Page 50 of Cuckoo

‘Yes, we can’t make that out on the footage clearly, a lot of people move in after the drink was thrown and obstruct the camera,’ Grosvenor agrees. ‘So you left after that?’

‘Yes. She was in a terrible state, shaking the whole way back in the cab, and when we got home she was just crying and crying. I was really worried about her,’ Sukhi admits.

‘So you saw her in a state of significant distress?’ Grosvenor asks.

‘Yeah, definitely. She was hurt and upset,’ Sukhi says.

‘But still showed absolutely no violent tendencies, made no threats or gestures that might be found intimidating, such as a shake of the fist?’

‘No, nothing like that. She seemed broken and sad.’

Grosvenor gives a small smile and nods to her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Dhillon.’

‘Claire is a good person,’ Sukhi adds, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat.

Chapter Forty-Four

On our lunch break I sit quietly, thinking about Sukhi and her testimony. I didn’t expect to feel so overwhelmed by emotion, but I am, and with no warning, I realise I am sobbing.

Grosvenor looks up, startled. ‘Claire? Claire, are you alright?’

I shake my head. ‘She is just such a nice person, I don’t deserve her,’ I manage to croak through more snotty sobs.

‘Who? Sukhi?’

I nod feebly, hunching over so I can cry more heavily, my hands going up to my face to hide myself away and afford myself some privacy.

Grosvenor says quietly, ‘You take all the time you need to pull yourself back together.’ I can hear the rustling of paper which indicates she’s going to ignore me and my emotions and go back to work.

I continue to sob, overcome with emotion at the idea that someone who has only known me for a few months has defended me so loyally, in a situation where there is nothing to gain for herself. She must like me, care for me even. It’s something that I have been starved of, apart from when Noah was in my life.

Claire is a good person, Sukhi said. It hit me in the chestlike a bullet, the notion that someone could think that of me. I realise, with a sense of shock, that after decades of being told I wasn’t good enough by Mother, that I was a bad person, I had come to believe it. The fact that someone as kind as Sukhi saw enough in me to believe I was good, even though I obviously lied to get my job… I feel like a fraud, like perhaps she just doesn’t know me well enough yet to see the true Claire. I have deceived Sukhi about more than my CV.

I was seventeen and had been in bed with a crippling migraine. I started suffering from them when I was fifteen, after my periods started. My vision would blur at the sides and then a cracking pain in my head would start to build, until it felt like someone with a drill was splintering my temples with it. Occasionally I would vomit from the pain. The only way to cope was to pop some codeine, lie in a dark room, and sleep it off. Luckily, they weren’t too regular, but I remember on this occasion I was lying in my room, clutching my temples and writhing in pain, when my bedroom door opened.

‘Claire, darling, I need you to help me with my hair. It won’t go the way I want it to and you’re so good at braiding,’ Mother said, sweeping in and perching herself on a corner of my bed, oblivious to the fact that I was clearly in no state to be helping with her hair.

‘Mother, I can’t. I have such a migraine,’ I groaned, rolling over feebly in bed to emphasise the fact that I couldn’t move properly. My eyes were still squeezed shut. I was afraid thatif I opened them to the light it would cause nausea to roil in my belly.

‘Oh, it’s just a little headache– come on! It will only take you five minutes,’ she replied, getting up from the bed.

‘Mother, please. Why do you need your hair braided right now?’ I tried, hoping that she would realise it was unimportant.

‘For the event this evening, darling, I want it half-up, half-down, with just one French braid down the side. Just one, it really won’t take long,’ she pressed.

I sighed, trying to remain calm. ‘Your event isn’t until later, Mother. Please, let me sleep off this migraine, and I promise that when I wake up and the painkillers have kicked in, I’ll come and do your hair. It will be done before you need to leave,’ I reasoned.

I heard her suck her teeth and braced myself for what was to follow.

‘Claire, I’m not asking a lot: it will take just five minutes. Don’t be so selfish. You know I can’t do it myself. I don’t want to be in a rush later!’

‘Mother, I told you, Iwilldo it, just not right now. My vision isn’t good and it will come out badly. You don’t want that, do you?’ I tried again.

‘Claire, open your eyes when you’re speaking to me, don’t be so rude,’ she hissed.

I cracked my eyes open and the light entering the room from the door behind her sent blades of blinding pain right through my head to the back of my skull, which instantly began to throb. I winced.

‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ Mother rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, Claire, you are such a horribly selfish person. I don’t ask for much, do I? A bloody braid in my hair is all I want, and you’re acting like I’m asking for one of your lungs!’

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