Remember Me? (22 page)

How can he find the word
“
penis
”
sexy?

“Anyway, it wasn’t just that.” I hastily change the subject. “It was the way you kept asking me every two seconds if I was comfortable. It made things a bit…formal. Don’t you think?”

“I’m just trying to be considerate,” says Eric stiffly. “This is a pretty strange situation for both of us.” He turns away and starts pulling on his shirt with jerky gestures.

“I know!” I say quickly. “And I appreciate it, I really do.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “But maybe we can loosen up. Be more…spontaneous?”

Eric’s silent for a while, as though weighing up what I’ve said.

“So…should I sleep here tonight?” he says at last.

“Oh!” In spite of myself I recoil.

What’s
wrong
with me? Eric’s my husband. A moment ago I was all for having sex with him. But still, the idea of him sleeping here with me all night seems…too intimate.

“Maybe we could leave it a while. I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“Fine. I understand.” Without meeting my eye he gets up. “I think I’ll take a shower.”

“Okay.”

Left alone, I slump back on the pillows. Great. I didn’t have sex. I didn’t remember anything. My mission totally failed.

I find “penis” sexy.

I give a sudden gurgle and clap my hand over my mouth in case he can hear me. Beside the bed the phone starts ringing, but at first I don’t move—it’s bound to be for Eric. Then I realize he must be in the shower. I reach over and pick up the state-of-the-art Bang & Olufsen receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” comes a dry, familiar voice. “It’s Jon.”

“Jon?”
I feel a white-hot thrill. Eric’s nowhere in sight, but even so, I dart into the adjoining bathroom with the phone, then shut the door and lock it.

“Are you crazy?” I hiss in lowered, furious tones. “What are you ringing here for? It’s so risky! What if Eric picked up?”

“I was expecting Eric to pick up.” Jon sounds a bit baffled. “I need to speak with him.”

“Oh.” I halt in sudden realization. I’m so
stupid
. “Oh…right.” Trying to remedy the situation, I put on a formal, wifely voice. “Of course, Jon. I’ll just fetch him—”

Jon cuts me off. “But I need to speak with you more. We have to meet. We have to talk.”

“We can’t! You have to stop this. This whole…talking thing. On the phone. And also not on the phone.”

“Lexi, are you drunk?” says Jon.

“No.” I survey my bloodshot reflection. “Okay…maybe a tad.”

There’s a snuffling sound at the end of the phone. Is he
laughing
?

“I love you,” he says.

“You don’t know me.”

“I love the girl…you were. You are.”

“You love the Cobra?” I retort sharply. “You love the bitch from hell? Well then, you must be nuts.”

“You’re not a bitch from hell.” He’s definitely laughing at me.

“Everyone else seems to think I am. Was. Whatever.”

“You were unhappy. And you made some pretty big mistakes. But you weren’t a bitch.”

Beneath my drunken haze, I’m absorbing every word. It’s like he’s rubbing salve on some raw part of me. I want to hear more.

“What…” I swallow. “What kind of mistakes?”

“I’ll tell you when we meet. We’ll talk about everything. Lexi, I’ve missed you so much….”

Suddenly his intimate, familiar tone is making me uneasy. Here I am, in my own bathroom, whispering to a guy I don’t know. What am I getting into here?

“Stop. Just…stop!” I cut across him. “I need to…think.”

I pace to the other side of the room, thrusting my hand through my hair, trying to force some rational thoughts into my giddy head. We could meet, and just talk…

No.
No.
I can’t start seeing someone behind Eric’s back. I want my marriage to work.

“Eric and I just had sex!” I say defiantly.

I’m not even quite sure why I said that.

There’s silence down the line and I wonder whether Jon is so offended he’s gone. Well, if he has, that’s a
good
thing.

“Your point would be?” His voice comes down the line.

“You know. That changes things, surely.”

“I’m not following. You think I won’t be in love with you anymore because you had sex with Eric?”

“I…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Or you think having sex with Eric somehow proves you love him?” He’s relentless.

“I don’t know!” I say again, rattled. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation. I should be marching straight out of the bathroom, holding the phone aloft, calling, “Darling? It’s Jon for you.”

But something’s keeping me here, the receiver clamped to my ear.

“I thought it might trigger my memories,” I say at last, sitting on the side of the bath. “I just keep thinking, maybe my memory’s all there, all locked up, and if only I could get to it…It’s so
frustrating
…”

“Tell me about it,” Jon says wryly, and I suddenly imagine him standing in his gray T-shirt and jeans, scrunching his face up in that way he does, holding the phone with one hand, the other elbow bent with his hand behind his head, a glimpse of armpit—

The image is so vivid that I blink.

“So, how was it? The sex.” His tone has changed, is easier.

“It was…” I clear my throat. “You know. Sex. You know about sex.”

“I do know about sex,” he agrees. “I also know about sex with Eric. He’s adept…considerate…He has quite the imagination…”

“Stop it! You’re making all of those sound like
bad
qualities—”

“We have to meet,” Jon cuts in. “Seriously.”

“We can’t.” I feel a fearful quake deep inside me. Like I’m about to step over an edge. Like I have to stop myself.

“I miss you so much.” His voice is lower, softer. “Lexi, you have no idea how much I miss you, it’s tearing me up, not being with you—”

My hand is damp around the phone. I can’t listen to him anymore. It’s confusing me; it’s shaking me up. Because if it was true, if everything he was saying was really true—

“Look, I have to go,” I say in a rush. “I’ll get Eric for you.” My legs wobbly, I unlock the bathroom door and head out, holding the phone away from me like it’s contaminated.

“Lexi, wait.” I can hear his voice coming from the phone, but I ignore it.

“Eric!” I call brightly as I approach his door and he comes out, dressed in a towel. “Darling? It’s Jon for you. Jon the architect.”

Chapter 13

I’ve tried. I really have tried. I’ve done everything I can think of to show the department that I’m not a bitch.

I’ve put up a poster asking for suggestions for a fun department outing—but no one’s filled any in. I’ve put flowers on the windowsills, but no one’s even mentioned them. Today I brought in a massive basket of blueberry, vanilla, and chocolate-chip muffins and put it on the photocopier, together with a sign saying
From Lexi—Help Yourself!

I took a stroll into the office a few minutes ago and not a single muffin had been taken. But never mind, it’s still early. I’ll leave it another ten minutes before I go and check again.

I turn a page in the file I’ve been reading, then click on the onscreen document. I’m working through paper files and computer files at the same time, trying to cross-reference everything. Without meaning to, I give an enormous yawn and lean my head on the desk. I’m tired. I mean, I’m
knackered
.

I’ve been coming in every morning at seven, just to get through some more of this mountain of paperwork. My eyes are red from all the endless reading.

I nearly didn’t come back here at all. The day after Eric and I “kind of” had sex, I woke up with a pale face, the most crashing headache, and absolutely no desire to go to work again, ever. I staggered into the kitchen, made a cup of tea with three spoonfuls of sugar, then sat down and wrote out on a sheet of paper, wincing at every movement:

OPTIONS

1. Give up.

2. Don’t give up.

I stared at it for ages. Then at last I put a line through
Give up
.

The thing with giving up is you never know. You never know whether you could have done the job. And I’m sick of not knowing about my life. So here I am, in my office, reading through a debate on carpet-fiber cost trends, dating from 2005. Just in case it’s important.

No. Come on. It can’t be important. I close the file, stand up, shake out my legs, then tiptoe to my door. I open it a crack and peek hopefully out at the main office. I can just glimpse the basket through the window. It’s still intact.

I feel totally squashed. What’s
wrong
? Why is no one taking any? Maybe I’ll just make it absolutely clear that these muffins are for everyone. I head out of my room, into the main open-plan office.

“Hi there!” I say brightly. “I just wanted to say, these muffins are from me to all of you. Fresh from the bakery this morning. So…go ahead! Help yourself!”

No one answers. No one even acknowledges my presence. Did I suddenly become invisible?

“So, anyway.” I force myself to smile. “Enjoy!” I swivel on my heel and walk out.

I’ve done my bit. If they want the muffins, they want them. If they don’t, they don’t. End of subject. I really don’t care either way. I sit back down at my desk, open a recent financial report, and start running my finger down the relevant columns. After a few moments I lean back, rubbing my eyes with my fists. These figures are just confirming what I already know: the department performance is terrible.

Sales went up in the last year by a bit, but they’re still far, far too low. We’re going to be in real trouble if we don’t turn things around. I mentioned it to Byron the other day—and he didn’t even seem bothered. How can he be so blasé? I make a memo on a Post-it—“Discuss sales with Byron.” Then I put my pen down.

Why don’t they want my muffins
?

I was really optimistic when I bought them this morning. I imagined everyone’s faces lighting up at the sight, and people saying “What a nice thought, Lexi. Thanks!” But now I’m crestfallen. They must totally hate me. I mean, you’d have to loathe someone to refuse a muffin, wouldn’t you? And these are really deluxe ones. They’re fat and fresh and the blueberry ones have even got lemon icing on them.

A tiny, sensible voice in my head is telling me to leave it. Forget about it. It’s only a basket of muffins, for God’s sake.

But I can’t. I can’t just sit here. On impulse I leap to my feet again and head into the main office. There’s the basket, still untouched. Everyone is typing away or on the phone, ignoring both me and the muffins.

“So!” I try to sound relaxed. “Nobody wants a muffin? They’re really nice ones!”

“Muffin?” Fi says at last, her brow wrinkled. “I can’t see any muffins.” She looks around the office as though baffled. “Anyone seen any muffins?”

Everyone shrugs, as though equally baffled.

“Do you mean an English muffin?” Carolyn’s brow is wrinkled. “Or a French muffin?”

“They do muffins at Starbucks. I could send out if you like,” Debs says, barely hiding her giggles.

Ha-ha. Really funny.

“Fine!” I say, trying to hide my hurt. “If you want to be childish about it, then that’s fine. Just forget it. I was only trying to be nice.”

Breathing hard, I stalk out again. I can hear the sniggers and giggles behind me, but I try to block my ears. I have to keep my dignity; I have to be calm and bosslike. I mustn’t rise. I mustn’t react.

Oh God. I can’t help it. Hurt and anger are rising through me like a volcano. How can they be so mean?

“Actually, it’s not fine.” I march back into the office, my face burning. “Look, I went to a lot of time and trouble to get these muffins, because I thought it would be nice to give you a treat, and now you’re pretending you can’t even
see
them…”

“I’m sorry, Lexi.” Fi appears blank and apologetic. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Carolyn snorts with laughter—and something inside me snaps.

“I’m talking about this!”
I grab a chocolate-chip muffin and brandish it at Fi’s face, and she shrinks away. “It’s a muffin! It’s a bloody muffin! Well, fine! If you’re not going to eat it, then I will!” I stuff the muffin into my mouth and start chewing it furiously, then take another bite. Huge crumbs are falling all over the floor, but I don’t care. “In fact, I’ll eat all of them!” I add. “Why not?” I grab an iced blueberry muffin and cram that in my mouth too. “Mmm, yum!”

“Lexi?” I turn and my insides shrivel up. Simon Johnson and Byron are standing at the door to the office.

Byron looks like he wants to burst with delight. Simon’s regarding me as though I’m the crazy gorilla throwing its food around at the zoo.

“S-Simon!” I splutter muffin crumbs in horror. “Um…hi! How are you?”

“I just wanted a quick word, if you’re not…busy?” Simon raises his eyebrows.

“Of course not!” I smooth my hair down, desperately trying to swallow my mouthful. “Come through to my office.”

As I pass by the glass door I catch my reflection and wince at my eyes, all red from tiredness. My hair looks a bit all over the place too. Maybe I should have put it up. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now.

“So, Lexi,” Simon says as I close the door and dump my half-eaten muffins on the desk. “I just had a good meeting with Byron about June ’07. I’m sure he’s been filling you in on developments.”

“Sure.” I nod, trying to look like I know what he’s referring to. But “June ’07” means absolutely nothing to me. Is something happening then?

“I’m scheduling in a final decision meeting for Monday. I won’t say any more just now. Obviously discretion is crucial….” Simon breaks off, his forehead suddenly furrowed. “I know you’ve had reservations, Lexi. We all have. But really, there are no more options.”

What’s he talking about?
What?

“Well, Simon, I’m sure we can work it out,” I bluff, desperately hoping he won’t ask me to elaborate.

“Good girl, Lexi. Knew you’d come around.” He raises his voice again, sounding more cheerful. “I’m seeing James Garrison later on, the new guy at Southeys. What do you make of him?”

Thank God. At last, something I’ve heard of.

“Ah yes,” I say briskly. “Well, unfortunately I gather Southeys isn’t up to scratch, Simon. We’ll have to look elsewhere for a distributor.”

“I beg to differ, Lexi!” Byron cuts in with a laugh. “Southeys has just offered us an improved rate and service package.” He turns to Simon. “I was with them all day last week, along with Keith from Soft Furnishings. James Garrison has turned the place around. We were impressed.”

My face is burning.
Bastard
.

“Lexi, don’t you agree with Byron?” Simon turns to me in surprise. “Have you met James Garrison?”

“I…um…no, I haven’t.” I swallow. “I’m…I’m sure you’re right, Byron.”

He has completely shafted me. On purpose.

There’s a horrible pause. I can see Simon regarding me with puzzled disappointment. “Right,” he says at last. “Well, I must be off. Good to see you, Lexi.”

“Bye, Simon.” I usher him out of my office, trying my best to sound confident and senior-management-like. “Look forward to catching up again soon. Maybe we can do that lunch sometime…”

“Hey, Lexi,” Byron says suddenly, gesturing at my bum. “There’s something on your skirt.” I grope behind me, and find myself peeling off a Post–it. I look at it—and the ground seems to swivel beneath me like quicksand. Someone’s printed, in pink felt-tip:
I fancy Simon Johnson
.

I can’t look at Simon Johnson. My head feels like it’s about to explode.

Byron snorts with laughter. “There’s another one.” He jerks his head and numbly I peel off a second Post-it:
Simon, do it to me!

“Just a silly prank!” I crumple up the Post-its desperately. “The staff having a bit of…fun….”

Simon Johnson doesn’t look amused.

“Right,” he says after a pause. “Well, I’ll see you, Lexi.”

He turns on his heel and heads away, down the corridor, with Byron. After a moment I hear Byron saying, “Simon,
now
do you see? She’s absolutely…”

I stand there, watching them go, still quivering in shock. That’s it. My career’s ruined before I’ve even had a chance to try it out. In a daze I walk back into my office and sink into my chair. I can’t do this job. I’m knackered. Byron’s shafted me. No one wants my muffins.

At that last thought I feel an enormous pang of hurt—and then suddenly I can’t help it, a tear is running down my face. I bury my face in my arms and soon I’m convulsing with sobs. I thought it was going to be so great. I thought being boss would be fun and exciting. I never realized…I never thought…

“Hi.” A voice pierces my thoughts and I raise my head to see Fi standing just inside the doorway.

“Oh. Hi.” I wipe my eyes roughly. “Sorry. I was just…”

“Are you okay?” she says awkwardly.

“I’m fine. Fine.” I scrabble in my desk drawer for a tissue and blow my nose. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Sorry about the Post-its.” She bites her lip. “We never thought Simon would come down. It was just supposed to be a laugh.”

“’S all right.” My voice is shaky. “You weren’t to know.”

“What did he say?”

“He wasn’t impressed.” I sigh. “But he’s not impressed with me anyway, so what’s the difference?” I tear off a bit of chocolate-chip muffin, stuff it in my mouth, and feel immediately better. For about a nanosecond.

Fi is just staring at me.

“I thought you didn’t eat carbs anymore,” she says at last.

“Yeah, right. Like I could live without chocolate.” I take another massive bite of muffin. “Women need chocolate. It’s a scientific fact.”

There’s silence, and I look up to see Fi still gazing at me uncertainly. “It’s so strange,” she says. “You sound like the old Lexi.”

“I
am
the old Lexi.” I feel suddenly weary at having to explain all over again. “Fi…imagine you woke up tomorrow and it was suddenly 2010. And you had to slot into some new life and be some new person. Well, that’s what this is like for me.” I break off another piece of muffin and survey it for a few moments, then put it down again. “And I don’t recognize the new person. I don’t know why she is like she is. And it’s kind of…it’s hard.”

There’s a long silence. I’m staring fixedly at the desk, breathing hard, crumbling the muffin into little pieces. I don’t dare look up, in case Fi says something else sarcastic or laughs at me and I burst into tears again.

“Lexi, I’m sorry.” When she speaks, her voice is so quiet, I barely hear it. “I didn’t…we didn’t realize. I mean, you don’t
look
any different.”

“I know.” I give her a rueful smile. “I look like a brunette Barbie.” I lift a strand of chestnut hair and let it fall. “When I saw myself in the mirror in hospital, I nearly died of shock. I didn’t know who I was.”

“Look…” She’s chewing her lip and twisting her bangles. “I’m sorry. About the muffins, and the Post-its and…everything. Why don’t you have lunch with us today?” She comes toward the desk with a sudden eagerness. “Let’s start again.”

“That’d be nice.” I give her a grateful smile. “But I can’t today. I’m seeing Loser Dave for lunch.”

“Loser
Dave
?” She sounds so shocked, I can’t help laughing. “Why are you seeing him? Lexi, you’re not thinking of—”

“No! Of course not! I’m just trying to work out what’s happened in my life during the last three years. Put the pieces together.” I hesitate, suddenly realizing that Fi probably has the answers to all my questions. “Fi, do you know how it ended with me and Loser Dave?”

“No idea.” Fi shrugs. “You never told us how you broke up. You shut us all out. Even me. It was like…all you cared about was your career. So in the end we stopped trying.”

I can see a flicker of hurt in her face.

“I’m sorry, Fi,” I say awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. At least, I don’t
think
I did….” It’s surreal, apologizing for something I have no memory of. Like I’m a werewolf or something.

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t you. I mean, it
was
you…. but it
wasn’t
you….” Fi trails off. She seems pretty confused too.

“I’d better go.” I glance at my watch and get to my feet. “Maybe Loser Dave will have some answers.”

“Hey, Lexi,” says Fi, looking embarrassed. “You missed one.” She jerks her thumb at my skirt. I reach behind and pull off yet another Post-it. It reads
Simon Johnson: I would
.

“I so
wouldn’t,
” I say, crumpling it.