Page 1 of Cuckoo

PART ONE

Chapter One

19 September 2025

Dear Diary,

I’m writing this on my way in to work. The tube is pretty rammed but I managed to grab a seat. Last night I was too busy to write, but it was a wonderful evening and I want to make sure to note down as much of it as I can so that I can look back on the memories. Our anniversary!

I picked up some celebratory prosecco on the way home, as well as all of Noah’s favourite treats. Two juicy sirloin steaks from Sainsbury’s, some potatoes, veg, and Jaffa Cakes for dessert. Obviously those were for Noah, he’ll eat a whole packet in one sitting. The question is: are they a cake or a biscuit? Noah says cake because of the spongy texture, and I’m inclined to agree. I managed to put together dinner for us, with some hand-cut chips roasted with garlic and rosemary. I didn’t even overcook the steaks! Medium-rare, just how we both like it. I wanted it to be special, our first big milestone together.

Noah greeted me when I arrived home with a box of my favourite chocolates, which he’d wrapped in a ribbon– blesshim. I’d made the right choices, too, because when he was helping me to unpack the shopping he brought his hand to his chest and exclaimed, ‘SteaksandJaffa cakes?’ in dramatic delight. I slapped his hand away from the Jaffas playfully before he could spoil his supper. He slipped a hand around my back, kissed the base of my neck, and said, ‘Happy first anniversary, my Claire.’

I love when he says that.My Claire.

I spent all my energy focusing on him, on the dinner, on the night. I didn’t want to spend one moment thinking about the other Thing that happened this time last year. I wanted it to be a wonderful night, to leave the past behind me where it belonged. Noah made it easy.

We spent the evening chatting away easily, always on the brink of flirtation. He put on some old-school romantic music while I cooked, Nat King Cole crooning about love and Noah occasionally stopping me to pop a chocolate bonbon into my mouth. Cliché, but it didn’t feel that way. I know if I were watching I’d squeeze my eyes shut in a cringe, but I can’t help behaving like this with him.

So he fussed about me while I seasoned and flustered over supper, sometimes pausing with a hand on the small of my back while he got us bubbly top-ups from out of the fridge, and I caught him up on how work has been going. I didn’t want to speak about work particularly, but he asked. He’s been so invested in it, which I suppose makes sense as he’s the one who convinced me to apply for my new job.

I’ve been there for six months now, and I have him to thank for this role. I’d probably have just stayed put otherwise, butnow I’m at a small boutique PR company and enjoying it so much. We laughed about the fact I’d been so worried about applying, going over the story again between sips of prosecco and sending joking eye-rolls at each other. He’d seen the job advert and printed it out, left it unsubtly on the kitchen table at my usual breakfast seat. I’d read it and pretended to forget about it, until a week later he’d raised it casually over dinner.

‘Did you ever see that job ad I saved for you?’

I’d told him I just ‘wasn’t sure it was the right role for me’. He’d asked why, told me it sounded like the perfect next step for me, and that was when I realised I didn’t really have an answer for him. Ithadsounded great, and he was so sincere in his belief I could get it that it made me give it due consideration. I’d been nervous to apply, of course. Mostly of the rejection if I didn’t get it, but also of meeting a new team, having a new office… it all felt daunting and overwhelming. I didn’t even have to say any of this, though: Noah knew. Somehow he always knows what I’m thinking and feeling. He spent the whole of that dinner convincing me I deserved a pay rise, and stroked my hair and told me I was brilliant, until it seeped in and I convinced myself to apply. And now here I am, six months in, probation officially passed!

So as I prepared our meal I told him about my newest client frustrations and the lunchtime gossip shared with Sukhi from my team. I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say we are friends, but I think we’re getting there. We spend nearly every lunchtime together now, and occasionally talk about personal things outside of work. By the time I had caught him up on everything PR-related, dinner was steaming on two plates at the table, and he lit a candle and put it between us.

‘To us.’ I held my glass up in the air and he mirrored the action with a smile that made me weak at the knees.

‘To us.’

After dinner, with a belly full of prosecco (okay, okay,anda glass of wine), my head was hazy as I made my way to the bedroom. I still have a bit of a headache now, truth be told. I’m obviously not used to drinking, but last night was a cause for celebration. Plus, this time of year, the things that happened the week I met Noah… well, it’s an exception.

Noah insisted he’d do the washing-up as I’d cooked, and after the glasses of fizz I was too sleepy to protest. I was in bed, half-asleep and drowsy with alcohol, when I felt him slide in beside me. I’d been imagining us in five years, with a little baby, half him, half me. A loved, cared-for little baby who I would always put first, no matter what.

Noah’s body was warm and firm against mine and I snuggled in deeper, smiling softly. We made love, of course. I fell asleep in the blissful throes of post-orgasm relaxation, and the last thing I remember was him saying, ‘Goodnight, my Claire,’ as I fell asleep in his arms. It was the perfect anniversary.

Claire

Chapter Two

‘What are your plans for lunch?’ Sukhi asks. She pops her head over the top of the partition around my work-station, blowing a strand of her thick raven-black hair away from her face.

I am standing at my desk with Photoshop on my laptop, a half-designed press release displayed on the screen. I’m feeling particularly short of creative inspiration today, so I was about to take a break and suggest a coffee to her.

Sukhi always has a cup of coffee and biscuits at eleven in the kitchenette – she calls it elevenses – and I now go along with her, pleased to have been invited to join the ritual. Her mug is kept on her desk instead of in the kitchen cabinet, for fear of someone stealing it. It proudly declares her to be#1 Top Bitchand is shaped to look like a poodle sitting on its hind legs.

In comfortable silence we walk around to the kitchenette. Sukhi places her mug on the side and then takes two digestive biscuits from the communal jar, slotting them into the giant mug’s cookie slot, aka the poodle’s mouth. In contrast I pull out the cleanest-looking branded mug from the cupboard, and after a quick wipe of the rim with a piece of kitchen towel, set about making the coffee for us while Sukhi munches on a third biscuit. Apparently if she eats it awayfrom her desk without anybody seeing, it still only counts as having two.

‘So, lunch?’ she asks again. ‘Our usual?’

‘I’m actually going to run over to Noah’s office and drop him off his favourite,’ I tell Sukhi as I stir sugar into my coffee, leaning against the sink. ‘He’s been really busy at work recently. I worry he isn’t eating enough.’

‘Very generous,’ she says, dipping a biscuit into her coffee. ‘Any special occasion or just general girlfriendly concern?’

‘It was our anniversary yesterday actually– the eighteenth of September. One year!’ I smile.

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