Page 29 of Cuckoo

I broke into a beaming smile. ‘We’ll move into your place?’ I squealed. Noah has a gorgeous apartment in Balham.

‘Well, actually, I was thinking of selling that and using the money to buy us somewhere new, so we could start afresh.’

I got butterflies then. ‘You… want to buy us ahouse?’

‘I mean, not a castle or anything but yes, somewhere that suits us both. Mine feels a bit of a bachelor pad, and it’s clear my bachelor days are over,’ he said, grinning.

I threw my arms around him and said yes, of course. ‘I can’t wait to house-hunt! Do you want to stay in Balham?’

He shrugged. ‘Doyouwant to be in Balham?’

I twisted a strand of my chestnut hair around one finger. ‘I’ve always loved Dulwich,’ I admitted, thinking of the gorgeous park where there are often horses from the nearby riding school.

‘Dulwich it is,’ he declared, and I squealed and wrapped myself around him in excitement.

Before meeting Noah, I honestly never imagined myself living with anyone again. Mother always used to say that nobody would put up with me the way she did, and it kind of stuck with me. I envisioned any relationship I had being wrecked once we moved in together, the closeness turning suffocating as they noticed all my faults and flaws. I like to think I’m a clean and tidy person (growing up with a woman who would scream at me if I left my shoes by the door does that to you), but the fear runs deeper than that. It’s a strange, innate feeling that they would be able to see my soul, how broken and fucked up I am on the inside, how worthless all through. And then they would hate living with me because my grossness would surely begin to seep into their own life, driving them away from me.

I haven’t shared these feelings with Noah. I know he would tell me I was being ridiculous, and it feels too much to admit to him. I think saying it out loud would make me seem soself-hating that nobody would even believe me; it would seem as though I was only saying it to chase compliments. So I’ve kept it to myself and decided that it’s worth the risk to move in with him. I feel strongly enough that we can make it work, because he’s so understanding and forgiving of my flaws.

If I’m honest, I’m nervous in general about moving in with a man, and all the surface-level parts of me he might notice and hate as well.

But I know I must try. I’d do anything to be with Noah. Within days he sent me a link to a gorgeous house in Dulwich, but it needed work.

‘We’re paying for the space, really. We couldn’t afford a house this size otherwise. We’ll need to renovate it,’ he warned me. But we agreed it would be perfect, a fresh start for both of us. I’ve said that while it’s being done, he can stay at mine. It might not be ideal, what with it being such a tiny, rubbishy studio flat, but he seemed up for it. Said it would be nice and cosy. Which is sort of romantic if you think about it. I love how he always knows what I’m insecure about and picks up on it and twists it into something positive. I’m just so lucky to have him in my life.

He’ll be joining me this weekend, and I feel like I have loads to prepare. I want him to feel welcome, so I went to the supermarket to get some of his favourite foods and when I was there I saw these cute alphabet mugs, so I bought one with aCfor Claire and one with anNfor Noah, so when he opens the cupboard he’ll know that it’s not just my flat anymore, that someone else lives here and it’s just as much his space as it is mine. I hope he likes it. I hope he likes me. I hope he likes me as much as I like him. I can’t imagine him doing anything to putme off him, but I’m dreading all the little things I may do to put him off. Like accidentally leaving leg hairs in the bath after I shave, or listening to Taylor Swift loudly on a Sunday morning. Or just being myself. But I guess this is part of being in an adult, cohabiting relationship. I’m still learning to navigate this world, and it’s daunting and rewarding all at once.

Claire

Chapter Twenty-Six

I’m unsure if it’s the alcohol, the adrenaline, or the cloak of darkness that makes 48 St Margaret’s Avenue look so different by moonlight. Everything seems hazier, dreamlike and, if possible, even more perfect than before. I emerge from my hiding place behind a tree opposite their home, and next thing I know I’ve rushed across the street, squatting beside Noah’s goddamn car again, still parked in front of Lilah’s house. Without even realising what I’m doing until it’s already happening, I take out my front door key and drag it hard down the side of his precious BMW before I slink closer to the property. It makes a satisfying high-pitched scratching sound that sets the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.Enjoy that, Noah.

The front room is lit, emitting a warm, flickering glow through the window. The plantation blinds are shut but they’ve been yanked closed half-heartedly and I can probably peer in through the slats if I get close enough. Part of me thinks,What the hell are you doing here, Claire? This is ridiculous, go home.But then I think of the Rottweiler website and a raging curiosity takes over, a desperation to know what’s going on behind that yellow door, to reveal whatever sick, dark secret it is that Lilah’s guarding. Something is not right.Normal Average Joe couples do not spend ten grand on a protective security dog if they don’t have something mega-valuable to guard. I don’t think it’s something as normal as a safe either. Perhaps it’s not about their money, but where that money’s coming from? I don’t really know much about Lilah’s father, but I’m sure no model makes enough to set their daughter up like this in London unless they’re Cindy Crawford.

I slowly edge right into the strip of shrubbery beneath the front window, shuffling awkwardly until I’m squatting beneath their windowsill planter, holding my breath. What for? I don’t know. In case someone comes and suddenly pulls aside the shutters and then opens the window and randomly leans right out and finds me? I convince myself I’m being overly cautious, but the wine has made me woozy. A sudden loud noise could be the end of my investigative mission. I have to keep it together. Better to be over-cautious than caught out.

I’m listening, my fingers splayed out in in the dirt in front of me to help keep me balanced, and I can hear the low, monotonous buzz of a television. Slowly, so slowly that it feels almost comical, I begin to rise until my hands are gripping on to the window ledge and I’m peering over the flowers and through the slats, hunched over in the darkness. I inhale sharply as I see him, leaning back casually on that luxurious cream sofa from the photos, her body tucked in beside him and her head resting on his chest as they watch a gardening show together. Noah doesn’tgarden.This is wrong,allwrong. This isn’t what he likes. She’s changed him. He would never spend his free time watching something as dull as a gardening show. I’m grinding my teeth and leaning so close to the glass that my nose is almost pressing against it.

They aren’t moving, aside from his thumb which I notice lazily tracing circles on her shoulder. Apart from that, I could almost pretend that I’m looking at a photograph, another snapshot posted to her showy Facebook album. I glare at her, daring her to see me. Then I shake off this poisonous hatred and remind myself to focus on the setting, what clues I can find as to why Noah left me for this horrible, awful woman. Any hints as to what they need an attack dog for. Noah’s well off, but this is another level of wealth. Of course, I don’t know what his new job is paying him, but even with a much higher salary, a house like this would be pushing it. Plus, all the decor is clearly hers. This screams old family money. For a split second, the question of whether that’s why he’s with her crosses my mind, but I shrug it off immediately. He has money. He is not the type of man to rely on anyone else for finances, so no. This is just a happy coincidence for him, I’m sure.

Beneath the TV (which is now going into detail onseed types,for God’s sake) is a gorgeous marble mantelpiece. There are framed pictures displayed along the top of it. I squint, trying to force the images into something sharper, the effects of the wine blurring the edges a little too much. I can make out one of Lilah with two other beautiful blonde girls– cousins, perhaps?– and two featuring herself and Noah, his arms around her in both. I inhale slowly throughmy nose, allowing myself a second to close my eyes as I do so, breathing deeply and trying to quieten my brain like my mindfulness app taught me. I count to five, then to ten as I let the breath go. Once I’m done, I feel better. Lighter, more in control, and more sober somehow, too.

The lounge adjoins a dining-room area, divided from it by glazed double doors, which are standing open. Lilah’s handbag is visible on the table and of course it’s a beautiful black Prada bag, which probably cost an arm and a leg.

I feel myself childishly roll my eyes at her predictability.

God, I hate her. I feel hatred literally bubbling beneath my flesh as I watch her draped over my boyfriend as though he is hers. I snap back into focus though when Noah says something to her, then stands and leaves the room. He must be going to the toilet. I watch her for a moment, as she replaces the warm, muscular body of my boyfriend with a sofa cushion, still in the same curled-up position, her head resting on the plumped velvet pillow. She’s wearing pyjamas, and of course they’re fucking silk. Cream silk trousers, trimmed with lace, a matching top, and Ugg slippers on the floor beside her. Her golden-blonde hair is wrapped up in a messy bun that it would require an entire team of hairstylists to replicate on my own head. Her skin is glowing and her lashes are dark, even though it looks like she’s not wearing any makeup. I’m just about to assess her bone structure in more detail when, beside me, the front door flies open. My whole body freezes in shock and anticipation, my heart in my mouth and the wine frightened out of my bloodstream. Moments later the ginger cat sashays onto the front path where it stretches lazily,before peering over at me with interest. The door has shut again. Noah was letting it out. My body sags with relief. I wasn’t seen, but it was all a bit too close for comfort.

I slowly edge backwards, away from the house, and away from my cheating fiancé.

I spend the night tossing and turning. By 5 a.m. I can’t take it anymore. I want to message my only friend, but obviously Sukhi will be asleep. So I put on a film, try to take my mind off things. It doesn’t work. I’m overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions after my trip to St Margaret’s Avenue and too hyper to sleep although I’m exhausted.

Around 9 a.m. on Friday morning I become aware of sunlight streaming through my windows.

I must have dozed off for a few hours. The TV is playing something random, the film long over.

On the coffee table, my phone blinks at me with a notification. Lilah has uploaded a new photo.

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