Page 13 of Cuckoo

‘Claire,’ she said quietly, eyes narrowing, ‘get your coat. We are going home. Right now.’

I went to stand, pushing my chair out. I opened my mouth to apologise to Georgia, to Kate, but no sound came out.

‘But we haven’t finished our tea yet,’ Georgia argued, looking up at Mother.

I braced myself. Mother turned in slow motion, gaze ranging over Georgia slowly: her stained school shirt untuckedfrom a creased skirt, her bare feet with chipped pink-painted toenails.

‘Excuseme?’ Mother’s voice was quiet. She looked so tall beside Georgia, towering in her heels.

Kate moved to stand in front of her daughter. ‘The girls haven’t finished their tea yet. Look, this is a misunderstanding. Let’s just have a cuppa and a chat while they finish up and then Claire can go home. Gives you a night off making her supper,’ Kate tried again, desperation in her voice.

Mother turned to her with a sneer. ‘You call carbohydrates and frozen pizzasupper?’

Kate blinked at her, fists clenched, and even as a child I could tell she was biting her tongue because Georgia and I were present.

‘Claire, darling, get your things right now! We’re leaving. I don’t want you spending another moment in such squalor with this random woman and her poorly mannered cripple child,’ she added, throwing a significant glance at Georgia, who blenched.

‘How dare you?’ Kate exploded, a mother lioness rearing up to protect her cub. But Kate’s claws were no match for Mother’s, and I hurried up to Georgia’s room and grabbed my coat and book bag while they exchanged heated words, Kate’s furious and protective, Mother’s cutting and cruel.

She marched me out of that house, with one hand gripping the back of my neck like a pincer, telling me how she had arrived at the school to find I wasn’t there, how she had been terrified she had lost me, how they had told her I was at somebody else’s house, and how I was a little liar– a dirty, filthyliar– just like my long-gone father, and that house and that woman were disgusting, and I would never, ever be allowed to play at a friend’s house again… On and on and on she went, the whole way home, tainting what should have been one of my best days ever.

When I got back I realised she had raided my room, ripped up the pictures and notes Georgia had given me. All except for the one of the tabby cat, safely nestled away in my drawer. ‘You don’tneedany other friends, Claire. Nobody will ever understand you like I do. Nobody will ever love you unconditionally like I do. These so-calledfriendsyou meet at school will only tear you down in the end, whereas I will always be there for you. You will always have me, Claire, darling,’ she said in a falsely apologetic tone as she shoved my ripped-up treasures in the bin.

The next day at lunchtime I sat down at my usual table and Georgia glared at me, swiftly moving to sit elsewhere. She never spoke to me again after that.

But I did have a friend, once.

Chapter Thirteen

‘So now what?’ Sukhi asks. We’re in front of the television and the wine bottle is empty. Outside it is dark. Noah would usually be home by now, even if he had a late meeting. My brain already hurts, my eyes are blurred. I hate feeling I’m not in control of my own body. My reaction times are slow as I try to make sense of the scene we’re watching.

I didn’t ever drink as a teenager. Mornings spent holding back Mother’s hair while she expelled bile into our toilet were more than enough to put me off bingeing. I would hold her hair for her, watching as she wiped her lipstick-smeared chin with her arm, spittle and vomit leaving a glistening snail trail across them. Eventually she would bat me away, and I would leave her to hobble into her darkened room from which she would not emerge until the afternoon.

On days like this she would waltz out as though the morning had never happened, exclaiming how well rested she felt and how desperately she had needed that luxurious lie-in. Most of the time, she’d end up going out again in the evening, and the cycle would repeat itself three or four days in a row until she would do a complete one-eighty, spending two weeks drinking nothing but overpriced diet juices and flirting with personal trainers at the gym. I only really drankwater for most of my youth. ‘Fizzies rot your teeth,’ Mother would say disapprovingly whenever someone passed us, slurping out of a can.

‘Full of sugar,’ I’d agree, while wondering what that bubbly candy-drink in a shiny red can might taste of.

Sukhi has put on some reality TV show. Despite staring at the screen, I haven’t been watching it. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she’s sitting in Noah’s usual spot, that it’s her body in place of his in my home. I shift uncomfortably, my eyes darting to the TV, and sigh.

‘Still no response?’ she asks, even though she knows he hasn’t responded because my phone is on loud and has been lying between us, face-up, this entire night.

‘No.’

‘Right.’

‘What would you do? If this were you?’ I ask. I hear the slurring in my voice.

‘Rip his balls off,’ she says with a small smile.

‘What if he didn’t turn up for you to rip his balls off?’

‘Then I guess I’d probably go crazy trying to track him down,’ she admits.

‘Sukhi! You’re a genius.’ I scramble off the sofa and grab the laptop, returning to slump beside her with it balanced on my knees as I begin typing into Google.

Noah Coors, Alliance & Gordon

‘I’ll make us some fruit tea,’ Sukhi offers, heading for the kitchenette. I barely notice her slip past me as I scan through the results, reading an article from some boring economicswebsite about Noah’s new role and what it means for the company structure. There’s nothing of any use at all here.

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