Remember Me? (19 page)

“Oh, that wasn’t me.” Ava shakes her head emphatically. “My area is soft furnishings, fabrics, sensual details. The big concept stuff was all down to Jon.”

I feel a tiny lurch inside.

“Jon?” I tilt my head, adopting the vaguest expression I can muster, as if
Jon
is some unfamiliar word from an obscure foreign language.

“Jon Blythe,” Eric prompts helpfully. “The architect. You met him at the dinner party, remember? In fact, weren’t you asking me about him earlier on?”

“Was I?” I say after an infinitesimal pause. “I…don’t really remember.” I start turning over the model in my fingers, trying to ignore the slight flush rising up my neck.

This is ridiculous. I’m
behaving
like a guilty adulterous wife.

“Jon, there you are!” Ava calls out. “We were just talking about you!”

He’s
here
? My hands clench involuntarily around the model. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him to see me. I have to make an excuse and leave—

But too late. Here he is, loping across the floor, wearing jeans and a navy V-neck and consulting some bit of paper.

Okay, stay calm. Everything’s fine. You’re happily married and have no evidence of any secret fling, affair, or liaison with this man.

“Hi, Eric, Lexi.” He nods politely as he approaches—then stares at my hands. I look down and feel a jerk of dismay. The model’s totally crushed. The roof’s broken and one of the balconies has become detached.

“Lexi!”
Eric has just noticed it. “How on earth did that happen?”

“Jon.” Ava’s brow crumples in distress. “Your model!”

“I’m really sorry!” I say, flustered. “I don’t know how it happened. I was just holding it, and somehow…”

“Don’t worry.” Jon shrugs. “It only took me a month to make.”

“A
month
?” I echo, aghast. “Look, if you give me some Scotch tape I’ll fix it….” I’m patting at the crushed roof, desperately trying to prod it back into shape.

“Maybe not quite a month,” Jon says, watching me. “Maybe a couple of hours.”

“Oh.” I stop patting. “Well, anyway, I’m sorry.”

Jon shoots me a brief glance. “You can make it up to me.”

Make it up to him? What does that mean? Without quite meaning to I slip my arm through Eric’s. I need some reassurance. I need ballast. I need a sturdy husband by my side.

“So, the apartment’s very impressive, Jon.” I adopt a bland, corporate-wife-type manner, sweeping an arm around the space. “Many congratulations.”

“Thank you. I’m pleased with it,” he replies in equally bland tones. “How’s the memory doing?”

“Pretty much the same as before.”

“You haven’t remembered anything new?”

“No. Nothing.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah.”

I’m trying to stay natural—but there’s an electric atmosphere growing between us as we face each other. My breath is coming just slightly short. I glance up at Eric, convinced he must have noticed something—but he hasn’t even flickered. Can’t he feel it? Can’t he
see
it?

“Eric, we need to talk about the Bayswater project,” says Ava, who has been riffling through her soft leather handbag. “I went to see the site yesterday and made some notes—”

“Lexi, why don’t you look around the apartment while Ava and I talk?” Eric cuts her off, loosening his arm from mine. “Jon will show you.”

“Oh.” I stiffen. “No, don’t worry.”

“I’d be happy to show you.” Jon’s voice is dry and kind of bored. “If you’re interested.”

“Really, there’s no need…”

“Darling, Jon designed the whole building,” Eric says reprovingly. “It’s a great opportunity for you to find out the vision of the company.”

“Come this way and I’ll explain the initial concept.” Jon gestures toward the other side of the room.

I can’t get out of this.

“That would be great,” I say at last.

Fine. If he wants to talk, I’ll talk. I follow Jon across the room and we pause next to the tumbling streams of the waterfall. How could anyone live with water thundering down the wall like this?

“So,” I say politely. “How do you think of all these ideas? All these ‘statements’ or whatever they are.”

Jon frowns thoughtfully and my heart sinks. I hope he’s not going to come up with a load of pretentious stuff about his artistic genius. I’m really not in the mood.

“I just ask myself, what would a wanker like?” he says at last. “And I put it in.”

I can’t help a half-laugh of shock. “Well, if I were a wanker I’d love this.”

“There you go.” He takes a step nearer and lowers his voice beneath the sound of the water. “So you really haven’t remembered anything?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Okay.” He exhales sharply. “We have to meet. We have to talk. There’s a place we go, the Old Canal House in Islington.” In a much louder voice he adds, “You’ll notice the high ceilings, Lexi. They’re a trademark feature of all our developments.” He glances over and catches my expression. “What?”

“Are you crazy?” I hiss, glancing over to make sure Eric can’t hear. “I’m not meeting you! For your information, I haven’t found a single piece of evidence that you and I are having an affair. Not one. What a great sense of space!” I add at full volume.

“Evidence?” Jon looks as if he doesn’t understand. “Like what?”

“Like…I don’t know. A love note.”

“We didn’t write each other love notes.”

“Or trinkets.”

“Trinkets?”
Jon looks like he wants to laugh. “We weren’t much into trinkets, either.”

“Well, it couldn’t have been much of a love affair, then!” I retort. “I’ve looked in my dressing table—nothing. I looked in my diary—nothing. I asked my sister—she’d never even
heard
of you.”

“Lexi.” He pauses as though working out how to explain the situation to me. “It was a secret affair. That would mean
an affair that you keep secret
.”

“So you have no proof. I knew it.”

I turn on my heel and stride away toward the fireplace, Jon following closely behind.

“You want proof?” I can hear him muttering in low, incredulous tones. “What, like…you have a strawberry mark on your left buttock?”

“I
don’t
—” I swivel around in triumph, then stop abruptly as Eric glances across the room at us. “I don’t know how you came up with this amazing use of light!” I wave at Eric, who waves back and continues his conversation.

“I
know
you don’t have a birthmark on your buttock.” Jon rolls his eyes. “You don’t have any birthmarks at all. Just a mole on your arm.”

I’m briefly silenced. He’s right. But so what?

“That could be a lucky guess.” I fold my arms.

“I know. But it’s not.” He looks at me steadily. “Lexi, I’m not making it up. We’re having an affair. We love each other. Deeply and passionately.”

“Look.” I thrust my hands through my hair. “This is just…mad! I wouldn’t have an affair. Not with you or anyone. I’ve never been unfaithful to anybody in my life—”

“We had sex on that floor four weeks ago,” he cuts me off. “Right there.” He nods at a huge fluffy white sheepskin.

I stare at it speechlessly.

“You were on top,” he adds.

“Stop it!” Flustered, I wheel around and stride away toward the far end of the space, where a trendy Lucite staircase rises to a mezzanine level.

“Let’s take a look at the wet room complex,” Jon says loudly as he follows me up. “I think you’ll like it…”

“No, I won’t,” I shoot over my shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

We both reach the top of the staircase and turn to look over the steel balustrade. I can see Eric on the level below, and beyond, the lights of London through the massive windows. I have to hand it to him, it’s a staggering apartment.

Beside me, Jon is sniffing the air.

“Hey,” he says. “Have you been eating salt and vinegar chips?”

“Maybe.” I give him a suspicious look.

Jon’s eyes open wide. “I’m impressed. How did you sneak those past the food fascist?”

“He’s not a food fascist,” I say, feeling an immediate need to defend Eric. “He just…cares about nutrition.”

“He’s Hitler. If he could round up every loaf of bread and put it in a camp, he would.”

“Stop it.”

“He’d gas them all. Finger rolls first. Then croissants.”

“
Stop
it.” My mouth twists with an urge to giggle and I turn away.

This guy is funnier than I thought at first. And he’s kind of sexy, close up, with his rumpled dark hair.

But then, lots of things are funny and sexy.
Friends
is funny and sexy. It doesn’t mean I’m having an affair with it.

“What do you want?” At last I turn to face Jon, helpless. “What do you expect me to do?”

“What do I want?” He pauses, his brow knitted as though he’s thinking it through. “I want you to tell your husband you don’t love him, come home with me, and start a new life together.”

He’s serious. I almost want to laugh.

“You want me to come and live with you,” I say, as though to clarify arrangements. “Right now. Just like that.”

“In, say, five minutes.” He glances at his watch. “I have a few things to do first.”

“You’re a total psycho.” I shake my head.

“I’m not a psycho,” he says patiently. “I love you. You love me. Really. You have to take my word on that.”

“I don’t have to take your word on anything!” I suddenly resent his confidence. “I’m
married,
okay? I have a husband whom I love, whom I’ve promised to love forever. Here’s the proof!” I brandish my wedding ring at him. “This is proof!”

“You love him?” Jon ignores the ring. “You feel love for him? Right deep down here?” He thumps his chest.

I want to snap “Yes, I’m desperately in love with Eric” and shut him up for good. But for some ridiculous reason I can’t quite bring myself to lie.

“Maybe it’s not quite there yet…but I’m sure it will be,” I say, sounding more defiant than I meant to. “Eric’s a fantastic guy. Everything’s wonderful between us.”

“Uh-huh.” Jon nods politely. “You haven’t had sex since the accident, have you?”

I stare at him mistrustfully.

“Have you?” There’s a glint in his eye.

“I…we…” I flounder. “Maybe we have, maybe we haven’t! I’m not in the habit of discussing my private life with you.”

“Yeah, you are.” There’s a sudden wryness in his face. “You are. That’s the point.” To my surprise he reaches for one of my hands. He just holds it for a moment, looking at it. Then, very slowly, he starts tracing over the skin with his thumb.

I can’t bring myself to move. My skin is fizzing; his thumb is leaving a trail of delicious sensation wherever it goes. I can feel tiny prickles up the back of my neck.

“So what do you think?” Eric’s booming voice heralds us from below and I jump a mile, whipping my hand away. What was I
thinking
?

“It’s great, darling!” I trill back over the balustrade, my voice unnaturally high. “We’ll just be a couple more seconds…” I draw back, out of sight of the floor below, and beckon Jon to follow. “Look, I’ve had enough,” I say in a swift undertone. “Leave me alone. I don’t know you. I don’t love you. Things are hard enough for me right now. I just want to get on with my life, with my husband. Okay?” I make to head down the stairs.

“No! Not okay!” Jon grabs hold of my arm. “Lexi, you don’t know the whole picture. You’re unhappy with Eric. He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t
understand
you—”

“Of course Eric loves me!” Now I’m really rattled. “He sat by my hospital bed night and day, he brought me these amazing taupe roses…”

“You think
I
didn’t want to sit by your hospital bed night and day?” Jon’s eyes darken. “Lexi, it nearly killed me.”

“Let me go.” I try to pull my arm free, but Jon holds firm.

“You can’t throw us away.” He’s scanning my face desperately. “It’s in there. It’s all in there somewhere, I know it is—”

“You’re wrong!” With a huge effort I wrench my arm out of his grasp. “It’s not!” I clatter down the stairs without looking back, straight into Eric’s arms.

“Hi!” He laughs. “You seem in a rush. Is everything all right?”

“I…don’t feel too good.” I put a hand to my brow. “I’ve got a headache. Can we go now?”

“Of course we can, darling.” He squeezes my shoulders and glances up at the mezzanine level. “Have you said good-bye to Jon?”

“Yes. Let’s just…go.”

As we head to the door I cling to his expensive jacket, letting the feel of him soothe my jangled nerves. This is my husband. This is who I’m in love with. This is reality.

Chapter 12

Okay, I need my memory back. I’ve
had
it with amnesia. I’ve had it with people telling me they know more about my life than I do.

It’s
my
memory. It belongs to me.

I stare into my eyes, reflected an inch away in the mirrored wardrobe door. This is a new habit of mine, to stand right up close to the mirror so the only bit I can see is my eyes. It’s comforting. It makes me feel as if I’m looking at the old me.

“Remember, you moron,” I instruct myself in a low, fierce voice.
“Re-mem-ber.”

My eyes stare back at me as though they know everything but won’t tell. I sigh, and lean my head against the glass in frustration.

In the days since we got back from the show apartment, I’ve done nothing but immerse myself in the last three years. I’ve looked through photo albums, watched movies I know I’ve “seen,” listened to songs that I know the old Lexi heard a hundred times…. But nothing’s worked. Whichever mental filing cabinet my missing memories are locked into, it’s pretty sturdy. It’s not about to fly open just because I listen to a song called “You’re Beautiful” by James…someone or other.

Stupid secretive brain. I mean, who’s in charge here? Me or it?

Yesterday I went to see that neurologist, Neil. He nodded sympathetically as I poured everything out, and scribbled loads of notes. Then he said it was all fascinating and he might write a research paper on me. When I pressed him, he added that maybe it would help to write out a timeline, and I could go and see a therapist if I liked.

But I don’t need therapy. I need my
memory
. The mirror is misting up from my breath. I’m pressing my forehead harder against the mirror, as though the answers are all inside the mirror-me, as though I can get them if I concentrate enough…

“Lexi? I’m off.” Eric comes into the bedroom, holding a DVD, out of its box. “Darling, you left this on the rug. Sensible location for a DVD?”

I take the disc from him. It’s the
Ambition EP 1
DVD that I started watching the other day.

“I’m sorry, Eric,” I say quickly, taking it from him. “I don’t know how it got there.”

That’s a lie. It got there when Eric was out and I had about fifty DVDs all scattered over the rug, together with magazines and photo albums and candy wrappers. If he’d seen it, he’d have had a heart attack.

“Your taxi will be here at ten,” says Eric. “I’m off now.”

“Great!” I kiss him, like I do every morning now. It’s actually starting to feel quite natural. “Have a good day!”

“You too.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Hope it goes well.”

“It will,” I say with confidence.

I’m going back to work today, full-time. Not to take over the department—obviously I’m not ready to do that. But to start relearning my job, catching up on what I’ve missed. It’s five weeks since the accident. I can’t just sit around at home anymore. I have to
do
something. I have to get my life back. And my friends.

On the bed, all ready, are three glossy gift bags with presents inside for Fi, Debs, and Carolyn, which I’m going to take in today. I spent ages choosing the perfect gifts; in fact, every time I think about them I want to hug myself with pleasure.

Humming, I head into the sitting room and slot the
Ambition
DVD into the player. I never did watch the rest of this. Maybe it’ll help me get back into office mode. I fast-forward through the introductory shots, until I come to a bit with me in a limo with two guys in suits, and press Play.

“Lexi and her teammates won’t be taking it easy tonight,” explains a male voice-over. The camera focuses in on me, and I hold my breath with anticipation.

“We’re going to win this task!” I’m saying in a sharp voice to the guys, slapping the back of one hand on the other palm. “If we have to work around the clock, we’re going to win. Okay? No excuses.”

My jaw drops slightly. Is that fierce, scary businesswoman me? I’ve never spoken like that in my
life.

“As ever, Lexi is taking her team to task,” says the voice-over. “But has the Cobra gone too far this time?”

I don’t quite understand what he’s talking about. What cobra?

The picture now flashes to one of the guys from the limo. He’s sitting in an office chair, a night sky visible through the plate-glass window behind him.

“She isn’t human,” he’s muttering. “There’s only so many fucking hours in the day. We’re all doing our best, you know, but does she fucking care?”

As he’s talking, an image of me striding around some warehouse has appeared on the screen. I feel a sudden dismay. Is he talking about
me
? Now the picture cuts to a full, stand-up row between me and the same guy. We’re standing on a London street and he’s trying to defend himself, but I’m not letting him get a word in.

“You’re sacked!” I snap at last, my voice so scathing that I wince. “You’re sacked from my team!”

“And the Cobra has struck!” the jaunty voice-over comes again. “Let’s see that moment again!”

Hang on a minute. Is he saying—

I’m
the Cobra?

To menacing music, a slow-motion replay has begun onscreen, zooming right into my face.

“You’re ssssssacked!” I’m hissing. “You’re sssssacked from my team.”

I stare, light-headed with horror. What the fuck have they done? They’ve manipulated my voice. It sounds like I’m a snake.

“And Lexi’s in top venomous form this week!” says the voice-over. “Meanwhile, over on the other team…”

A different group of people in suits appears on the screen and starts arguing about a price negotiation. But I’m too shell-shocked to move.

Why—How—

Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t anyone
warn
me about this? On autopilot, I reach for my phone and jab in Eric’s number.

“Hi, Lexi.”

“Eric, I just watched the DVD of that TV show!” My voice comes shooting out in agitation. “They called me the Cobra! I was a total bitch to everyone! You never told me about that!”

“Sweetheart, it was a great show,” says Eric soothingly. “You came across really well.”

“But they named me after a
snake.
”

“So what?”

“So I don’t want to be a snake!” I know I sound almost hysterical, but I can’t help it. “No one likes snakes! I’m more like a…a squirrel. Or a koala.”

Koalas are soft and furry. And a bit snaggly.

“A
koala
? Lexi!” Eric laughs. “Darling, you’re a cobra. You have timing. You have attack. That’s what makes you a great businesswoman.”

“But I don’t
want
to be—” I break off as the buzzer sounds. “My taxi’s here. I’d better go.”

I head into the bedroom and pick up my three glossy gift bags, trying to regain my former optimism, trying to be excited about the day again. But suddenly all my confidence has evaporated.

I’m a snake. No wonder everyone hates me.

As my taxi wends its way toward the Victoria Palace Road, I sit rigid on the backseat, clutching my gift bags, giving myself a pep talk. First of all, everyone knows the TV skews things. No one really thinks I’m a snake. Besides which, that TV show was ages ago—everyone’s probably forgotten about it.

Oh God. The trouble with giving yourself a pep talk is, deep down you know it’s all bullshit.

The taxi deposits me outside the building and I take a deep breath, tugging my beige Armani suit straight. Then, with trepidation, I make my way up to the third floor. As I step out of the lift the first thing I see is Fi, Carolyn, and Debs standing by the coffee machine. Fi is gesturing to her hair and talking with animation while Carolyn chips in, but as I appear the conversation instantly stops, as though someone pulled the plug on the radio.

“Hi, you guys!” I look around with the warmest, friendliest smile I can muster. “I’m back again!”

“Hi, Lexi.” There’s a general muted reply and Fi makes a kind of acknowledging shrug. Okay, it wasn’t a smile—but at least it was a reaction.

“You look really nice, Fi! That top’s great.” I gesture at her cream shirt and she follows my gaze in surprise. “And Debs, you look fab too. And Carolyn! Your hair looks so cool, all cropped like that and…and those boots are fantastic!”

“These?” Carolyn snorts with laughter and kicks one brown suede boot against the other. “I’ve had them for years.”

“Well, still…they’re really striking!”

I’m gabbling with nerves, talking a load of bollocks. No wonder they all seem unimpressed. Fi’s arms are folded and Debs looks like she wants to giggle.

“So, anyway…” I force myself to slow down a bit. “I got you all a little something. Fi, this is for you, and Debs…”

As I hand over the gift bags they suddenly look ridiculously shiny and conspicuous.

“What’s this for?” Debs says blankly.

“Well, you know! Just to…um…” I falter slightly. “You guys are my friends, and…Go on. Open them!”

Giving each other uncertain looks, all three start ripping at their wrapping paper.

“Gucci?”
Fi says in disbelief as she pulls out a green jewelry box. “Lexi, I can’t accept—”

“Yes, you can! Please. Just open it, you’ll see…”

Silently, Fi snaps it open to reveal a gold bangle watch.

“D’you remember?” I say eagerly. “We always used to look at them in the shop windows. Every weekend. And now you’ve actually got one!”

“Actually…” Fi sighs, looking uncomfortable. “Lexi, I got it two years ago.”

She lifts up her sleeve and she’s wearing exactly the same watch, only a little duller and older-looking.

“Oh,” I say, my heart sinking. “Oh, right. Well, never mind. I can take it back, or exchange it, we can get something else…”

“Lexi, I can’t use this,” Carolyn chimes in, and hands back the perfume gift set I bought her, together with the leather tote it came in. “That smell makes me gag.”

“But it’s your favorite,” I say in bewilderment.

“Was,” she corrects me. “Before I fell pregnant.”

“You’re
pregnant
?” I stare at her, overwhelmed. “Oh my God! Carolyn, congratulations! That’s so wonderful! I’m
so
happy for you. Matt will be the best dad ever—”

“It’s not Matt’s baby.” She cut me off flat.

“It’s not?” I say stupidly. “But what…Did you two break
up
?”

They can’t have broken up. It’s impossible. Everyone assumed Carolyn and Matt would be together forever.

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Carolyn says almost in a whisper. To my horror I see her eyes have turned pink behind her glasses and she’s breathing hard. “See you.” She thrusts all the wrapping paper and ribbon at me, then turns and strides off, back toward the office.

“Great, Lexi,” says Fi sarcastically. “Just when we thought she’d finally got over Matt.”

“I didn’t know!” I say, aghast. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry…” I rub my face, feeling hot and flustered. “Debs, open your present.”

I bought Debs a cross studded with tiny diamonds. She’s so crazy about jewelry, and you can’t go wrong with a cross. She
has
to love it.

In silence Debs pulls off the wrapping.

“I know it’s quite extravagant,” I say nervously. “But I wanted to get something really special—”

“This is a cross!” Debs thrusts the box back at me, her nose wrinkled as though it smells of something rancid. “I can’t wear this! I’m Jewish.”

“You’re
Jewish
?” My mouth hangs open. “Since when?”

“Since I’ve been engaged to Jacob,” she says as though it’s obvious. “I’ve converted.”

“Wow!” I say joyfully. “You’re
engaged
?” And of course now I can’t miss the platinum ring on her left hand, with a diamond lodged right in the center of the band. Debs wears so many rings, I hadn’t noticed it. “When’s the wedding?” My words spill out in excitement. “Where’s it happening?”

“Next month.” She looks away. “In Wiltshire.”

“Next
month
! Oh my God, Debs! But I haven’t got—”

I break off abruptly into a kind of hot, thudding silence. I was about to say “But I haven’t got an invitation.”

I haven’t got an invitation because I haven’t been invited.

“I mean…um…congratulations!” Somehow I keep a bright smile plastered on my face. “I hope it all goes brilliantly. And don’t worry, I can easily return the cross…and the watch…and the perfume….” With trembling fingers I start stuffing all the ripped wrapping paper into one of the gift bags.

“Yeah,” Fi says in an awkward voice. “Well, see you, Lexi.”

“Bye.” Debs still can’t look me in the eye. They both walk off and I watch them go, my chin stiff from wanting to cry.

Great work, Lexi. You didn’t win your friends back—you just fucked up everything even more.

“A present for me?” Byron’s sarcastic voice hits the back of my head and I turn to see him loping along the corridor, coffee in hand. “How sweet of you, Lexi!”

God, he gives me the creeps.
He’s
the snake.

“Hi, Byron,” I say as briskly as I can. “Good to see you.”

Summoning all my strength, I lift my chin high and sweep a stray hair back off my face. I can’t crumble.

“It’s very brave of you to come back, Lexi,” Byron says as we head down the corridor. “Very admirable.”