Remember Me? (31 page)

“They’re fine. There was something…” He breaks off and smiles, as though to himself. “No. It doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

“What?” I frown, bewildered. “Something from our relationship? You have to tell me. Go on.”

“It’s nothing.” He shrugs. “It was stupid. We just had this…tradition. The first time we had sex you’d been munching on sunflower seeds. You planted one in a yogurt pot and I took it home. It was like our own private joke. Then we started doing it every time. As a memento. We called them our children.”

“We planted sunflowers?” I wrinkle my brow with interest. That rings a tiny bell.

“Uh-huh.” Jon nods, like he wants to change the subject. “Let me get you a drink.”

“So where are they?” I say as he pours out two glasses of wine. “Did you keep any of them?” I’m looking around the room for signs of seedlings in yogurt pots.

“It doesn’t matter.” He hands me a glass.

“Did you throw them away?”

“No, I didn’t throw them away.” He heads over to a CD player and puts on some low music, but I won’t be put off.

“Where are they, then?” A challenging note creeps into my voice. “We must have had sex a few times, if everything you say is true. So there should be a few sunflower plants.”

Jon takes a sip of his wine. Then without saying a word he turns on his heel and gestures for me to walk along a small corridor. We head through a sparsely decorated bedroom. There he pushes open double doors to a wide, decked balcony. And I catch my breath.

There’s a wall of sunflowers all the way around. From huge yellow monsters reaching up to the sky, down to young flowers, tethered to canes, down to spindly green shoots in tiny pots, just starting to open. Everywhere I look, I can see sunflowers.

This was it. This was us. From the very beginning to the latest scrappy seedling in a pot. My throat is suddenly tight as I gaze around at the sea of green and yellow. I had no idea.

“So, how long ago…I mean…” I jerk my head at the tiniest seedling, in a tiny painted pot, propped up with sticks. “Since we last…”

“Six weeks ago. The day before the crash.” Jon pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m kind of looking after that one.”

“Was that the last time I saw you before…” I bite my lip.

There’s a beat of silence, then Jon nods. “That’s the last time we were together.”

I sit down and gulp at my wine, feeling totally overwhelmed. There’s a whole story here. A whole relationship. Growing and thickening and turning into something so strong I was going to leave Eric.

“What about…the first time?” I say eventually. “How did it all start?”

“It was that weekend Eric was away. I was over and we were chatting. We were out on the balcony, drinking wine. Kind of like we are now.” Jon gestures around. “And then halfway through the afternoon we fell silent. And we knew.”

He lifts his dark eyes to mine and I feel a lurch, deep inside. He gets up and starts walking toward me. “We both knew it was inevitable,” he says softly.

I’m transfixed. Gently he removes the wineglass from my hand and takes hold of both my hands.

“Lexi…” He brings my hands up to his mouth, closing his eyes, gently kissing them. “I knew…” His voice is muffled against my skin. “You’d come back. I knew you’d come back to me.”

“Stop it!” I whip my hands away, my heart thudding in distress. “You don’t…you don’t know anything!”

“What’s wrong?” Jon looks as shell-shocked as though I’d hit him.

I almost don’t know what’s wrong myself. I want him so badly; my entire body’s telling me to go for it. But I can’t.

“What’s wrong is…I’m freaked.”

“By what?” He looks dumbfounded.

“By all this!” I gesture at the sunflowers. “It’s too much. You’re presenting me with this…this fully fledged relationship. But for me, it’s just the beginning.” I take a deep gulp of wine, trying to keep my cool. “I’m too many steps behind. It’s too unbalanced.”

“We’ll balance it,” he says quickly. “We’ll work it out. I’ll go back to the beginning too.”

“You can’t go back to the beginning!” I thrust my hands hopelessly through my hair. “Jon, you’re a guy who’s attractive and witty and cool. And I really like you. But I don’t love you. How could I? I haven’t done all this. I don’t remember all this.”

“I don’t expect you to
love
me—”

“Yes, you do. You do! You expect me to be her.”

“You
are
her.” There’s a sudden streak of anger in his voice. “Don’t give me this bullshit. You’re the girl I love. Believe it, Lexi.”

“I don’t know!” My voice rises in agitation. “I don’t
know
if I am, okay? Am I her? Am I me?”

To my horror, tears are streaming down my face; I have no idea where they came from. I turn away and wipe my face, gulping, unable to stop the torrent.

I want to be her, I want to be the girl laughing on the tree trunk. But I’m not.

At last I manage to get a grip on myself and turn around. Jon is standing in exactly the same place as he was before, a bleakness on his face that makes my heart constrict.

“I look around at these sunflowers.” I swallow hard. “And the photos. And all my things here. And I can see that it happened. But it looks like a wonderful romance between two people I don’t know.”

“It’s you,” says Jon in a quiet voice. “It’s me. You know both of us.”

“I know it in my head. But I don’t feel it. I don’t
know
it.” I clench a fist on my chest, feeling the tears rising again. “If I could just remember
one thing
. If there was one memory, one thread…” I trail off in silence. Jon is gazing at the sunflowers as though rapt by every petal.

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying…I don’t know! I don’t know. I need time…I need…” I break off helplessly.

Spots of rain are starting to fall on the balcony. A breeze gusts past and the sunflowers sway against each other as though they’re nodding.

At last Jon breaks the silence. “A lift home?” He lifts his eyes to meet mine—and there’s no anger anymore.

“Yes.” I wipe my eyes and push my hair back. “Please.”

It only takes fifteen minutes to reach home. We don’t chat. I sit holding on to the blue folder and Jon changes gear, his jaw set. He pulls the Mercedes into my parking space, and for a moment neither of us moves. Rain is thundering against the roof by now and there’s a sudden crash of lightning.

“You’ll have to run straight in,” Jon says, and I nod.

“How will you get back?”

“I’ll be fine.” He hands me my keys, avoiding my eye. “Good luck with that.” He nods at the folder. “I mean it.”

“Thanks.” I run a hand over the cardboard, biting my lip. “Although I don’t know how I’m going to get to Simon Johnson to talk about it. I’ve been demoted. I’ve lost all my credibility. He won’t be interested.”

“You’ll do it.”

“If I can get in to speak to him, it’ll be fine. But I know I’ll be fobbed off. They have no time for me anymore.” I sigh and reach for the car door. The rain is totally sheeting down, but I can’t sit here all night.

“Lexi…”

I feel a flurry of nerves at Jon’s tone.

“Let’s…talk,” I say hurriedly. “Sometime.”

“Okay.” He holds my gaze for a moment. “Sometime. It’s a deal.” He gets out, lifting his hands ineffectually against the rain. “I’m going to find a cab. Go on, run.” He hesitates, then drops a kiss on my cheek and strides away.

I pelt through the rain to the entrance, nearly dropping the precious folder, then stand under the portico, gathering the papers together, feeling a fresh spasm of hope as I remember the details. Although what I said was true. If I can’t see Simon Johnson it will all be for nothing.

And all of a sudden I sag as the reality of my situation hits home. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. Whatever I have in this folder, he’s never going to give me another chance, is he? I’m not the Cobra anymore. I’m not Lexi the talented whiz kid. I’m the memorily challenged, embarrassment-to-the-firm, total fuckup. Simon Johnson won’t even give me five minutes, let alone a full hearing.

I’m not in the mood for the lift. To the obvious astonishment of the doorman, I head for the stairwell and trudge up the gleaming steel-and-glass stairs that not a single resident of this block ever uses. Once inside, I put on the remote-control fire and try to hunker up on the cream sofa. But the cushions are all shiny and awkward, and I’m afraid of my rain-damp head leaving a stain on the fabric, so in the end I get up and head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

After all the adrenaline of the day I’m leaden with disappointment. So I learned a few things about myself. So what? I got totally carried away, with Jon, with the deal, with everything. This whole day has been a pipe dream. I’m never going to save the Flooring department. Simon’s never going to usher me into his office and ask me what I think, let alone pitch a deal. Never in a million years. Not unless…

Not unless…

No.

I
couldn’t
. Could I?

I’m frozen in a disbelieving excitement, thinking through the implications, with Simon Johnson’s voice running through my head like a soundtrack.

If you recovered your memory, Lexi, then things would be different.

If I recovered my memory, then things would be different.

The kettle is coming to the boil, but I don’t even notice. As though in a dream, I pull out my mobile phone and direct dial.

“Fi,” I say as soon as it’s answered. “Don’t say anything. Listen.”

Chapter 19

Think bitch. Think boss. Think Cobra.

I survey myself in the mirror and put on some more lipstick. It’s a pale gray-pink shade that could practically be called “Bitch-boss-from-hell.” My hair’s scraped back and I’m wearing the most severe outfit I could find in my wardrobe: the slimmest pencil skirt; the pointiest pumps; a white shirt striped with gray. There’s no mistaking the message this outfit conveys:
I mean business.

I spent two hours with Jeremy Northpool yesterday, at his office in Reading, and every time I think of it, I experience a tiny thrill. Everything’s in place. We both want this deal to work out. Now it’s up to me.

“You don’t look mean enough.” Fi, standing by my side in a navy trouser suit, surveys me critically. “Try scowling more.”

I screw my nose up—but now I just look like I want to sneeze.

“Nope.” Fi shakes her head. “That’s still not right. You used to have this really chilling stare. Like, ‘You are an insignificant minion, get out of my way instantly.’” She narrows her eyes and puts on a hard, dismissive voice. “I’m the boss and I’ll have things done
my
way.”

“That’s really good!” I turn in admiration. “You should do this. We’ll swap.”

“Yeah, right.” She pushes my shoulder. “Go on, do it again. Scowl.”

“Get out of my way, you minion,” I snarl in a Wicked Witch of the West voice. “I’m the boss and I’ll have things done
my
way.”

“Yes!” She applauds. “That’s better. And kind of flick your eyes past people, like you can’t even waste time acknowledging they’re there.”

I sigh and flop down on the bed. All this bitchy behavior is exhausting. “I was a real cow, wasn’t I?”

“You weren’t as bad as that
all
the time.” Fi relents. “But we can’t run any risks of people guessing. The meaner the better.”

Fi has been coaching me for the last twenty-four hours. She took a sick day yesterday and came over, bringing breakfast with her. In the end we were so engrossed, she stayed all day, and the night. And she’s done the most brilliant job. I know
everything
. I know what happened at last year’s Christmas party. I know that at a meeting last year, Byron stormed out and called me an arrogant nobody. I know that vinyl sales went up two percent last March, due to an order from a school in Wokingham, which then complained that the color was wrong and tried to sue us.

My head is so crammed full of facts it’s ready to burst. And that’s not even the most important bit.

“When you go into your office, always slam the door.” Fi is still instructing me. “
Then
come out and demand a coffee. In that order.”

The most important bit is that I come across like the old bitch-boss Lexi and fool everyone. I put away my lipstick and pick up my briefcase.

“Get me a coffee,” I bark at myself. “At once!”

“Narrow your eyes even more.” Fi surveys me, then nods. “You’re set.”

“Fi…thanks.” I turn and give her a hug. “You’re a star.”

“If you pull this off you’ll be a star.” She hesitates, then adds, a little gruffly, “Even if you don’t pull it off. You didn’t have to make all this effort, Lexi. I know they’re offering you a big job, even if they close the department.”

“Yeah, well.” I rub my nose awkwardly. “That’s not the point. Come on, let’s go.”

As we travel to the office in a cab, my stomach is clenched up with nerves and I can’t make small talk. I’m crazy, doing this. I know I’m crazy. But it’s the only way I can think of.

“Jesus, I’ve got stage fright,” Fi murmurs as we draw up. “And it’s not even me doing it. I don’t know
how
I’m going to keep a straight face in front of Debs and Carolyn.”

We haven’t told the others what I’m up to. We reckon the fewer people that know, the safer.

“Well, Fi, you’ll just have to make an effort, okay?” I snap in my new-Lexi voice, and nearly giggle as her face jerks in shock.

“God, that’s scary. You’re
good
.”

We get out of the cab, and I hand the driver the fare, practicing my mean-eyed glare as I collect my change.

“Lexi?” A voice comes from behind me. I look around, all ready to launch my scary-Lexi face on some unsuspecting person—but instead feel it drop in astonishment.

“
Amy?
What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.” She smooths a strand of hair back a little defiantly. “I’m here to be your intern.”

“You…
what
?”

As the taxi drives away, I goggle at her. She’s dressed in teetering high heels, fishnets, a tiny pin-striped miniskirt with a matching waistcoat, and her blue-streaked hair in a ponytail. On her lapel is a badge reading
You don’t have to be crazy to work here but it helps if you’re a hot lesbian.

“Amy…” I put my hand to my head. “Today really isn’t a good day—”

“You said!” Her voice quivers. “You said you’d sort it out. I’ve made a real effort to get here. I got up early and everything. Mum was really pleased. She said you’d be pleased too.”

“I am pleased! But of all the days…”

“That’s what you said last time. You’re not really interested.” She turns away and yanks her ponytail free. “Fine. I don’t want your stupid crappy job anyway.”

“She might be a distraction,” Fi says beside me in a low voice. “It might actually be a good idea. Can we trust her?”

“Trust me?” Amy’s voice sharpens with interest. “With what?” She comes over, her eyes shining. “Have you guys got a secret?”

“Okay.” I make a snap decision. “Listen, Amy.” I lower my voice. “You can come in, but here’s the thing. I’m telling everyone I’ve recovered my memory and I’m my old self, to get a deal done. Even though I haven’t. Got it?”

Amy doesn’t bat an eyelid. I can see her mind working furiously, taking all this in. There are some advantages to having a scam artist as a little sister.

“So you’re trying to make out you’re the old Lexi,” she says.

“Yes.”

“Then you should look meaner.”

“That’s what I said,” agrees Fi.

“Like you think everyone is just a…worm.”

“Exactly.”

They both sound so sure, I feel a pang of hurt. “Was I
ever
nice?” I say, a bit plaintively.

“Er…yes!” Fi says unconvincingly. “Plenty of times. Come on.”

As I push open the glass doors to the building, I adopt my meanest scowl. Flanked by Fi and Amy, I stride over the marble, toward the reception desk. Here we go. Showtime.

“Hi,” I snarl at Jenny. “This is my temporary intern, Amy. Please make her out a pass. For your information, I’m fully recovered and if you’ve got any mail for me I want to know why it isn’t upstairs already.”

“Excellent!” whispers Fi by my side.

“There’s nothing for you, Lexi.” Jenny seems taken aback as she fills out a pass for Amy. “So…you remember everything now, do you?”

“Everything. Come on, Fi. We’re late enough already. I need to talk to the team. They’ve been slacking.”

I stride away, toward the lifts. A moment later I can hear Jenny behind me, saying in an excited undertone, “Guess what? Lexi’s got her memory back!” I turn back—and sure enough, she’s already on the phone to someone.

The lift pings. Fi, Amy, and I walk in—and as soon as the doors close, dissolve into giggles.

“High five!” Fi lifts her hand. “That was great!”

We all get out at the eighth floor, and I head straight to Natasha’s desk outside Simon Johnson’s office, my head high and imperious.

“Hi, Natasha,” I say curtly. “I assume you got my message about my memory returning? Obviously I’ll need to see Simon as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I got your message.” Natasha nods. “But I’m afraid Simon’s quite booked up this morning—”

“Then juggle things around! Cancel someone else! It’s essential I see him.”

“Okay!” Natasha types hastily at her keyboard. “I could do you a slot at…ten-thirty?”

“Fantast—” I stop as Fi nudges me. “That’ll be fine,” I amend, shooting Natasha my meanest scowl for good measure. “Come on, Fi.”

God, this barking and snapping is a strain. It’s getting me down and I’ve only been doing it for ten minutes.

“Ten-thirty,” Amy says as we get back in the lift. “That’s cool. Where do we go now?”

“To the Flooring department.” I feel a stab of nerves. “I’ll have to keep this act up till ten-thirty.”

“Good luck.” Fi squeezes my shoulder briefly, and the lift doors open.

As we head along the corridor to the main office I feel slightly sick.
I can do this,
I tell myself, over and over.
I can be a bitch boss
. I arrive at the door and stand there for a few moments, surveying the scene before me. Then I draw a breath.

“So.” I summon a harsh, sarcastic voice. “Reading
Hello!
magazine is work, is it?”

Melanie, who had been flicking through
Hello!
with a telephone receiver under her chin, jumps as though she’s been scalded and flames red.

“I was just…waiting to be put through to Accounts.” She hastily closes
Hello!

“I’ll be speaking to you all about attitude later.” I glare around the room. “And that reminds me. Didn’t I ask everyone to provide full written travel-expense breakdowns two months ago? I want to see them.”

“We thought you’d forgotten,” Carolyn says, looking dumbstruck.

“Well, I’ve remembered.” I give her a sweet, scathing smile. “I’ve remembered everything. And
you
might all remember that you’re relying on me for references.”

I sweep out, almost straight into Byron.

“Lexi!” He nearly drops his cup of coffee. “What the fuck—”

“Byron. I need to talk to you about Tony Dukes,” I say crisply. “How did you handle the discrepancy in his calculations? Because we all know his reputation for pulling a fast one. Remember the trouble we had in October 2006?”

Byron’s mouth is hanging open stupidly.

“And I want to talk to you about our annual strategy conference. Last year’s was a shambles.” I head to my office, then turn around. “Speaking of which, where are the minutes of our last product meeting? You were doing them, as I remember.”

“I’ll…get those to you.” He looks utterly gobsmacked.

Everything I’m saying is hitting right home. Fi is a total genius!

“So, are you recovered?” Byron says as I open my office door. “Are you back?”

“Oh yes. I’m back.” I usher Amy in and slam the door. I count to three, then I look out again. “Clare, a coffee. And one for my temp, Amy. Fi, can you come in here?”

As Fi closes the door behind her, I collapse on the sofa, breathless.

“You should be on the stage!” Fi exclaims. “That was so great! That’s just the way you used to be!”

I’m still cringing inside. I can’t
believe
I said those things.

“So now we just have to sit it out till ten-thirty.” Fi glances at her watch as she perches on my desk. “It’s past ten now.”

“You were a real bitch out there,” says Amy admiringly. She’s taken out mascara and is applying yet another coat. “That’s what I’ll be like when I go into business.”

“Then you won’t make any friends.”

“I don’t want to make friends.” She tosses her head. “I want to make money. You know what Dad always said? He said—”

Suddenly I really
don’t
want to hear what Dad always said.

“Amy, we’ll talk later.” I cut her off. “About Dad.” There’s a knock on the door and we all freeze.

“Quick!” says Fi. “Get behind the desk. Sound cross and impatient.”

I scuttle to the office chair, and she quickly pulls up a chair opposite.

“Come in,” I call, trying to muster the most impatient tone I can. The door opens and Clare appears, holding a tray of coffee. Irritably I jerk my head at the desk. “So, Fi…I’ve had just enough of your attitude!” I improvise as Clare unloads the coffee cups. “It’s unacceptable. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Sorry, Lexi,” Fi mumbles, her head bowed. Suddenly I realize she’s in fits of giggles.

“Yes, well.” I’m trying desperately to keep a straight face. “I’m the boss. And I won’t have you…” Oh God, my brain is blank. What’s she done? “I won’t have you…sitting on the desk!”

A kind of spluttery snort comes from Fi.

“Sorry,” she gasps, and clutches a hanky to her eyes.

Clare looks absolutely petrified. “Um…Lexi,” she says, backing toward the door. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Lucinda is here? With her baby?”

Lucinda.

That means nothing to me.

Fi sits up, her giggles vanished. “Lucinda who worked for us last year, do you mean?” she says quickly, glancing at me. “I didn’t know she was coming in today.”

“We’re giving her a baby gift and we wondered if Lexi could present it to her?” Clare gestures out the door and I see a small cluster around a blond woman holding a baby carrier. She looks up and waves.

“Lexi! Come and see the baby!”

Shit. There’s no way out of this one. I can’t refuse to look at a baby—it’ll seem too weird.

“Well…all right,” I say at last. “Just for a moment.”

“Lucinda was with us about eight months,” Fi murmurs frantically as we head out of the office. “Took care of European accounts, mainly. Sat by the window, likes peppermint tea…”

“Here we are.” Clare hands me a huge gift-wrapped parcel crowned with a satin bow. “It’s a baby gym.”

As I draw near, the others back away. To be honest, I don’t blame them.

“Hi, Lexi.” Lucinda looks up, glowing at all the attention.

“Hi there.” I nod curtly at the baby, which is dressed in a white onesie. “Congratulations, Lucinda. And this is…a girl? A boy?”

“He’s called Marcus!” Lucinda appears offended. “You’ve met him before!”

Somehow I force myself to shrug disparagingly. “I’m afraid I’m not into babies.”

“She eats them!” I hear someone whisper.

“Anyway, on behalf of the department, I’d like to give you this.” I hand the parcel over.

“Speech!” says Clare.

“That’s not necessary,” I say with a forbidding glare. “Everyone back to—”

“Yes it is!” Debs objects defiantly. “This is like Lucinda’s leaving-do too. She can’t not have a speech.”