by Elise Noble
The question had weighed heavy on Rhys’s mind all week. To sweep up the sorry remains of his uncle’s coco du ciel nut might be construed as an admission of guilt, and Rhys had done nothing wrong.
“Let’s leave it. Maybe Uncle Albert will think it fell down right before he got back?”
“Maybe.” Her tone said she didn’t believe that. “You’re not going to stay and speak to him?”
Rhys knew he should—Albert was his only living relative, after all—but if his uncle was annoyed, putting a few hundred miles between them seemed like a good idea. Not only that, Rhys didn’t want to answer questions about Coco either. If Albert found out she’d been in the greenhouse that night, then she might get the blame. Now that Rhys had gotten to know her, he couldn’t imagine her committing an act of vandalism, but his uncle might not be so willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“I’ll phone him later.”
***
As they set off for Uxbridge, Rhys said a silent prayer that his ancient Fiesta would make it the whole way back. He hadn’t bothered to get it serviced seeing as he planned to scrap the vehicle before he left the country, and now he was regretting that oversight. An extended stay at Watford Gap services would hardly be the best start to Coco’s new life.
She was fidgety too, of course she was. Once again, she was heading into the unknown. And the house in Uxbridge… Okay, so Rhys might have glossed over some of the details because the masochist in him didn’t want her to run screaming into the distance. Let’s just say it would be about as far away from the peaceful solitude they’d shared in Wales as it was possible to get.
Black smoke was pouring from the back end of the Fiesta by the time they pulled onto Cardon Street. The dingy Victorian terrace he shared with three others sat halfway along on the right-hand side, a thorn among roses. As he drew to a halt at the kerb, Rhys kept his fingers crossed that he’d put his dirty underwear into the laundry hamper and remembered to bin the remains of the noodles that had been his last meal before he left for Wales.
“This is it?” Coco asked, looking up at the grubby facade.
Once upon a time, the building had been white, but over the years, the paint had faded to a dirty grey that blended in with the smoggy sky above it. Paint peeled from the door and window frames, and the tiny front yard had as many weeds as Uncle Albert had flowers.
“Home sweet home.” Rhys opened the front door, and Jorge—the least offensive of his three housemates—wandered past scratching his unmentionables. “Well, sort of.”
Things didn’t get much better when they walked into the lounge. Hashim was sprawled on the sofa, surrounded by a sea of empty pizza boxes. Brilliant.
“Didn’t you lot clear up at all while I was away?”
Hashim shrugged. “Nope. Football was on.” Then he noticed Coco behind Rhys and grinned. “Hey, you upgraded Stacey!”
“Who’s Stacey?” Coco asked.
Hashim choked on a laugh. “Whoops.”
Rhys steered Coco out of the room. “Let’s talk in the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea.”
Or coffee, as it turned out, because they’d run out of teabags. Black, because there was no milk either. Coco sat opposite him at the scarred kitchen table and raised an eyebrow.
“Stacey?”
He closed his eyes, which did nothing whatsoever to help. Fuck, this was embarrassing.
“We dated for a year and a half, but then she decided she preferred one of my housemates.”
Coco glanced back towards the living room, nose wrinkling. “What, one of…?”
“No, not them. Gary. I caught them at it on the sofa.”
Rhys hadn’t sat on it since, and not just because it was permanently covered in crumbs.
“He still lives here?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Has he no shame?”
“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Rhys said on a sigh. “I just try to keep out of the way. My lease is up soon, and I mostly stay in my room, working.”
“Is there anything I can do to help? Poke Stacey’s eyes out, kick Gary in the balls, that sort of thing?”
Rhys managed a lopsided smile. He was tempted to take Coco up on the second option, but that would only create more tension.
“To be honest, just having you here’s done wonders for my street cred.”
“What do you mean?”
“You must know you’re pretty. Did you see Hashim’s and Jorge’s faces when you walked in?”
“Am I pretty? I guess I never really thought about it.”
Coco’s answer was genuine. She wasn’t fishing for compliments.
“Not just pretty. Beautiful.”
The words left Rhys’s mouth before he thought to apply a filter, and he cursed himself. Shut up, you fool. Coco, ever the sensitive one, noticed his discomfort and lowered her gaze to the table for a moment.
“So I guess I’ll just…hang out?”
“Sorry this place is such a dump.”
“Hey, it’s better than being homeless.”
Dammit, that note of sadness had crept back into her voice.
“You’ll never be homeless, I promise.”
Think before you speak, asshole. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
“I won’t be here forever. As soon as I can find out…”
“I know.” This was getting too heavy for a Wednesday afternoon. “So I guess I should show you my room. Our room.”
The coffee was still too hot to drink, so they carried it upstairs with them. Rhys’s bedroom smelled slightly musty, probably because of the damp problem the landlord never got around to fixing, but it was blessedly tidy. Coco perused the space, taking in the double bed pushed against one wall, the desk half-buried under piles of scribbled notes, and the dancing plastic cactus on the windowsill. Stacey had given it to him as a Christmas gift. Now, the batteries were as dead as their relationship, but he’d never quite been able to bring himself to throw it out.
“It’s better than I was expecting,” Coco said. “After I saw the lounge, I was worried we wouldn’t be able to find the floor.”
“That’s why I keep the door locked. If the others can’t get in, they can’t trash it.”
She wandered over to the window and gazed out at the patch of dirt the estate agent had called a garden. Since it faced north, it was perpetually cast in shadow, and even the weeds struggled to survive out there. The overcast sky threatened rain, and Rhys was glad they’d got home before the storm started. He didn’t like driving in bad weather, not least because his car only had one windscreen wiper.
“I can take the floor tonight,” Coco said, turning to face him. “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
Coco huffed and went back to the window. Thinking of escape already?
“Fine.”
The logistics would take some getting used to. In the end, Rhys headed to the bathroom to change while Coco borrowed another of his T-shirts and a pair of jogging bottoms. If this arrangement was to last two months, they needed to buy her pyjamas.
Oh, for crying out loud…
Rhys switched on the bathroom light and immediately wished he hadn’t. The black ring of scum around the bath was bad enough, but the pedestrian crossing light lying inside the tub? That was ten times worse. Where had it even come from? The geek in him was tempted to wire it up and see if it worked, but the pragmatist overruled. He needed to get rid of the bloody thing. Was that classed as aiding and abetting? Deep breaths, Rhys. None of this should surprise you. Beyond the bath, the toilet seat was of course up, and also decorated with a dubious array of yellow stains. Stacey might not have worried about things like that, but no way would Coco be setting foot in this mess. Rhys grabbed a scouring pad and began scrubbing, and when the bathroom suite no longer made him cringe, he went to find a screwdriver.
Two months, that’s all he had to last.
Coco was si
tting on the edge of the bed when he returned, hands folded neatly in her lap.
“You took a while.”
What was he meant to say? She probably thought he’d been taking a dump or jacking off, but he could hardly admit he’d been breaking stolen property into its component parts, could he?
“Best if you use the downstairs loo tonight.” That way, he could wait until she went to bed and then cart the remains of the crossing light out to the bin in the dark. He sensed another question on her lips, one he didn’t want to answer. In moments like this, avoidance was the best tactic. “Let’s make some dinner, eh? Then we can get some sleep.”
It was going to be a long, long evening.
CHAPTER 8
WAS IT NORMAL to lie in the dark, listening to another person breathe? Rhys had never been tempted to do that with Stacey, although she had kept him awake with her snoring from time to time. Was Coco too hot? Or not warm enough? It might have been June, but nobody had told the weather that, and Gary-the-prick opened the windows every chance he got. Rhys was bloody freezing. They needed to buy an extra duvet tomorrow as well.
Make that today. He could just about make out the luminous hands on the clock above his desk, hear its steady tick over the noise from outside. His bedroom was farthest from the road, but one of the neighbours was having a party, the inconsiderate bastard. Who held a party that late on a weekday?
At least Coco seemed to be sleeping. Thank goodness for small mercies.
Rhys channelled the living dead as he dragged himself off the floor in the morning. Two hours’ sleep didn’t cut it, especially after yesterday’s drive and the late-night cleaning session. Gummy eyelids weighed heavy, and his first stumbling steps reminded him of Jorge after he’d drunk one too many shots. Coco, on the other hand, looked as lovely as ever.
When her eyelids fluttered open, she gave him one glance and swung her legs out of bed.
“I’ll make coffee.”
“I can…” He couldn’t. “Thanks.”
Five minutes later, she put a steaming mug down on his bedside table.
“Are you sick? You look sick.”
“No, just tired.”
“You didn’t sleep well?”
“Not really.”
“Then why don’t you rest? The bed’s empty now.”
Oh, if only. “I’ve just sat my final exams. I need to stop acting like a student.”
And besides, if he didn’t go out and buy some sort of mattress, he’d be spending another night on the floor.
“How do students act?”
“They go to bed late, get up late, drink too much beer, know the phone numbers of every takeaway within a five-mile radius by heart, and occasionally, very occasionally, they go to a few lectures.”
“I’m not sure if I’ve ever been a student, but I don’t think I could live on beer and takeout.”
“I’ve always been a night owl, but being honest, I found there were better things to spend my money on than alcohol and pizza.” Plus Rhys had gone to most of his lectures, which quickly earned him the status of “least cool housemate.” Seriously—Hashim had presented him with a plastic trophy and everything. Best to leave that part out. “Do you want breakfast? I’ll make us both breakfast.”
“I could do with a shower first. Where is it?”
“Turn right out of the bedroom, and it’s straight ahead.”
Coco’s soft footsteps padded along the hallway, and the bathroom door clicked shut as Rhys scalded the roof of his mouth on his coffee. Great start. How was he going to get through two months of this? Coco wasn’t a bad roommate, but the sheer awkwardness of—
“Rhys? This may be a dumb question, but what should I do with the goldfish?”
“The…goldfish?”
“The two goldfish in the bathtub?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Sharing a house with Gary, Jorge, and Hashim was like living in a zoo, and this morning, Rhys meant that quite literally.
“Jorge!” And it was pronounced like George, not the Spanish way—his parents just weren’t great at spelling. “Why are there goldfish in the bathtub?”
The next door along the hallway clicked open. “Because they didn’t look happy in the washing-up bowl.”
Take a deep breath.
“I’ll rephrase. Why are there goldfish at all?”
“Who knows?”
“Was beer involved?”
“Probably.”
Coco giggled. “At least I’m not the only one with a memory problem.”
“You can’t leave the fish there,” Rhys told him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix it later.”
Jorge slammed his door shut, and the pulse throbbing in Rhys’s temple told him that he’d have a monster headache by the end of the day if he wasn’t careful. Why him? Sober, Jorge was bearable, but drunk or hung-over? He was a real asshole.
“That guy’s an idiot,” Coco whispered. “How do you put up with him?”
A girl after his own heart.
“The rent’s cheap, and I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Right.”
Shit. “I won’t see you stuck.”
“We both know this arrangement can’t last forever.” Coco turned and headed towards the bathroom again. “Guess I’ll skip the shower.”
***
An hour later, Rhys browsed the aisles of the local pet store with Coco in tow. What did fish need? He picked out a basic aquarium, a tub of food, coloured gravel, and a filter, then Coco added a couple of fake plants and a mock cave.
“I don’t want them to get bored,” she said.
“Don’t their memories last about seven seconds?”
“Who knows? But if they do, they can have seven seconds of happiness.”
Such a tiny, innocuous comment, but it showed who Coco was, didn’t it? She cared about others, even if that “other” was a damn goldfish. Rhys added a miniature pirate ship to the basket and went to pay.
Afterwards, they headed to the outdoor store to pick up an inflatable mattress, plus Tesco for groceries, a cheap duvet, and another pillow. In hindsight, they should have gone to TK Maxx instead.
“Oh, hell,” he groaned as they walked out the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not what, who.” Rhys cut his eyes to the side. “That’s Gary and Stacey.”
And short of hightailing it back into the store and hiding in the cleaning aisle—because neither of them would ever find it—there was no way of avoiding the pair.
But Coco, it seemed, had a plan. Rhys jolted as she slid an arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
As Rhys’s blood headed south to his cock, he thought that was debatable.
“All right?” he asked through gritted teeth as Gary got within spitting distance. He didn’t expect an answer, but if Gary had caught an incurable disease or his testicles had dropped off, that would be a bonus.
Stacey replied for both of them. “Never better. We’re having a party at mine tonight, so you know… Gotta get the drinks in.” At one time, Rhys had found her saccharine voice sweet, but now it grated. And was he imagining things, or did it also sound slightly strained today? “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Coco.”
Gary’s slow perusal made Rhys want to knock the man’s teeth out. But Tesco had CCTV, and he also didn’t want to end up in jail.
“You from around here, Coco?” Gary asked.
“I’m staying with Rhys at the moment.”
That gleam in Gary’s eyes was almost predatory. Perhaps jail wouldn’t be so bad?
“Maybe I could show you the sights, help you feel at home?”
The sights? In Uxbridge? There were two shopping centres, a handful of dodgy nightclubs, and a canal. It was hardly fucking Disneyland.
Stacey gave Gary a disgusted look, but Coco just laughed.
“No, thanks. I like to hang out with men, not b
oys.”
Coco spoke the words so sweetly that it took a few seconds for the insult to register. Plus there was the fact that Gary was a bit slow in general. But he finally worked it out, and his face turned beet red.
“We’re running late,” he mumbled, then grabbed Stacey’s arm and pulled her into the store.
Perhaps that was the moment when Rhys began to fall a tiny bit in love with Coco.
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“He deserved it. I can’t believe he hit on me in front of his girlfriend.”
“I don’t think she could either. Did you see her face?”
“Yes, but she made her bed, so she can lie in it.” Coco touched Rhys’s arm with her free hand. “Sorry, that was insensitive.”
“Forget it. I had a lucky escape.”
And quite possibly a lucky find, in a greenhouse of all places.
CHAPTER 9
“I’M SORRY, BABE. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Coco sat cross-legged on the bed twisting a damp tissue while Rhys paced the room with his phone in his hand, plotting murder. Why did men have to be such arseholes? The caller had claimed to be a friend of Coco’s, except he’d said her name was Janine. And the story had sounded believable. They’d met at the gym, gone out for coffee several times. She’d just split up with a boyfriend. So Rhys had handed the phone over, and the pervert had spewed such filth that Coco had run to the bathroom to puke.
And that was the best lead they’d had so far.
“I’ll screen the next call better.”
“What if there isn’t a next call? It’s as if I never existed.” Coco blew her nose and sniffed a bit. “Or if I did, nobody cares enough to look for me. Am I that bad of a person?”
No. No way. Since Coco had no memories to guide her, what Rhys saw must be her natural personality, right? Sweet with a little bit of sass. How could anybody not be fond of her?
“You’re a good person. Perhaps you’d only just arrived in Wales? Maybe you didn’t have a chance to get to know anyone?”
Those hints of an American twang had come back, stronger this time. The Welsh lilt she’d picked up had all but been replaced by a London accent. It was as if Coco were a blank canvas, learning as she went, but what if the US accent was natural?
