Page 68 of Cuckoo

I stiffen in my seat, frowning. He’s lying. On oath.

‘Did you accept her friend request?’

‘No, I did not. I felt uncomfortable that she had added me… about the circumstances surrounding it.’

‘And was that the end of your interactions?’

‘No. Over time she added some of my friends, who unknowingly accepted her, thinking she was a random requester. Eventually, one of my friends got in touch with me. She had been added by Claire, and when she had gone onto her page to see who she was, had noticed that there were photographs of me on her page. Photographs that Claire must have taken from my social media accounts and shared as though they were hers. And in some, she had even doctored herself into the image.’

The photograph of us both on Las Ramblas is projectedonto a white screen. Beside it is another image, identical except that I am missing, Noah standing alone and smiling at the camera. I feel sick. I look to Grosvenor and she is unnaturally still beside me.

‘How did this make you feel?’

‘Creeped out! That was when I told my friend Harry about the situation, but I just sort of played it down, laughed it off. It felt weird to take it all seriously. Obviously now I wish I had,’ he adds at the end, pointedly.

‘And what did you do after your Facebook friend flagged this behaviour to you?’

‘I blocked Claire. I made all my accounts private and blocked her on everything, even LinkedIn. And I told all my friends who were Facebook friends with her to block her. I also warned Lilah. I didn’t want her to stumble across a Photoshopped image and think it was real, or anything like that. It was embarrassing.’

My ears redden.

‘Was this your first conversation with Lilah about Miss Arundale?’

‘Yes. I hadn’t had any reason to mention her before: she was nobody to me.’

I suck in a breath as though I have been slapped. Nobody?Nobody?I was his fiancée! He was my partner, myeverything!I feel myself fight the urge to sob hysterically. I begin trying to hyperventilate as discreetly as I can.

It was April. I was sitting with Sukhi in the office, rain pattering outside and confining us to the depressing ‘breakout’area, sad sandwiches in hand and a couple of packets of crisps between us.

‘Shit weather,’ she commented.

‘Shit day,’ I countered with a weak smile. She returned it, then paused for a moment before placing a hand over mine.

‘I’m sorry about your mum, Claire.’

I stared very hard at the tabletop, forced myself to feel nothing. ‘It’s fine. It was a long time ago,’ I replied after an awkwardly long pause.

‘I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier,’ she told me, patting me on the hand.

It was seven months since Mother’s death, and after much back and forth with solicitors about probate, her money was to be released later this month.

‘At least you can use some of your inheritance to get on the London game of Snakes and Ladders– buy a property,’ Sukhi tried to joke.

‘No inheritance,’ I replied.

‘No? What do you mean?’ Sukhi frowned. ‘I thought you said that it would all automatically go to you as she had no other close blood relatives?’

I forced a shrug. ‘I didn’t get any money in the end.’

‘I’m sorry, Claire. That’s a real kick in the teeth. I reckon the way I burn through money, my future kids won’t have any either though, bless their hearts.’ Sukhi laughed determinedly, trying desperately to lighten this conversation I seemed determined to keep darkening.

‘She had money. She chose not to leave me any.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sukhi lowered her sandwich, brow furrowed in total disbelief. ‘She left it to someone else?’

‘Yeah. She left it all to some charity for donkeys. Said there was “nobody else” to leave things to, apparently…’

‘Jesus Christ, Claire, that’s… Well, look. I don’t want to comment on your relationship with your mum, but that seems rotten and I’m sorry to hear about it. I’m sorry she didn’t think of you.’

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