Coco du Ciel

by Elise Noble

  “Sorry,” she said again. “Do you think it was the pills?”

  “Probably.”

  “I won’t take them again.”

  Aaaaand…they were back to square one. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay, I think. A little headache, but…” Coco screwed her eyes shut, then stiffened. “The nightmare went on for longer.”

  “The same dream? You were underwater again?”

  “Yes, but this time, I remember walking along the shore. It was a lake, not the sea. Dark water, pine trees, a small boat tied to a dock… And somebody pushed me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Into the water. Somebody pushed me into the water. I felt a hand on my back, then I lost my footing, and I couldn’t get out. Something was holding me down.”

  Coco began to tremble, and Rhys hugged her tighter. “It was just your imagination. You’re safe now.”

  “But what if it wasn’t? It always feels so vivid. The chill of the water rushing into my lungs, the wisps of my hair wrapping around my neck, the panic when I realise I can’t tell which way is up. I hear myself choking. And last night, every detail was crystal clear. There was a bonfire nearby. I smelled the woodsmoke before I fell into the water. Tasted it on my tongue. And then I drowned, and suddenly there was nothing. I was just floating in the dark.”

  “You didn’t drown, sweetheart. You’re still here.” Rhys squeezed her hand. “You’re alive.”

  “Am I? Nobody will admit to knowing me before the day I met you. What if I’m some kind of ghost?”

  “Coco, I’m holding you in my arms, and I assure you, you’re very real.”

  “So why is it like I never existed?”

  That was yet another question Rhys couldn’t answer.

  CHAPTER 13

  TICK, TICK, TICK…

  Three weeks until Rhys’s lease on the room on Cardon Street ran out, and the clock wouldn’t slow just because he was knackered.

  Over the past fortnight, they’d developed a system. Internet research had turned up a wealth of information on sleep phases and patterns, and by trial and error, they’d worked out that if Coco slept for seventy minutes at a time, she didn’t reach the REM stage of sleep where she began dreaming. They’d set a timer and Rhys would shake her awake, then he’d take a turn at sleeping. Far from ideal, but it was better than the alternative.

  Of course, that didn’t leave many hours when they were both awake to house-hunt.

  Rhys wanted to avoid another shared place if at all possible. Firstly, it wouldn’t be fair to inflict their sleep experiments on a new set of housemates—tiptoeing around at four a.m. to make toast because their circadian rhythms were screwed up got awkward—and secondly, he was sick of having to be nice to people he didn’t much like. Gary was still being an absolute dick, and Stacey seemed to spend more time at their place than at her own.

  With Uxbridge clinging to the end of the Metropolitan Tube line, housing in the area fetched London prices, and even the tiniest flat would be a stretch on Rhys’s income. So they’d decided to look farther afield—Sussex, perhaps, or Wiltshire—seeing as neither of them had any need to stay close to the city. Fit4Life and Project Beautify were coming along as well as could be expected under the circumstances, and the make-up vlogger had kindly plugged Pan Friday, which resulted in a nice boost in sales.

  “What about this flat?” Rhys suggested, turning his laptop screen for Coco to see. “Only one bedroom, but we could put a sofa bed in the lounge.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “We’ve already had this conversation.”

  “But going travelling was your dream.”

  Rhys could visit the most beautiful destinations on earth, but if he left Coco behind to fend for herself, they’d all be flat and grey. Tainted because she wasn’t there to share the trip with him.

  “It’s my decision, and I’m staying. What about this place? Two bedrooms, but the kitchen’s more of a closet.”

  “I’ll live anywhere.”

  So Coco said, but after their first trip to Wiltshire, a whistle-stop tour where they viewed six properties in one day, she quickly rethought her words. One place had looked hopeful until the next-door neighbour stomped out of her door and yelled at them for parking outside her house—on a public road—and Rhys realised from the letting agent’s sigh that the woman was a psycho. At least the agent had the good grace to apologise for wasting their time.

  “How about a tent?” Rhys suggested as they turned back onto Cardon Street, only half joking. “At least a tent wouldn’t have mould on the walls.”

  “There’s no possibility we can stay here?”

  “I expect the landlord’s already let our room to a new student.”

  And even if he hadn’t, there was no way in hell Rhys would consider enquiring about staying, not after the conversation that took place downstairs fifteen minutes later. Coco had crawled into bed for a nap, which gave him a clear hour to make dinner. In hindsight, they should have picked up something to eat on the drive back, but the food at motorway services was always a rip-off.

  He’d just started frying leeks to make a pasta sauce—some arsehole had nicked his last onion—when Stacey sidled in.

  “Gary said you’re leaving?”

  “That’s hardly news. I always said I wouldn’t stick around in this place after I graduated, and the ceremony was last month.”

  Coco had come as his guest, and he hadn’t missed the snide looks Stacey sent in her direction throughout.

  “Yeah, but I figured you’d stay near here. You’re going to, like, Wiltshire?”

  “Maybe.”

  “With her?”

  “Coco has a name.”

  “I thought her staying with you was a temporary thing.”

  “Well, it looks as if it may become slightly more permanent.”

  “But…” Stacey started. Her expression reminded him of the time she’d drunk too many shots and hurled on Jorge’s new trainers.

  “But what?”

  “She’s weird. I mean, who gets nightmares every night? And she acts like your maid.”

  Only because she felt guilty that she couldn’t do anything else to help.

  “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?”

  Stacey sucked in a breath. “Don’t go.”

  “What?”

  “I made a mistake, okay? I’ve realised that now. Gary’s an idiot.”

  “Is that meant to be an apology?”

  “Yeah, I guess. All I wanted was a bit of excitement, and you spent so much time on that bloody computer.”

  “How does that excuse you sleeping with my housemate?”

  “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” Well, no, actually she didn’t. “And I kind of hoped we could get back together.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Uh…”

  “Nothing on this earth could convince me to give you another chance. You cheated on me.”

  Stacey’s eyes began to glisten, and Rhys cursed under his breath. What was it with the women in his life? One was a nightmare when she was awake, and the other was a nightmare when she was asleep. A couple of months ago, his life had been on the dull side of normal, but now… Now he had Coco and all the joys and frustrations that came with her. Yes, the memory and sleep issues were a problem, but the rest of the time he loved her company, the sound of her voice, her smile, the little dance she did when something made her happy…

  Maybe he even loved her.

  Well, shit. That was a recipe for disaster. Perhaps he should add it to his app?

  “But Gary doesn’t mean anything to me.” Stacey tried to take Rhys’s hand, and he pulled it away. “It was a blip, that’s all.”

  Rhys turned his gaze to the ceiling. Give me strength.

  “Look, Stacey…”

  Saved by the bell. Rhys practically ran into the hallway and fumbled with the lock on the front door. If this was a canvasser, he’d answer their qu
estions all day long.

  But it wasn’t a canvasser.

  And now he had an even bigger problem than Stacey.

  CHAPTER 14

  “UNCLE ALBERT? WHAT are you doing here?”

  That was his pristine old Jaguar parked at the kerb. He’d driven all the way from Wales today?

  “Voicemail broken, is it?”

  “I’ve been busy,” Rhys mumbled. “I kept meaning to ring you back.”

  “I thought youngsters were glued to their phones nowadays? In more than a month, you couldn’t manage five minutes for a call? Or even one of those text messages? Good thing I had to travel to London for the National Orchid Festival—it meant I could stop by to ask you what in heaven’s name happened to my coco du ciel tree.”

  Uh-oh.

  “All you had to do was water the plants, feed them, and check the lights were working as they should be. And yet somehow, you managed to knock my most cherished possession to the ground and break it. What on earth were you playing at?”

  A soft voice came from behind. “It was my fault.”

  Ah, shit. Rhys turned to see Coco standing there in a pair of cartoon pyjamas, water bottle in hand. She’d sure picked the perfect time to get thirsty.

  “No, it was an accident.”

  “But I was the only one in there. Whatever happened, it stands to reason that I must have done it, and I’m not letting you take the blame.”

  “What was this girl doing in my greenhouse? You didn’t ask me if you could bring a guest.”

  “I didn’t bring a guest. I just went in to check the plants one morning, and there she was.”

  Albert turned his gaze on Coco. “Why were you there?”

  “I don’t know, I swear.”

  “She doesn’t remember.”

  “Why not?” Uncle Albert’s bushy white eyebrows pinched together as he frowned. “Were you drunk? Honestly, young people these days, they’ve got no self-respect.”

  “She wasn’t drunk, Uncle. She’s got amnesia. The first thing she remembers is waking up under that tree the nut fell out of.”

  “Fruit, not nut. Well, technically, it’s a drupe—pulpy on the outside with a hard shell on the inside that contains one seed, like a walnut or an almond.” Did it really matter? “She has amnesia?”

  “I took her to the hospital, and they said she didn’t have a head injury, but there’s nothing…” Why had Albert turned so pale? His complexion matched his hair. “Uncle, are you okay?”

  “This can’t have happened. No, no, not again.”

  “What can’t have happened?”

  Albert’s voice came out as a whisper. “The legend… Son, I think I need a cup of tea.”

  “Legend? What legend?”

  Coco took Albert’s arm and led him towards the kitchen. As soon as Stacey saw them coming, she scuttled out the back door, which was one small thing to be thankful for. The kettle took forever to boil, and Albert settled onto a rickety wooden chair that was only one wobbly leg away from landfill.

  “Perhaps my grandmother wasn’t quite as cuckoo as I imagined,” he muttered.

  “Your grandmother? What’s she got to do with any of this?”

  “I suppose I should start at the beginning… Plenty of milk and two sugars, lad.”

  With the tea made, Rhys settled into a seat opposite his uncle with Coco at his side. The old man seemed more resigned than angry, and Rhys had to take that as a good sign.

  “What’s this legend, then?”

  “You never met your great-grandmother Alice, but she was quite a woman. An adventurer. Always off on some trip or another with my poor long-suffering grandfather.”

  “Mum mentioned her once or twice.” Rhys had always been under the impression that they didn’t get along. “Didn’t she lose a toe from frostbite after she visited Antarctica?”

  “Indeed she did. And before that, she went to South America to hunt for the lost city of El Dorado and her pilot crash-landed in the Brazilian rainforest. Alice was the only person to survive the impact, albeit with a broken arm and several lacerations. A lesser woman might have given up.”

  “But Alice didn’t?”

  “Of course not. She salvaged what she could from the aircraft, found the nearest river, and set off downstream.”

  “Mum never told me any of this.”

  “Alice and your mother didn’t always see eye to eye. Alice thought young women should get out and see the world, but all your mother wanted to do was sit at home and watch TV.”

  Not much had changed later in her life—Rhys’s mum had always been a homebody with dinner on the table before Coronation Street started. The farthest she’d ever ventured was Bognor Regis, and even then, she’d been happiest sitting in the holiday park with a magazine. But despite her unadventurous streak, she’d been a wonderful mother, and nearly five years on, Rhys’s chest still tightened every time he thought of her.

  And what else had his mum said about Alice? Oh, yes, after Grandad Bert died, she’d lost the plot and spent her remaining days in a psychiatric hospital.

  “Everyone gets to choose their own path in life.”

  “That they do. And Alice’s took her into Karaza territory.”

  “Into what?”

  “The Karaza are an indigenous people who live deep within the Amazon rainforest. They do trade with neighbouring tribes, but for the most part, they’re hunter-gatherers who eschew contact with the outside world. Your great-grandmother came across one of their villages, and apparently, they were so fascinated by her blonde hair that she lived to tell the tale.” Albert shook his head. “They’ve got a fierce reputation by all accounts.”

  “What do they do? Shoot people with bows and arrows?”

  “I believe so. Grandma Alice said the chief kept a pair of skulls on posts outside his hut as a warning.”

  Rhys mentally crossed Brazil off the list of places he might ever want to travel. “Okay, I get it—Great-Grandma was a badass. But what’s that got to do with Coco?”

  “Coco? You’re calling her Coco?”

  “I had to call her something.”

  Albert snorted. “Well, the name’s certainly appropriate. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the Karaza… They speak their own dialect of Portuguese, but there were enough similarities to Brazilian Portuguese that Alice could communicate with them.”

  “Where did they learn to speak Portuguese?”

  “According to Alice, their lore said they were reincarnated from ancient souls to act as guardians, which is clearly codswallop, but I don’t know the true answer. Maybe a few hapless missionaries joined their tribe? Anyhow, they put a splint on Alice’s arm, treated her cuts with herbal paste, and let her stay with them until she was well enough to leave.”

  Great-Grandma Alice sounded like one hell of a woman. Rhys wished he’d been able to meet her, to hear her stories first-hand, and he was disappointed that his mother had barely mentioned Alice while she was alive. But at least Uncle Albert was willing to share.

  “How did she get home?”

  “Three tribe members paddled her down the Amazon in a dugout canoe and left her just outside the nearest settlement. A group of missionaries helped her from there.”

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “Hush, lad, I’m getting to that part. The botanist who accompanied Grandma Alice on the trip was short-sighted, and miraculously, his spectacles survived the crash intact. Alice took them with her in case she needed to light a fire with the sun’s rays, but to the Karaza, they were magical. One small girl was so myopic she could barely see, so Alice gave her the spectacles before she left. And in return, they gifted her the most precious thing they had to offer—two of their revered coco du ciel trees. Just seedlings at the time, no more than six inches tall, but they grew into the specimens you saw in my greenhouse.”

  Okay, okay, Rhys got it—the trees were part of the family history. And now he felt even guiltier for not taking better care of them.

  “Sorr
y about the fruit. I wish I could undo whatever happened that night, but I can’t.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Why are those trees so special? To the Karaza, I mean. I understand they’re like a family heirloom for you.”

  “According to Alice, the tribe was sworn to protect the trees. They’d fight to the death for them, and the reason they’d do that so readily was due to their belief in the trees’ ability to bring fallen warriors back to life.”

  “That’s crazy. But didn’t some of those ancient tribes believe in human sacrifice? The Incas worshipped the sun. And the Mayans thought that rainbows were the flatulence of demons and brought bad luck.” A handful of random facts from GCSE history had stuck in Rhys’s head. “I suppose magical trees are quite tame in the great scheme of things.”

  “Yes, yes, I scoffed at the story too. Until the Frenchman came, I treated the trees as a fascinating piece of my heritage and took pride in the fact that they were the only pair on this continent.”

  This was getting weirder and weirder. “What Frenchman?”

  “Four years ago, shortly after I gave a lecture on South American flora at Kew Gardens, I was contacted out of the blue by a young botanist. At first, he wanted to talk about the coco du ciel trees, but then I mentioned that I had two Santalum paniculatum—Hawaiian Sandalwood trees—and he asked if he could study them.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “I’m always happy to discuss my plants, and I don’t get many visitors. Plus his research was funded by a big pharmaceutical company, and in return for access to the greenhouse, he negotiated a fee for me.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “Well, no, but the heating bills don’t pay themselves. My state pension’s barely enough for me to live on. And I felt sorry for the chap. He’d lost his wife three years before—a mugging gone wrong—and he was still getting over the loss.”