Remember Me? (26 page)

“Darling, it’s fine! I’ll come too—” Eric makes to get up from the bed.

“No!”
I cut him off a bit too shrilly. “You just…sort yourself out. I’ll be fine.”

Before he can say anything else, I hurry out and flop down on the big cream sofa. My head is spinning, whether from the Mont Blanc shocker or the whole day…I don’t know. All I know is, I feel like curling up under a duvet and pretending the world doesn’t exist. I can’t cope with this life of mine. Any of it.

Chapter 16

I can’t look at Eric without seeing whipped cream. Last night I dreamed he was
made
of whipped cream. It wasn’t a great dream.

Thankfully we’ve barely seen each other this weekend. Eric’s been doing corporate entertaining and I’ve been trying desperately to come up with a plan to save Flooring. I’ve read through all the contracts of the last three years. I’ve looked at our supplier information. I’ve analyzed customer feedback. To be honest, it’s a crap situation. We did have a small triumph last year, when I negotiated a good deal with a new software company. I guess that’s what impressed Simon Johnson. But it masked our real position.

Not only are orders too low, no one even seems
interested
in Flooring anymore. We have a fraction of the advertising and marketing budget that other departments do. We’re not running any special promotions. In the weekly directors’ meeting, Flooring always appears last on the agenda. It’s like the Cinderella of the company.

But all that will change, if I have anything to do with it. Over the weekend I’ve devised a total relaunch. It’ll need a bit of money and faith and cost-trimming—but I’m positive we can kick-start sales. Cinderella went to the ball, didn’t she? And I’m going to be the fairy godmother. I
have
to be the fairy godmother. I can’t let all my friends lose their jobs.

Oh God. My stomach heaves yet again with nerves. I’m sitting in the taxi on the way to work, my hair firmly up, my presentation folder in my lap. The meeting is in an hour. All the other directors are expecting to vote to disband Flooring. I’m going to have to argue my socks off. Or else…

No. I can’t think about “or else.” I have to succeed, I just
have
to…. My phone rings and I nearly jump off the seat, I’m so on edge.

“Hello?”

“Lexi?” I hear a small voice. “It’s Amy. Are you free?”

“Amy!” I say in astonishment. “Hi! Actually, I’m on my way somewhere—”

“I’m in trouble.” She cuts me off. “You have to come. Please.”

“Trouble?” I say, alarmed. “What kind of trouble?”

“Please come.” Her voice is quivering all over the place. “I’m in Notting Hill.”

“Notting
Hill
? Why aren’t you at school?”

“Hang on.” The sound is muffled and I can just hear Amy saying, “I’m talking to my big sister, okay? She’s coming.” Then she’s back on the line. “Please, Lexi. Please come. I’ve got myself into a bit of a mess.”

I’ve never heard Amy like this. She sounds desperate.

“What have you
done
?” My mind’s racing, trying to think what trouble she could have got into. Drugs? Loan sharks?

“I’m on the corner of Ladbroke Grove and Kensington Gardens. How long will you be?”

“Amy…” I clutch my head. “I can’t come now! I have a meeting, it’s really important. Can’t you phone Mum?”

“No!” Amy’s voice rockets in panic. “Lexi, you said. You said I could ring whenever I wanted, that you were my big sister, that you’d be there for me.”

“But I didn’t mean…I have this presentation…” I trail off, suddenly aware of how feeble this sounds. “Look, any other time…”

“Fine.” Her voice is suddenly tiny. She sounds about ten years old. “Go to your meeting. Don’t worry.”

Guilt drenches me, mixed with frustration. Why couldn’t she have phoned last night? Why pick the very minute I need to be somewhere else?

“Amy, just tell me, what’s
happened
?”

“It doesn’t matter. Go to your meeting. Sorry I bothered you.”

“Stop it! Just let me think a second.” I stare blindly out the window, wired up with stress, with indecision…. There’s forty-five minutes until the meeting. I don’t have time, I just don’t.

I might, if I went straight now. It’s only ten minutes to Notting Hill.

But I can’t risk being late for the meeting, I just
can’t
—

And then suddenly, against the crackly background of the phone line, I can hear a man’s voice. Now he’s shouting. I stare at the phone, feeling a nasty chill. I can’t leave my little sister in trouble. What if she’s got in with some street gang? What if she’s about to be beaten up?

“Amy, hold on,” I say abruptly. “I’m coming.” I lean forward and knock on the driver’s window. “We need to make a quick detour to Notting Hill. As fast as you can, please.”

As we head up Ladbroke Grove, the taxi roaring with the effort, I’m leaning forward, peering desperately out the window, trying to glimpse Amy…and then suddenly I see a police car. On the corner of Kensington Gardens.

My heart freezes. I’m too late. She’s been shot. She’s been knifed.

Weak with terror, I thrust the cash at the driver and get out of the cab. There’s a throng of people in front of the police car, masking my view, all peering and gesturing at something and talking agitatedly to each other. Bloody rubberneckers.

“Excuse me.” My voice isn’t working properly as I approach the crowd. “It’s my sister, can I get through….” Somehow I manage to push my way in between the anoraks and denim jackets, steeling myself for what I might see…

And there’s Amy. Not shot or knifed. Sitting on a wall, wearing a policeman’s hat, looking totally cheery.

“Lexi!” Amy turns to the policeman standing next to her. “There she is. I told you she’d come.”

“What’s been going on?” I demand, shaky with relief. “I thought you were in trouble!”

“Is this your sister?” The policeman chimes in. He’s stocky and sandy-haired, with large freckled forearms, and has been making notes on a clipboard.

“Er…yes.” My heart is sinking. Has she been shop-lifting or something? “What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid this young lady’s in trouble. She’s been exploiting tourists. A lot of angry people here.” He gestures at the crowd. “Nothing to do with you, is this?”

“No! Of course not! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“Celebrity tours.” He hands me a leaflet, his eyebrows raised sky-high. “So-called.”

In disbelief I read the leaflet, which is fluorescent yellow and has obviously been put together on some crappy word-processor.

Undercover Celebrity Tour of London

Many Hollywood stars have settled in London. See them on this unique tour. Catch glimpses of:

Madonna putting out her washing

Gwyneth in her garden

Elton John relaxing at home

Impress your friends with all the insider gossip! £10 per person including souvenir A–Z

Important note:

If you challenge the stars, they may deny their identities.
Do not be fooled! This is part of their Undercover Secret!

I look up in a daze. “Is this serious?” The policeman nods.

“Your sister’s been leading people around London, telling them they’re seeing celebrities.”

“And who are they seeing?”

“Well, people like her.” He gestures across the road, where a thin blond woman is standing on the steps of her big white stucco house in jeans and a peasant top, holding a little girl of about two on her hip.

“I’m not bloody Gwyneth Paltrow!” she’s snapping irately at a pair of tourists in Burberry raincoats. “And no, you can’t have an autograph.”

Actually, she
does
look rather like Gwyneth Paltrow. She has the same long blond straight hair and a similar kind of face. Just a bit older and more haggard.

“Are you with her?” The Gwyneth look-alike suddenly spots me and comes down her steps. “I want to make an official complaint. I’ve had people taking pictures of my home all week, intruding into my life—
For the last time, she’s not called fucking Apple!
” She turns to a young Japanese woman who is calling “Apple! Apple!” to the little girl, trying to get a picture.

This woman is furious. And I don’t blame her.

“The more I tell people I’m not Gwyneth Paltrow, the more they think I am her,” she’s saying to the policeman. “I can’t win. I’ll have to move!”

“You should be flattered!” Amy says insouciantly. “They think you’re an Oscar-winning movie star!”

“You should be put in jail!” snarls not-Gwyneth. She looks like she wants to hit Amy over the head.

To be honest, I’d be right behind her.

“I’m going to have to reprimand your sister officially.” The policeman turns to me as a policewoman tactfully steps in and leads not-Gwyneth back to her house. “I can release her into your custody, but only when you’ve filled in these forms and arranged an appointment at the station.”