Page 16 of Cuckoo

I almost smile, setting my phone down. Part of me is mortified that David is now involved in my messy love-life drama, but part of meisrelieved that I can take this time off to focus on what’s important. With a jolt I realise once more, it’smidweek.Noah must be at work.

With shaking hands, I look up the number for Gordon & Alliance Investments Team and press call.

‘Gordon and Alliance, how may I help you?’ a bored female voice answers.

‘Hello, yes, I’m calling for Noah Coors, investment director, please?’

‘May I ask who is calling?’

‘His fiancée,’ I reply.

A short pause. ‘Let me dial up,’ she tells me, before an infuriating form of elevator music begins to play. I feel myfingers tighten in annoyance on the phone but am jolted out of my mental tantrum when she returns.

‘I’m sorry, I’m unable to transfer you,’ she says. Her voice has gone cold and clipped.

I hold in a bellow of frustration. ‘I am hisfiancéeand I want to be transferred to him. It’s important,’ I repeat through gritted teeth.

‘Hisfiancéeshould have his direct dial and not have to call the front desk,’ she replies venomously.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I’m upset. He didn’t come home last night. God knows why. He didn’t get in touch at all. And I don’t have his direct dial because I didn’t know he worked with you until twenty-four hours ago!’ My voice breaks at the end of this and I hear a shocked inhalation of breath down the line. ‘Please,’ I try, my voice quieter, ‘I just want to make sure he’s okay. Please.’

Another short pause. ‘I cannot transfer you through to him today. I’m sorry, I really am. Can I help you with anything else?’

‘But heisin? He’s working in the office today?’

This time the pause is palpable, dragging out painfully. ‘I’m not at liberty to share that information with you.’

I suck in a deep breath, think better of it and cut the call before I tell her exactly where she can shove her information.

I look down at my phone, shocked at my own anger, at my outburst.

I am wild and volatile, unable to control my emotions… I close my eyes and hold my breath as I slowly count to ten before opening them and exhaling. I am not this person.I am not my mother. I must stay calm, regain control. I must find Noah and work out what’s happening. I’m so exhausted by being everyone’s obedient little puppet. I’m sick of being Claire, darling. Mother was always in control of everything, I was constantly tiptoeing around her unpredictable outbursts. And, on reflection, Noah has always been in control as well. It was Noah who courted me. And Noah who has left me. Why am I always allowing people to do what they want? To hurt me. To toss me aside? To be in control of what I feel and who I am?

My heart is hammering in my chest and my fists are clenched, but it’s not from anger anymore. It’s determination. I am going to get to the bottom of this. I am going to get my fiancé back.

The Alliance & Gordon headquarters are, if anything, more impressive than Pulitzer Haas. They’re in a different part of the City, towards Canary Wharf, which is an area I’ve rarely been to. I’ve also never had a reason before now to catch the DLR and I find myself amazed by the views of the Docklands financial district. I imagine I’m Katniss looking out at the Capitol inThe Hunger Games– it’s unlike any other part of London I’ve seen. All the buildings are sky-high, built from toughened glass and steel, and the rail line runs between them on a raised track so it feels like we’re flying. Graceful suspension bridges and arches criss-cross between buildings. It feels like I have fallen into a futuristic, dystopian film.

Noah’s new office is one of the many tall, looming structures faced with fancy mirrored panels. As before, doormenguard the entry but I am not going to have a repetition of last time. I won’t be trying to get in this way; the gatekeeper will only turn me away again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Instead, I go around the side of the building, where I can get a good view of the front door but someone stepping outside would have to crane around to spot me. There isn’t a bench or anything, so I lean back against a wall and wait. I check my watch– it’s 11.30 a.m. I’m not sure when he’ll take his lunch, and I admit this is a gamble. He could have meetings all day, or the building might have a canteen. But I know Noah. I know he can’t survive without a hit of coffee at least three times a day, and free office filter coffee won’t cut it. If he doesn’t leave for lunch, he’ll leave for an artisan coffee.

Unless he has an assistant to do that for him now?

I chew on my lip. There are so many variables here, this could be such a colossal waste of my time. But it feels better to be out doing something rather than sitting at home, waiting for him to call. So I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And finally,finally, I see him step out. He’s frowning at his phone, and to my astonishment, he looks perfect. He’s not dishevelled, tired, red-eyed, puffy-faced like I am. Instead, he looks fantastic, striding along without a care in the world. Seeing him so content despite knowing that I have been waiting at home for him, upset and confused, sends a bolt of outrage through me. I find myself imagining that I am Sukhi, storming towards him with clenched fists and unleashing myindignation without a care for how it makes me look. But I’m Claire, and I do care. I march determinedly over to him and try to keep my face calm, even though my insides are quaking furiously in anticipation of conflict.

‘Noah,’ I call, trying to sound casual. Several heads turn in my direction, but the only one I care about is his. His eyes widen and he steps back, arms raised in alarm.

‘Noah, where were you last night? What’s going on?’ I ask, my voice low in an attempt not to call attention to us.

He’s walking backwards now, eyes darting from side to side.

‘You need to go home,’ he tells me, his voice pleading.

‘Home? You mean, the home you didn’t return to last night?’ Several people are listening now, their heads tilted curiously towards us, and I find myself wanting to give up and run away. But I don’t. I watch as Noah’s face turns pale.

---