Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

5 April 2025

Dear Diary,

I’ve been so busy at work recently, trying to impress everyone and avoid any stupid slip-ups, but now I can breathe a sigh of relief because Noah and I are going on holiday together today. I know I’ve been droning on about it for a while but it’s finally here and soon enough I’ll be basking in the Italian sunshine. We’ve been talking about where to go for a while and it was actually Noah who chose Venice– he said it would be romantic. I’ve never been before, but I can’t wait! He said we can think of it as a celebration of my new job, which is so nice. It feels like a great time to become even closer as we take our first trip away together.

In the morning (I’d barely slept, I was too excited) he surprised me with some prosecco and orange juice in bed. It felt like Christmas, when Mother would pop a bottle open and she’d have Buck’s fizz and I’d have just orange juice, but it would feel fancy in a champagne glass.

And then I got ready for the airport. Usually, I just travel in leggings and a jumper but I wanted to look nice for Noah, so I made more of an effort, wearing a (still comfy) cute cotton jersey day dress and some sandals. I added a slick of red lipstick last-minute, because it felt very glam and appropriate for Italy.

When we were boarding the plane, I was a bit self-conscious. There were loads of other British couples like us, but there were a few beautiful leggy Italian girls among us too and I couldn’t help but feel a bit pale and dumpy beside them. And underdressed– lipstick aside. But Noah was such a gent, he didn’t even look their way but kept his hand in mine the whole time, chatting away to me and making me feel relaxed and cared for. I hate the intrusive thoughts I get, Mother’s voice hissing her nasty words at me. They make me feel like I’m never good enough, force me to compare myself to other people when I know it will be to my detriment. Noah says that my differences are what set me apart and drew him to me in the first place, but sometimes I wish my differences were a bit more… conventionally beautiful.

Mother was always beautiful– on the outside, to make up for the poison inside. When I was little, I used to wish I looked more like her. Whenever somebody complimented me on my thick chestnut hair or said how lovely my brown eyes were, Mother would soak it in as though they were praising her. ‘Yes, that’s my Claire! A true beauty!’ But when we were on our own she’d say to me, ‘Don’t get a big head, Claire, darling. Your eyes are lovely, they’re like mine but a bit murkier. And you can thank me for your mane of hair, though the colour is a little dull in comparison to mine.’

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m sitting here writing about Mother when I’m on my way to Italy with a gorgeous man. I’m going to write a list of the things I want to do so that when we land we can look at them together and work through the checklist.

Have some great red wine Have a great pizza Have some great pasta Have great sex (obviously) Visit an outdoor market Go on a gondola A sight-seeing tour? Visit Doge’s Palace A sunset cruise Walk over Rialto Bridge

And can you see the weird red smudge on the side of the page here? I somehow cut my finger open when I was trying to open a dodgy can of fizzy aranciata from the airport shop. The metal must have been old because the part you pull open just basically crumpled and ripped in half and cut my finger. Noah took it to the counter and complained and they gave me a plaster, but it’s bled through. We joked about it and said it’s probably an omen that something terrible and gruesome will happen to me when we get there, some sort of tragic boating accident where I’ll lose a limb next!

Things can’t stay perfect forever, after all.

Claire