Cuckoo

Cuckoo

by
Julia Crouch


Cuckoo was such a page-turner it kept me awake at night longing to find out what was going to happen next.

Having said that, it’s not a typical thriller; more a slow-burn, psychological chiller that leaves you wondering how well you ever really know anyone; even those closest to you.

Rose and her artist husband, Gareth, seem to have the perfect life, living in rural bliss in their newly refurbished home with their lovely daughter, Anna and little baby, Flossie.

Out of the blue, Rose gets a call from her old friend, Polly – a washed-up musician now living in Greece - whose husband has died in an accident.

Despite Gareth’s misgivings, Rose invites Polly and her sons to stay, but it soon becomes clear that Polly is unstable and her boys have been running wild. They’ve barely settled in when Flossie becomes seriously ill, possibly at Polly's hands, and after that Rose and Gareth’s cosy life slowly starts to unravel.

Told from Rose’s point of view it’s difficult initially to understand why she lets Polly have such a strong hold over her, in light of what happens, but as the story moves from Wiltshire to Brighton, revisiting their past, it seems that perhaps Rose isn’t quite who she appears to be either.

Cuckoo is a gripping and, at times, disturbing read full of foreboding and tension, as well as some wonderfully lyrical prose.

It brilliantly explores the nature of friendship and marriage when both are based on shaky foundations, and although the ending wasn’t necessarily one I’d have chosen, it certainly stays with you long after you’ve turned the last page.

I’m already looking forward to Julia's next novel.