Page 28 of Cuckoo

The thought of Mother at the school causing drama in front of Laura and her friends made me want to drown in a hole of shame. ‘No! Mother, no, please. It was nothing serious, just some teasing!’

‘Well, if it’s just some teasing, why are you so upset? What were they teasing you about?’

I stayed silent, staring at my shoes.

‘Claire, darling, what were they teasing you about?’ she repeated, but her voice had dropped lower, her pretence of being a worried mother gone. Her mask slipped and she reverted to her usual self, the one that expected to receive whatever she asked for.

‘They made up a song,’ I mumbled, knowing she wouldn’t drop this until I told her everything.

‘A song. A song about what?’ she asked, and I felt that she’d almost lost interest, eyes on her nails now, which she was now examining carefully.

‘They… they were calling me a hairy virgin,’ I admitted, the words like salt on my tongue. I was flushing so furiously I thought I might have a fever, sick with mortification.

I waited for a moment, too afraid to look up, and then Mother burst into peals of loud, heartless laughter, ringing in my ears as cruelly as Laura’s cackles had earlier.

By the time Sukhi drops me at my front door, I’m swaying. It takes me two tries before I get the key into the lock, and I give her a thumbs-up as I wobble through the doorway. She waves at me and the taxi pulls away, taking her back to her own un-messy life.

I stumble into the flat and any resolve I had earlier in the day cracks. I fish my laptop out from its pathetic hiding place, booting it up and heading straight for Noah’s page as my first port of call.

One new update. A new status, posted this afternoon.

Looking at growing the family…

My heart judders to a painful halt.

Beneath is a photo of a litter of puppies, and he has tagged Lilah. My vision goes hazy for a moment, the wine now tasting like acid on my tongue. Does he have no shame? Whatfamily?Iam his family. His family isme,here in this apartment that’s filled with memories and a year’s worth of commitment.

A second account is tagged and I click onto it. It appears to belong to a dog breeder, as it takes me through to a page called Rosie’s Rottweilers. I can see their most recent post was advertising the latest litter of pups– this must be the photo Noah shared– but note that they aren’t ready to go to new homes for months.

I roll my eyes, scrolling back up the page. ‘Months!’ I slur angrily at the screen.

Rosie’s Rottweilers are premium breeders and trainers of pedigree Rottweiler guard dogs. Our dogs are trained by fully licensed security personnel from birth to be sound defence dogs for the family. We are particularly popular with celebrity clients and high-value clientele. Please email with any training or pup requirements. N.B. Prices start at £10,000.

I blink.Ten grand?Noah is spendingten grandon a dog? It’s not even a German Shepherd! Is this a joke? Why would he do this? There are so many dogs that need homes in rescue centres – why would anybody fork out that kind of money for a pet?

I close Facebook and head to Google, searching for Rosie’s Rottweilers. I find the official website and start reading up. It looks like these dogs are bred for people with a lot of money who need to feel safe or have their mansions and treasure troves protected. I shiver at an example video, which shows a huge bear-like dog they claim is only nine months old biting someone. On command, he closes his jaws around the man’s carefully padded arm. He shakes at it violently, ripping at the protective layer so forcefully that the man is sent stumbling forward, struggling to hold his position. Finally, the trainer calls the dog to stop, and it instantly releases its hold, saliva dripping from its jaws.

I wonder if they’ve been burgled recently.

I think of that lovely house, nestled on that fancy street, where my fiancé’s double life exists along with all the secrets he’s hiding.

I wonder what in that house it is worth paying ten grand to protect.

Chapter Twenty-Five

17 November 2024

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe I’m even writing this, but Noah has asked me to move in with him. It caught me totally off-guard. I was out doing my weekly shop at Tesco and he put his arm around my back as I pushed the trolley and said, ‘How do you feel about us moving in together?’

I stopped the trolley and stared at him. ‘What, like, permanently?’

He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t move in with the intention of moving out again, if that’s what you mean.’

I smiled nervously. ‘You want to live with me?’

‘I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? We spend every day together, we’re here doing the weekly shop together to buy all the dinners we’re going to eat together. It doesn’t really make much sense paying for two separate locations, now does it?’

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