offer. “I was just going to say that I was thinking of starting Game of Thrones soon.”
“Cool,” I shouted through the door. “Coming.” At that, Maxine snorted with laughter, and I think I heard Noah clear his throat and shuffle his feet and then scurry down the passage.
“You guys are cute,” she said, and then dropped her towel completely and sat down on the toilet. I took this as my cue to leave.
CHAPTER 18
Noah and I had gotten comfortable in the lounge, and Game of Thrones, season one, episode one, was just about to start, when an advert came on. I immediately sat forward in my chair and stared.
Gooey, brown, melty, warm chocolate being poured onto peanuts and Rice Krispies. Being poured onto nougat, sprinkled with shavings of white chocolate and then wrapped in gold foil and . . .
“Oh my God!” I turned to Noah and looked at him excitedly. “I love chocolate. I mean, I LOVE it! I think it’s my favorite thing in the world. Do you have some? Chocolate? Do you?” I mean, of course he had chocolate. Everyone loved chocolate, didn’t they? But his face dropped.
“No. I actually don’t like it. Sorry,” he replied.
“You what? How can you not like it? What’s not to like about it? Chocolate is the best!” I declared, nearly jumping out my seat as this almost-memory rushed back at me. For some reason, I could see Easter-egg wrappers on the floor. Warm fingers melting into the chocolate while I held it. Licking the chocolate off my fingers, small fingers. Child’s fingers. A half-memory of me as a child eating chocolate filled the void that had been inside my head and I was ecstatic that something so big had finally taken up space in there. I closed my eyes quickly, trying to extract more from the memory, but there was nothing else there. Just the feeling of joy, the taste of sweetness and a feeling of stickiness on my fingertips.
“Sorry. I don’t eat it. Bad experience once,” he said, looking genuinely disappointed that he didn’t have any for me.
“How can you have a bad experience with chocolate?” I asked.
“It’s a loooong story,” he said. I waited for him to tell me what it was, but he didn’t. It looked like it was a story he didn’t particularly want to recount, so I didn’t push.
“BUT . . .” Noah jumped up. “Maxine will have chocolate.” He rushed out of the kitchen door, into the garden. I followed and we made our way to the garden cottage behind the aviary. Noah knocked on the door and, truthfully, I was feeling awkward. My last three interactions with Maxine had been somewhat strange. We heard a “come in” and walked inside. Maxine was in the middle of the floor, her laptop open, and she was doing what looked like some seriously vigorous lunges. The sweat coating her face and hairline was a dead giveaway.
“Hey,” Noah said.
She replied, but didn’t look up. She was far too engrossed in what was going on on her laptop. I looked over at it, and that’s when it hit me.
“Hey, I know her!”
“You do? You remember?” Noah asked, staring at the laptop.
“I saw her when I was at the hospital,” I said. At this, Maxine stopped what she was doing.
“You were at the hospital?” she asked, wiping her sweaty brow with a small towel.
I pointed to my head. “I bashed my head,” I said, not wanting to elaborate. “I saw her in a magazine.”
“Yeah, she’s a fitness blogger I follow. Frankie. She and her boyfriend—well, I should say ex-boyfriend—do these great workout videos.”
I looked at the screen. Frankie and a Ken of a man were doing exercises, huge smiles plastered across their faces. They looked happy together. Happy and perfect, and they weren’t even sweating. He had the biggest, whitest smile I’d ever seen and she, well, she looked every bit the fit, blonde, perfect Barbie.
“They broke up?” I asked. It didn’t seem possible. I mean, look at them.
“He broke up with her on Instagram. Can you believe it! And now she’s missing.”
“What?” I suddenly felt a deep concern for this stranger I didn’t actually know.
“Look.” Maxine picked her phone up and flicked the screen on, showing me what I recognized as Twitter.
“Hashtag Find Frankie. It’s been trending.”
“So, where is she?” I asked.
“No one knows. It’s a real social media mystery. Anyway . . .” She moved off and picked up a bottle of thick, green liquid and sipped. “What