Coco du Ciel

by Elise Noble

  The bedroom smelled musty, but apart from a thin layer of dust, it was clean. Not as nice as a hotel, but definitely better than a cardboard box.

  “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

  He started to close the door behind him, but she stopped him with a quiet whisper.

  “Rhys?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. For, you know, everything.”

  “No problem.”

  What sort of man would he be if he’d left her to fend for herself?

  ***

  The next morning, they started the hunt for Coco’s true identity in earnest.

  “Smile,” Rhys said as he snapped photos with his phone.

  “What is there to smile about?”

  He crossed his eyes, and she giggled.

  “Better. I’ll make up a bunch of flyers with your picture. Somebody must know who you are.”

  It took him twenty minutes to mock up a poster in PowerPoint and another thirty to convince Albert’s printer to talk to his laptop. The thing had to be five years old, practically an antique in tech terms, but at least his uncle hoarded ink cartridges the same way he hoarded canned goods.

  “Have you seen this woman?” Coco read. “I sound like a lost dog.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I just hope people don’t think this is a bloody joke.”

  After all, full-on amnesia was rare, something that happened in movies more often than in real life—Rhys had researched the details on the internet last night after Coco went to bed. And the fact that there had been no sign of outward injury worried him more than he let on. If the doctor was right and Coco’s memory loss had been caused by emotional trauma, then living in ignorant bliss might actually be preferable to remembering what happened.

  First, they called the doctor’s contact at the local paper, who agreed to run a small article, and then they tried the university. The lady in the student liaison office insisted they had no missing students, but she made sympathetic noises in the right places and offered to put up some posters.

  Rhys and Coco spent the afternoon traipsing around Llanefion village and the neighbouring town, taping flyers to trees and lamp posts and bus shelters. By the end of the day, the only thing they had to show for their efforts was aching feet. Coco was wearing Rhys’s spare trainers with three pairs of socks, but they were still too big for her.

  She groaned out loud as she sank onto somebody’s garden wall for a rest.

  “You okay?” Rhys asked.

  “Just tired. Why hasn’t anyone called?”

  “We haven’t finished putting up the posters yet.”

  “Don’t remind me. Why do I get the feeling this is all a big waste of time?”

  “Have faith.”

  “All I want to do is go home, and I don’t even know where that is.”

  “Somebody’ll recognise you.” Eventually. “We can get you better shoes tomorrow.”

  “How? I don’t have any money, remember?”

  “I’ll lend you the cash. Let’s go back to Woodside Lodge, okay? Get some rest.”

  A teenager shuffled past in a leopard-print onesie, and Coco turned to stare. “What is that boy wearing?”

  “That, my dear, is fashion.”

  “Oh. Wow. Then I’m quite glad I’m unfashionable.” Her eyes widened as she realised whose clothes she was wearing. “Sorry! I didn’t mean…”

  “Chill, I get it. We’ll buy you some clothes tomorrow too. Any idea what style you like?”

  “None whatsoever. But not…” She took one last glance at the wannabe leopard. “Not that.”

  Rhys made a mental note to chuck his tiger-print onesie in the bin. Not that he wore it often, honest. He’d only bought it for a fancy-dress party. Then he caught himself—why did it matter? The onesie was in Uxbridge. It wasn’t as if Coco would ever see it.

  CHAPTER 6

  BACK AT THE house, Rhys stood in front of the pantry, surveying the contents with Coco beside him. Was Uncle Albert a prepper in his spare time? There were so many cans. And packets, and jars, and boxes…

  “What can you make out of chickpeas, olive oil, and dried pasta?” Coco asked. “I’d say my mind’s a blank, but we both already know that.”

  “There’s an app with the answer to that very question. You know what an app is?” Rhys didn’t want to make any assumptions.

  “Like a program for your phone?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And it tells you how to cook spaghetti?”

  “Yup. It’s called Pan Friday.”

  Rhys should know—he’d written it. Pan Friday hadn’t made him rich, but by living frugally, he’d managed to graduate debt-free and also save up enough cash to finish the trip he’d started five years ago. Plus he’d learned twenty new things to do with baked beans. Eating them on toast was so last century.

  Returning to Australia would be bittersweet, but his mum had always encouraged him to follow his dreams. He hoped that his new project—a subscription app called Fit4Life he was writing in collaboration with a fitness coach who’d found fame on YouTube—would allow him to travel for an extra year at least. And with any luck, it might help him to get in shape too.

  “Yeah, you just enter the ingredients you have, and it tells you what you can make.”

  Rhys didn’t write the recipes himself—a good thing too, because he was shit at cooking—but instead, he used a database he’d built up over the years to direct users to an appropriate recipe on the internet. He got income from the app purchases, and the food writers got additional traffic to content already on their websites—a win-win situation.

  “So what can we make?”

  “How about pasta with chickpea-and-tomato sauce?”

  “I guess that’s okay. I mean, I have no idea what I like to eat, so…”

  “Then we’ll just have to try a different type of food each night until you remember.”

  Her face fell. “How long do you think I’m going to be here?”

  “I meant until you go home. Maybe a day or two? We can pick up groceries tomorrow, anything you want.”

  “Sure.”

  Unlike last night, Coco barely spoke as they ate, just picked at admittedly overcooked pasta in between staring blankly out of the window. What was going through her mind? Worry? Confusion? Nothing at all?

  Two days into the search, Rhys was even more baffled than he had been when Coco emerged from the foliage in her birthday suit. Why hadn’t anyone reported her missing? Perhaps he was being judgemental, but she didn’t seem the type of girl to fly under the radar. Coco was beautiful. He hadn’t missed the heads that turned as the two of them taped up posters, and he also knew what those people were thinking—what was a girl like her doing with a man like him? Not that Rhys was hideous or anything; he was just average. Average in every way. Coco was in a whole other league, and not only in terms of looks. She was clever, funny, and kind too. A lethal combination, at least when it came to a man’s heart.

  Good thing she wouldn’t be around for long.

  “I guess we can cross moussaka off the list?” he said when she put her fork down.

  “Huh?”

  “You didn’t like dinner?”

  “Oh, I… It was good. I appreciate you cooking.”

  “Really?”

  Whenever he’d suggested cooking in Uxbridge, Stacey had immediately reached for a takeout menu.

  “I just… I think I might not like eggplants. All those fleshy little lumps.” She hesitated a second, then clapped both hands to her cheeks. “Flesh? Do you think I saw a murder?”

  “Do you think you saw a murder?”

  “I don’t know, but the doctor said trauma, and… Okay, I’m clutching at straws.”

  Probably, but Rhys was going to follow every possible lead. “I’ll check the internet in case any deaths have been reported locally. And after I’ve watered the plants, we can watch the news too.”

&n
bsp; “Do you need a hand again?”

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  In retrospect, that decision turned out to be a mistake. The humidity in the greenhouses meant that Coco stripped down to her T-shirt, which left Rhys kicking himself for not taking her somewhere to buy a bra. Put your filthy mind away, you utter dick. Think of something else. Computer code, cars, anything. The poor girl had been through quite enough without a virtual stranger lusting after her.

  And the news was a problem too. There wasn’t a single item of interest on Wales Today, but then the international segment came on and it turned out that a cruise ship had capsized off the coast of Spain. At least thirty-seven people were known to have drowned, and Coco took the news worse than half of the people on the ground. She tried to blink away her tears, then gave up and used a sleeve to wipe them.

  “All those poor people. The water…”

  “Rescue teams are there now. They’ll help.”

  “But what if there are still survivors trapped inside?”

  “They’ll get them out. Look, there’s a diver.”

  Coco bit her lip, and Rhys passed her a tissue. Mental note: find a comedy to watch tomorrow. Assuming Coco hadn’t gone home, obviously. She might have been sweeter than Stacey, but she was a hell of a lot more complicated to be around.

  ***

  The following day, Rhys bankrupted himself buying more ink cartridges, and they postered the nearest town in the other direction as well as stopping at a department store to get clothes for Coco. And underwear, but he let her find that while he checked out the electronics section. Shopping for undies with a girl he shouldn’t have liked but kind of did would be only marginally less embarrassing than finding her naked in the greenhouse.

  “Lunch?” he asked once she had what she needed. “Fancy going to Greggs?”

  “I don’t have a clue what that is, but sure.”

  What? How could she not know what Greggs was? Despite the amnesia, Coco had been perfectly familiar with McDonald’s, although she couldn’t recall whether she preferred Big Macs or Quarter Pounders.

  “Greggs—you know, the bakery chain?”

  Coco shrugged, both hands out.

  “Where else would you buy your sausage rolls from?”

  “My sausage whats?”

  This was getting weirder and weirder. “Sausages wrapped in puff pastry?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those.”

  “How can you not have?”

  Surely she wasn’t a vegetarian? Once she finally settled on a Big Mac yesterday, she’d wolfed it down. Plus Greggs did vegan sausage rolls now. No, that couldn’t be the issue.

  “Maybe they don’t have a Greggs wherever I’m from?” she suggested.

  Impossible if she came from the UK. There was no escaping them. Going to Greggs was a rite of passage for every student, office worker, and hung-over twenty-something in the country. That was the biggest hint yet that Coco wasn’t from around there.

  Another hint came when they got into Greggs. Coco sniffed the air and smiled, studied the cabinet, then asked the assistant for a sausage roll and chips.

  “We don’t sell chips, love. You’ll have to go to KFC for those.”

  “So what are those packages?”

  The woman followed Coco’s gaze. “You mean crisps?”

  “Ah, yes, crisps.” Then almost to herself, she added, “That’s what British people call chips, isn’t it?”

  So that meant Coco…wasn’t British? Her accent had been difficult to pin down. When they first met, Rhys thought he’d detected the faintest hint of American, but that had faded as they spoke. And today, she’d adopted a definite Welsh lilt. Where had she been born? The USA? Had she moved to Wales recently? Or was she just great at imitating people?

  Rhys’s thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing, and when he saw an unknown number on the screen, his heart jolted.

  “Hello?”

  A pause. “I thought this number was for the girl on the poster?”

  “Yes, it is. I’m a friend of hers.”

  “Can you give me her number?”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No, but I’d like to get to know her.”

  Ugh. Rhys hung up, then realised Coco was watching him, a hopeful smile on her face.

  “Sorry, just a crank.”

  The smile faded. “I ordered you a sausage roll.”

  “Thanks, babe.” Dammit. “Uh, Coco.”

  Shit. Rhys definitely needed to get her back to wherever the hell she’d come from, and fast.

  The next call came at twenty past four as they walked back to the car, carrying half a dozen bags of groceries and clothes between them. And at first, the lead sounded hopeful.

  “So you reckon you saw her? The girl on the poster?”

  Coco leaned in to listen, and Rhys wished he’d stepped away. The brush of her breast against his arm did nothing to aid his concentration.

  “Oh, aye. For sure. Last week, mebbe? Or the week before?”

  Was he asking Rhys or telling him?

  “Where?”

  “So I was at this party…”

  “And the girl, she was at the party too?”

  “Naw, man. I saw her afterwards.”

  “On your way home?”

  “Naw, on the ship.”

  “Ship? What ship?”

  “The spaceship. Those little bastards have been abducting me for years. Years! And she’s one of them. One of those freaks! The bald ones, they drill holes in my head, but she sucks my—”

  Rhys hit the “end” button and muttered, “Sorry.”

  What a waste of time. Two days of searching, and only two calls. Nothing from the police. Nothing from the hospital. Who the hell was this girl?

  CHAPTER 7

  NOW WHAT? ALL week, the clock had been counting down to this moment. Tomorrow, Rhys was due to drive back home, and Coco? She still had nowhere to go.

  The handful of calls they’d received had yielded a big fat zero—several people wanted to know if there was a reward, one guy said she reminded him of a girl he’d seen at his cousin’s wedding, and a woman threatened to report them for littering after they stuck a poster to her fence. The wedding lead had sounded promising until they tracked down the cousin. The mystery girl turned out to be his sister-in-law, and the guy who called must have been wearing beer goggles because she looked nothing like Coco.

  “Did you water the orchids?” Coco asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll do them.”

  She hadn’t smiled once today, which was a crying shame because when she did let down her guard, she lit up the world. If scientists could find a way to harness that energy, mankind’s dependency on fossil fuels would reduce overnight.

  “Do you want to order Chinese afterwards?”

  Pizza had been her favourite so far. No pineapple, though. Over the past week, they’d gleaned a few other snippets of information about her past, tiny clues that helped to build up a picture of the girl she’d once been. She liked animals. When a neighbour’s mutt strayed into the garden at Woodside Lodge, Coco had played fetch with a stick until the owner showed up. Pop music was her favourite, the cheesier the better, and she’d dance around the greenhouses when she thought Rhys wasn’t looking. And she could draw. Give her a pen and she’d doodle, and those doodles would turn into detailed sketches. She drew a lot of buildings. After the first, Rhys thought she might be drawing a memory of her home, but no, it just seemed to be a favourite theme of hers. Ornate mansions, quirky apartment buildings, modern townhouses… She produced them all.

  “We still have groceries left. Can’t we use that magic app?”

  She still didn’t know he’d designed the app, so her comment was unexpectedly flattering.

  “Chickening out of using chopsticks again?”

  “No.” Her sulky tone told him he’d hit the nail on the head. “I should probably learn more about cooking.”

  �
�Sure, we can cook.”

  They needed to discuss the future too. He’d offered to lend her cash to stay in a bed and breakfast or rent a flat, but she’d been hesitant to accept. Rhys knew why—guilt. She had no idea how she’d pay the money back, and quite frankly, neither did he. How could she get a job with no identity? Sure, some dodgy places would pay cash in hand for waitressing or crop-picking, but Rhys didn’t want her to be stuck in that life. He already cared about her more than he should.

  Fuck.

  It was his turn to pick at his food, and her turn to act concerned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just pondering what to do tomorrow. I’m worried about leaving you here alone.”

  “I think… I think I’ll have to borrow the money you offered. I don’t like doing it, but…”

  “There might be another option.”

  “Really?”

  What was he doing?

  “I’ve got the room in Uxbridge until the end of August. If you want to share it, then you’re welcome to.” Had he lost his mind as well? “I mean, not the bed because that would be awkward, but we could get a futon or something.”

  Yes, it was official; he’d gone crazy. Why else would he have asked the loveliest woman he’d ever met to move in with him, albeit temporarily? His heart hammered in his chest. If she turned him down, it would hurt like hell.

  “I realise it’s not a brilliant offer.” Great, now he was babbling. “And you might have a better chance of connecting with your past if you stay here, but—”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure?” No. “Uh, yeah? I mean, definitely.”

  She treated him to one of those dazzling smiles. “Then I’d like to come with you.”

  Thank goodness.

  And holy shit.

  The relief that flooded through him should have been a warning, but in that moment, he was too happy to heed it.

  “So I guess we need to pack.”

  “What about that pod thing? Should we clear it up before we go?”