Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

The time for being afraid is over. I can’t continue living in this limbo of guesses and half-truths. At the very least, it will give me the push I need to get over Noah and move on. Even though that thought makes my mouth tremble. I draw a deep breath and knock, hard, three times on the butter-coloured door.

I hear light footsteps approaching and Lilah opens it. As soon as she sees me, her eyes widen and she tries to close the door in my face, but I step forward and jam my foot inside the frame.

‘Lilah—’

‘You need to go,’ she tells me shakily. ‘I’ll call the police!’

So she knows who I am.

‘Please, Lilah. I just want to speak to you,’ I tell her, trying to keep my voice calm and even.

I see her hesitate, but her knuckles are still white as she grips the edge of the door, and I try to make myself look as unthreatening as possible while she peers at me through the sliver of space, her beautiful eyes large and wide as a doe’s.

‘I just want to talk. I– I’m struggling to understand. To process what’s happened,’ I explain.

‘I can’t let you in,’ she tells me quietly, eyes darting frantically.

‘That’s okay. We can talk out here?’ I try. But I see her eyes flick to a neighbour opposite who is pruning a rosebush by the pavement, and I know a part of her doesn’t want an audience to this conversation where she will have to admit to stealing my fiancé.

‘Look, I really do just want to talk. Maybe we can have a cup of tea or something?’ I try again. My voice is gentle, soft and reasonable, the tone I’ve used at petting zoos when trying to convince the lambs to come close enough for me to stroke them. I’m desperate for answers, need to understand why Noah has done this to me. It’s worth humbling myself to act this way.

I can see her wavering, but eventually she must feel sorry for me because she lowers her head and opens the door so I can come in. I step in slowly, afraid of startling her, and rub my shoes on her doormat politely.

‘Let me go and switch the kettle on,’ she says. ‘You can sit down.’

‘Thank you.’ I nod, and perch myself awkwardly on the edge of the giant cream sofa where I saw them snuggle up together a few nights ago. I rub my hands up and down my legs, and my heart is beating unnaturally quickly as my whole body anticipates the pain that is sure to follow this conversation. The house smells of her. Sickly and floral. There aren’t many signs of Noah around: a pair of shoes that I spotted beside the door, his coat on the rack. Everything is tidied away in its place. Carefully selected, neutral-coloured treasures are out on display, decorating the shelves and alcoves. There is no room for mess in this woman’s life.

A minute or two passes, and I can hear Lilah running the tap and taking mugs out. Something feels wrong, but I don’t know what. It’s as though my senses are on high alert, every sound amplified, and my entire body has tensed, waiting for the danger to show itself. Run, my instincts think. Stay, the other part of me demands. Stay and put an end to all this. Find out the truth. Find out what they’re hiding.

‘Do you take cream or sugar?’ she calls out.

I roll my eyes. Of course she serves her tea with cream and not semi-skimmed milk like the rest of the British population. I imagine snorting with laughter over this later with Sukhi and feel a burst of strength, sitting up a little taller.

‘Just sugar, please, one spoon,’ I reply, shifting in my seat and wringing my hands together in my lap.

Lilah appears shortly afterwards, two mugs in her hands. I notice she places mine on the coffee table in front of me rather than handing it to me.

‘Thank you,’ I force out. I take the steaming cup and cradle it in both hands, happy to have something to hold to stop me fidgeting.

Lilah is looking at everything in the room except me, eyes darting here, there and everywhere. I notice she has also brought her mobile phone through, and it’s sitting beside her on the armrest of the chair she’s sunk into. She was beautiful in her pictures, but up close in real life, she’s breathtaking. She looks airbrushed, for God’s sake. I feel a stab of envy. Of course Noah would prefer a woman like this. Any man would. How can I even blame him for falling for her? I feel a flush of heat creep up my neck and my face redden with embarrassment that I ever thought I could compete with a woman like this.

‘Why me?’ I ask quietly, trying not to let my voice break.

‘Excuse me?’ she asks, looking directly at me for the first time.

‘Why me? Why have you done this to me?’

‘Look, Claire, I don’t know what you think has happened, but I haven’t—’

‘You stole my fiancé!’ I cut in, and can’t help raising my voice. Lilah shrinks back into her chair.

‘I—’

‘He was all I had! Look at you, Lilah. Look at yourself .’ I bristle, momentarily shocked by how much like Mother I sound, but I continue. ‘Look at all you have!’ I take one hand off my coffee cup to gesture around me. ‘You are beautiful, you have this gorgeous house, you have money, a loving family. Noah was all I had, and you took him.’ My eyes have teared up now and I feel rage boiling inside me at the injustice of everything.

‘Look, Claire, it’s not like that. I know it seems unfair, but that’s not what’s happening.’

‘So what is happening?’ I snap.

‘It’s… hard to explain,’ she says feebly.

‘This is bullshit,’ I mutter under my breath.

I feel a sudden need to hurt her, to hurt her like she’s hurt me. ‘Do you know about his burner phone?’ I ask.

She draws in her breath sharply. ‘Burner phone?’

‘Yes. The one he keeps in his car boot.’

I watch with morbid fascination as Lilah closes her eyes for a moment, as though exhausted, and her eyebrows furrow in what looks like sadness before springing back into their usual perfect arch.

‘I do. I thought he’d got rid of it.’

Part of me is confused she knows about his secret. It makes my grand reveal much less grand, and significantly less satisfying. I wanted Lilah to feel the same shock and betrayal I felt days ago when I found out about her.

‘It’s none of your business, it’s something I’ll speak with him about. If he has another burner phone then I know what he’s using it for and… well. We’ll have to deal with it, I suppose.’

I watch as her face crumples, noticing that it doesn’t seem to detract from her beauty at all. I thought seeing her in pain would make me feel better but find that it doesn’t. Not at all. Lilah may be feeling shit about herself, but it doesn’t change all that’s happened. It doesn’t bring Noah home or erase all his lies and deceptions.

She gathers herself quickly, to her credit.

‘I’m sorry. For telling you that.’ I don’t know why I’m apologising, but there’s something about the familiarity of betrayal that makes me feel sorry for her. We’ve both been duped by the same man, after all.

She shrugs.

‘What is it for?’ I ask.

She opens her mouth, as though to answer, then shuts it again. Her lips thin into a hard line and the seconds tick by audibly, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room highlighting the silence that drags out.

‘You came to my office,’ she says, breaking the silence with a change of subject. She sounds very confident.

I look up at her. There’s no point in denying it, she clearly knows. I shrug. ‘I wanted to see if I could find any evidence about why Noah left me.’

She closes her eyes for a moment, her nostrils flared, as though trying to remain calm. Which irks me, because if either of us should be struggling to remain calm right now, it should be me. The forgotten fiancée. Not the thieving lover.

‘And did you?’ she asks instead, which surprises me.

‘Yes, actually. I did.’ I reach into my pocket and pull out the photograph of me, hold it up to her triumphantly. I watch her shoulders tense.

‘Care to explain this?’ I ask, tossing it onto the coffee table.

‘I printed it out to share with the others at the office,’ she mumbles.

‘Well, that much is obvious. Why?’ I ask.

I watch her fight with herself to find the correct answer, but eventually she sets her shoulders back and stares me dead in the eye. ‘So they knew not to let you in.’

I snort. ‘Why would you do that? It was the first and only time I ever visited. I didn’t know your name until the other day! And when did you get that photograph of me?’

‘When you first met Noah,’ she admits. Her tone has shifted and something about it seems off. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I feel newly apprehensive about this situation, about where this conversation is headed. I came in feeling confident, set to find answers, but I suddenly feel like I want to get out of here, like I’m being left with more questions than before.

Beside her, her phone flashes repeatedly. Someone is messaging her in quick succession. Her eyes flit to it quickly, then she reaches out and turns it onto its screen so I can’t see it anymore. I bristle.

I was fifteen. I quickly snapped my laptop shut the moment Mother entered my room so she couldn’t see the screen. Usually, I could sense her presence, hear her footsteps. But I’d been immersed in what I was reading and hadn’t noticed her approach.

‘Dinner is ready,’ she said, keeping her eyes fixed on me. ‘What were you looking at, Claire, darling?’ she asked, taking a step closer.

‘Nothing,’ I replied quickly. Too quickly.

‘Alright then. Well, go wash your hands and sit down to eat,’ she said, standing very still. I hesitated, not wanting to leave the laptop. That momentary hesitation was all it took. She leapt towards it with alarming speed, snatching it from my bed and rushing through to the kitchen where she flipped it open to find my internet window shining up at her. I rushed after her, gabbling that it was a school project, excuses flowing out of my mouth like bile.

She had a hand to her chest as though I had driven the breath from her body.

‘Claire? What is this?’ She turned the laptop so the screen was facing me. The webpage I’d been looking at was revealed. LEGAL PARENTAL EMANCIPATION FOR MINORS.

‘It’s for a school project, Mother. That’s all.’

‘Your school is teaching you how to divorce your parents?’ she said, her voice very quiet.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘You are a liar, Claire,’ she said.

‘No, Mother. I swear,’ I started, even though I could hear the lies on my lips and they tasted of poison.

‘Don’t you love me? Don’t you know how much I love you?’

I barely had a chance to process what was happening before she had raised my laptop and lobbed it at me full-force. I took a step back, but not fast enough. It landed against my shinbone with a hard crack, the screen fractured, and my leg gave way beneath me. I scrabbled backwards like a crab to the safety of my bedroom, tears streaming down my face and the cut on my leg leaving droplets of blood on the kitchen floor. She didn’t follow me. I cradled my bruised and bloodied shin and wept quietly, listening to her loud sobs and wails through my bedroom door.

‘So you knew? You knew this whole time that he had started seeing me? What was this, some sort of sick couple’s game? Did he ever love me?’ I sob. I’m openly crying now, but I can’t stop now that I’ve started. ‘Was this some messed-up, twisted game to see how pathetic a woman he could entice? Did you both choose me together? What the fuck is this, Lilah?’

She flinches and glances at her phone, which somehow enrages me even more.

‘No, Claire, please, it wasn’t like that…’ she starts, but I’m too angry to listen anymore. The sound of my name on her lips makes me feel sick. Claire, darling, please, Mother said as I packed my bags to leave her forever.

‘And what about the contract in your office desk?’ I ask.

Lilah pales. ‘What?’

‘Why were you circling the maternity provisions? Are you having a fucking baby with my fiancé?’ I shout.

‘No! No, I’m not pregnant,’ Lilah says hurriedly. She’s reaching for her phone now, one hand on it.

‘So why were you circling maternity entitlement?’

I have stood up from the sofa now, still gripping my drink. She is crying now. She looks like a fucking portrait, an angel shedding tears for her loved ones, her lips trembling daintily. Nothing like me, the furious, red and blotchy beast before her. ‘ Why were you circling maternity entitlement?’ I roar again.

‘We’re trying! We’re trying for a baby!’ she gasps through her fetching sobs.

And then everything goes hazy as every atom of me blooms into dark, festering wrath.