Page 10 of Cuckoo

I press ‘Call Sukhi’ immediately, and she answers halfway through the first ring.

‘He doesn’t have social media,’ I tell her.

It’s narcissistic, don’t you think?he had said to me when we first met. And I had agreed, embarrassed to admit I still had an old Facebook account active, which I used every now and again to see what old classmates were up to.

‘Noah Coors, investment banker. He does, he’s on Facebook, and I recognise him from the photo you have as your phone wallpaper,’ Sukhi tells me, her voice breathless and hurried.

‘Hold on,’ I say, rummaging through my bag for my laptop. I hurriedly pull up Facebook, typing in Noah Coors.Three results. One is a young, spotty teenager, the other two are in America.

‘I’m not seeing him,’ I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

‘Look, I’m coming over now. Fateh’s out watching the football and I’m sat here with things you need to see. I’ll be half an hour,’ Sukhi tells me. Before I have a chance to respond, she’s hung up.She must have my address from ordering me an Uber, because I’ve certainly never invited anyone from work over before. Usually I would panic, try to scrub every skirting board and tidy everything away into its ‘right place’ before a guest arrived, but instead I slump down on the floor against the wall.

I pick up a pale yellow sofa cushion and hold it to my face. Then I smother myself with it and scream into its cotton surface. I shout like a feral thing until my throat is raw andstings. I remember the last time I behaved like this, then shake the memory away. I can’t think of Mother now, my focus needs to be Noah.

The bell rings twenty minutes later and I stumble down the internal stairs and fumble to unlatch the door, pulling it open to reveal Sukhi. Her dark hair is scraped back into a ponytail, which somehow makes her green eyes look even bigger as they scan over me in concern. She throws herself around me in a hug and I stiffen in surprise.

Then she herds me back into the flat, her mouth set in a thin line of determination, a laptop peeking out of her tote bag.

She glances at my forlorn tear-soaked cushion when I let her in but doesn’t comment.

‘You live in a studio flat?’ she asks, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

‘We have a renovation project in Dulwich, this is temporary,’ I explain, my voice coming out strangely monotone.

She makes an understanding noise and strides in as though she owns the place, ignoring the fact that I have quite clearly been throwing all my belongings around.

‘Let me just… sorry, I had a bit of a tantrum…’ I trail off lamely as I sweep all the love notes out of the way, clearing space for Sukhi to set her computer on the small, chipped table.

‘It’s not having a tantrum, Claire. You’re just reacting to a stressful situation in the way that feels right for you. This is your home. If there’s anywhere suitable for getting messy, it’s the privacy of your own house.’

I flush, touched by her kindness but equally embarrassed. ‘There was, at least, method to the madness. I was looking for clues,’ I admit, gesturing at the massacre of paper animals on the table.

‘So I haven’t been the only one playing detective,’ she says gently, a small smile on her lips.

‘You’re the only one who actually found something though,’ I tell her, sinking down in the chair beside her.

‘Having a big family makes you good at online snooping,’ she tells me.

The laptop makes a busy whirring sound as it starts up, and I wonder if I should be offering her something to drink.

It feels strange, having someone else in my home. It’s usually just Noah and me. I sit beside her, my eyes widening as she clicks on Noah Coors’s Facebook page. And there he is. My beautiful, lying fiancé.

Pulling my phone up, I show her my own search results.

‘He must have blocked you, so you couldn’t find him,’ she tells me quietly, avoiding eye contact.

I don’t respond. I’m mortified and can feel a red heat crawl up my face and down to my chest.

‘I’m so sorry, Claire,’ she tells me.

I shake my head. ‘You have nothing to say sorry for,’ I say, and am shocked by the iciness of my tone. I’ve been blocked by my own fiancé.

‘Do you want me to show you what I found?’ she asks.

Part of me wants to say no, no,no, and return to my make-believe life with my honest, hardworking partner. Instead, I nod meekly.

She scrolls down and turns the laptop to face me. A post from February about Noah leaving Pulitzer Haas and starting his new job. He is now, according to this profile, working at Alliance & Gordon as Investment Director. Congratulations messages flood the comments section from friends I’ve never even heard of. My mouth is dry and I pick at my thumbnails until the skin around them stings.

---