Page 14 of Cuckoo

I head to the Alliance & Gordon website and quickly find his face on the investments personnel page, alongside his colleagues. I write out an email, directing it to his new work address.

‘I don’t think it’s right to check work emails in the evenings,’ he told me once over dinner. It felt like a jab at me because I had been glancing at my phone. I immediately tucked it away in my pocket and gave a rueful smile.

‘You don’t have your work emails on your phone?’ I asked.

‘I do, but it’s logged out unless I’m waiting for something in particular, otherwise I’d be unable to switch off and enjoy things like dinner with my girlfriend.’ He smiled at me teasingly.

At the time, I’d thought it was sweet, and made a mental log to check my phone less often when I was with him. Now, I’m irked by the fact there’s yet another obstacle stopping me from contacting him.

At least I know for a fact that tomorrow morning at the latest, he’ll read it. Assuming he still works there.

Noah, please call me as soon as you can. I need to know where you are. Worried sick. Please turn your phone on, or at least let me know where you’re staying while we work all this out. I want to understand what’s going on. Please. Claire.

No kisses, no exclamation marks. Trying to keep it calm and dignified. I hear footsteps and jolt out of my seat, eyes wide with anticipation, but it’s just Sukhi returning with twosteaming cups in her hands. I’d almost forgotten she was here, and the realisation makes me glad that the wine is finished. I don’t enjoy this hazy drunken feeling, where I’m sloppy and slow and unaware of who is in my home.

I force a smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘Any updates?’

‘No. I’ve sent an email to his new work address but so far I’ve found nothing personal. Does he have any other social media?’ If he’s blocked me from Facebook, perhaps I’m blocked on everything else.

‘I checked Instagram, but couldn’t find anything, just Facebook,’ Sukhi says.

I type Noah Coors London into Google this time and am rewarded by the same investment websites and his secret Facebook page. My heart jumps when I find a Twitter account, but once I click onto it I realise it hasn’t been updated since 2013. A long-haired, skinnier version of Noah in the profile photo is one I barely recognise, though the quirky smile is still there.

COME ON ARSENAL!!!!! was the last thing he posted. Memories of weekends spent in crowded pubs together hit me: Noah cheering and whooping for Arsenal; me sipping my wine slowly, trying not to jump in shock every time the room erupted into sudden roars and chants. I had never been interested in football, and only really went along to spend more time with Noah. I had loved watching him, so animated and passionate, eyes glued to the screen. Now I roll my eyes and close the window in frustration.

‘What if we try calling him from your phone?’ I ask, sitting up suddenly. ‘Maybe he’ll pick up if the number isn’t mine?’

‘Oh! Good idea. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that,’ Sukhi admits.

I read out Noah’s number and she types it in, setting it to loudspeaker mode.

I hold my breath as it rings and rings and rings.

‘Noah Coors,’ comes his voice, short and abrupt.

Sukhi and I exchange glances, and I’m jumping up and down on the spot urging her to speak with manic silent encouragement.

‘Er, yes, hello, Noah, my name is Sukhi—’

‘How can I help you, Sukhi?’ he cuts her off quickly, and I frown. It’s unusual for him to be so blunt. This is a version of him that I don’t recognise.

‘I work with your fiancée, Claire.’

There’s a half-second pause before a dial tone kicks in. He’s hung up.

We stare at each other for a moment in silent disbelief.

‘He fucking hung up?’ she says, her voice rising in anger.

I shrink back as she hits redial. It goes straight to voicemail.

‘Bastard,’ she says.

‘He’s probably turned his phone off,’ I say quietly, stating the obvious to avoid having to address my emotions.

‘God, Claire, I’m sorry but your fiancé is a dick. Who the fuck does he think he is, disappearing into his lies and then hanging up on us?’

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