking out?’ she asks brightly.

‘Eating in. Can I take that window seat?’ I ask, nodding over at a high table that looks out onto the street.

‘Sure, no problem! When you’re ready to order, just come on over to the till.’

I settle myself down, gazing out and wondering if this is the same view Lilah has all day from her desk. Stores and independent boutiques line the street at ground level while flats above them have huge, beautiful windows looking out and down onto the busy scene. The house fronts are painted in pastel colours, creamy pinks and soft blues making everything seem part of a cheerful stage set. Small pop-up stalls selling bohemian jewellery and leather pouches and wallets line the pavements. Everything seems too picturesque for this to be London.

I end up ordering a club sandwich and a cappuccino, and take my time with them as I go over possible courses of action now I’m here. I’d envisioned a huge office that I could slip into unannounced, something similar to Noah’s, but it’s clear this isn’t the case at all.

I finish my sandwich, running a finger over the crumbs and popping them into my mouth. I am about to call it quits and head back home when I give a jolt of surprise. There in front of me is Lilah. And she’s coming into the cafe.

I slide lower in my seat, bringing my head down and quickly whipping my scarf up and around so it’s covering half my face. The waitress chooses that exact moment to come over to me and I curse in my head, hoping it doesn’t direct attention over to me as the bell rings, signalling Lilah’s entry. ‘All done here? Are you ready to pay the bill?’

I nod quickly, not saying anything in case my voice is recognisable from the scene at the club. Lilah is so far oblivious, over at the counter where she’s holding a phone away from her ear while she orders a large flat white, to go. I need to keep my head down until she leaves. The waitress is yapping on at me, but I’m not listening, nodding half-heartedly and holding out my contactless card. As we wait for the machine to print the receipts I risk a glance up. Lilah’s back is to me but that Prada bag is slung over one shoulder and she’s wearing a perfectly tailored duck-egg blue suit with cream court heels, the leather supple and expensive-looking.

‘Yes, I’m so sorry, please tell Hannah I’m going to be fifteen minutes late to our lunch meeting. We had a staff call that overran but I’m on my way over now. I’ll be there as soon as possible,’ Lilah is saying into her phone as her coffee is handed to her. Her voice is breathy and feminine, with the slightest hint of an accent. ‘I’m on my way to the station right now. If she can hold the reservation I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ She turns directly towards me and I quickly look down, staring into the dregs of my coffee. I sit totally unmoving, too scared even to breathe, waiting for her to stop, stare, say to me, Oh my God, you’re the girl from the club!

But nothing happens. I breathe a sigh of relief and slide off my stool, thanking the waitress absent-mindedly as Lilah leaves the cafe and I watch her, still on her phone, heading off towards the Underground station.

She’ll be gone for an hour if it’s a lunch meeting. Minimum. That’s more than enough time for me to pop into her office and have a quick look around. This is an opportunity that’s been gifted to me by the gods, I’m sure of it. I can be in and out in twenty minutes, tops.