Remember Me?

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.”

“Not really!” I say as confidently as I can. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Well, any questions, you know where I am. Although today I’ll be with James Garrison most of the day. You remember James Garrison?”

Bloody bloody bloody. Why does he pick the people I’ve never heard of?

“Remind me,” I say reluctantly.

“He’s head of our distributor, Southeys? They distribute stock around the country? Like, carpet, flooring, the stuff we sell? They drive it around in lorries?” His tone is polite, but he’s smirking.

“Yes, I remember Southeys,” I say cuttingly. “Thanks. Why are you seeing them?”

“Well,” says Byron after a pause. “The truth is, they’ve lost their way. It’s crunch time. If they can’t improve their systems, we’re going to have to look elsewhere.”

“Right.” I nod in as bosslike a way as I can. “Well, keep me posted.” We’ve reached my office and I open the door. “See you later, Byron.”

I close the door, dump my gift bags on the sofa, open the filing cabinet, and take out an entire drawer’s worth of files. Trying not to feel daunted, I sit down at the desk and open the first one, which contains minutes of departmental meetings.

Three years. I can catch up on three years. It’s not that long.

Twenty minutes later, my brain is already aching. I haven’t read anything serious or heavy for what seems like months-and this stuff is as dense as treacle. Budget discussions. Contracts up for renewal. Performance evaluations. I feel like I’m back at college, doing about six degrees at once.

I’ve started a sheet of paper: Questions to ask, and already I’m onto the second side.

“How are you doing?” The door has opened silently and Byron is looking in. Doesn’t he knock?

“Fine,” I say defensively. “Really well. I just have a couple of tiny questions…”

“Fire away.” He leans against the doorjamb.

“Okay. First, what’s QAS?”

“That’s our new accounting system software. Everyone’s been trained in it.”

“Well, I can get trained too,” I say briskly, scribbling on my sheet. “And what’s Services.com?”

“Our online customer service provider.”

“What?” I wrinkle my brow, confused. “But what about the customer services department?”

“All made redundant years ago,” says Byron, sounding bored. “The company was restructured and a load of departments were contracted out.”

“Right.” I nod, trying to take all this in, and glance down at my sheet again. “So what about BD Brooks? What’s that?”

“They’re our ad agency,” Byron says with exaggerated patience. “They make advertisements for us, on the radio and the TV-”

“I know what an ad agency is!” I snap, more hotly than I intended. “So, what happened to Pinkham Smith? We’ve had such a great relationship with them-”

“They don’t exist anymore.” Byron rolls his eyes. “They went bust. Jesus, Lexi, you don’t know a bloody thing, do you?”

I open my mouth to retort-but I can’t. He’s right. It’s as if the landscape I knew has been swept away by some kind of hurricane. Everything’s been rebuilt and I don’t recognize any of it.

“You’re never going to pick all this up again.” Byron is surveying me pityingly.

“Yes, I am!”

“Lexi, face it. You’re mentally ill. You shouldn’t be putting your head under this kind of strain-”

“I’m not mentally ill!” I exclaim furiously, and get to my feet. I push roughly past Byron and out the door, and Clare looks up in alarm, snapping her mobile phone shut.

“Hi, Lexi. Did you want something? A cup of coffee?”

She looks terrified, like I’m about to bite her head off or fire her or something. Okay, now is my chance to show her I’m not a bitch-boss-from-hell. I’m me.

“Hi, Clare!” I say in my most friendly, warm manner, and perch on the corner of her desk. “Everything okay?”

“Um…yes.” Her eyes are wide and wary.

“I just wondered if you’d like me to get you a coffee?”

“You?” She stares as though suspecting a trick. “Get me a coffee?”

“Yes! Why not?” I beam, and she flinches.

“It’s…it’s okay.” She slides out of her chair, her eyes fixed on me as though she thinks I really am a cobra. “I’ll get one.”

“Wait!” I say almost desperately. “You know, Clare, I’d like to get to know you better. Maybe one day we could have lunch together…hang out…go shopping…”

Clare looks even more pole-axed than before.

“Um…yeah. Okay, Lexi,” she mumbles, and scuttles down the corridor. I turn to see Byron still in the doorway, cracking up.

“What?” I snap.

“You really are a different person, aren’t you?” He raises his eyebrows in wonder.

“Maybe I just want to be friendly with my staff and treat them with respect,” I say defiantly. “Anything wrong with that?”

“No!” Byron lifts his hands. “Lexi, that’s a great idea.” He runs his eyes over me, that sarcastic smile still at his lips, then clicks his tongue as though remembering something. “That reminds me. Before I shoot off, there’s one thing I left for you to deal with as director of the department. I thought it only right.”

At last. He’s treating me like the boss.

“Oh, yes?” I lift my chin. “What is it?”

“We’ve had an e-mail from on high about people abusing lunch hours.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a piece of paper. “SJ wants all directors to give their teams a bollocking. Today, preferably.” Byron raises his eyebrows innocently. “Can I leave that one to you?”

Bastard. Bastard.

I’m pacing about my office, sipping my coffee, my stomach churning with nerves. I’ve never told anyone off before. Let alone a whole department. Let alone while simultaneously trying to prove that I’m really friendly and not a bitch-boss-from-hell.

I look yet again at the printed-out e-mail from Natasha, Simon Johnson’s personal assistant.

Colleagues. It has come to Simon’s attention that members of staff are regularly pushing the limit of lunchtime well beyond the standard hour. This is unacceptable. He would be grateful if you could make this plain to your teams ASAP, and enforce a stricter policy of checks.

Thanks.

Natasha

Okay. The point is, it doesn’t actually say “give your department a bollocking.” I don’t need to be aggressive or anything. I can make the point while still being pleasant.

Maybe I can be all jokey and friendly! I’ll start off, “Hey, guys! Are your lunch hours long enough?” I’ll roll my eyes to show I’m being ironic and everyone will laugh, and someone will say, “Is there a problem, Lexi?” And I’ll smile ruefully and say, “It’s not me, it’s the stuffed shirts upstairs. So let’s just try and make it back on time, yeah?” And a few people will nod as though to say “fair enough.” And it’ll all be fine.

Yes. That sounds good. Taking a deep breath, I fold the paper and put it away in my pocket, then head out of my office, into the open-plan main Flooring office.

There’s the chatter and buzz of people on the phone and typing and chatting to each other. For about a minute no one even notices me. Then Fi looks up and nudges Carolyn, and she prods a girl I don’t recognize, who brings her phone conversation to an end. Around the room, receivers go down and people look up from their screens and chairs swivel around, until gradually the whole office has come to a standstill.

“Hi, everyone!” I say, my face prickling. “I…um…Hey, guys! How’s it going?”

No one replies, or even acknowledges that I’ve spoken. They’re all just staring up with the same mute, get-on-with-it expression.

“Anyway!” I try to sound bright and cheerful. “I just wanted to say…Are your lunch hours long enough?”

“What?” The girl at my old desk looks blank. “Are we allowed longer ones?”

“No!” I say hurriedly. “I mean…they’re too long.”

“I think they’re fine.” She shrugs. “An hour’s just right for a bit of shopping.”

“Yeah,” agrees another girl. “You can just make it to the King’s Road and back.”

Okay, I am really not getting my point across here. And now two girls in the corner have started talking again.

“Listen, everyone! Please!” My voice is becoming shrill. “I have to tell you something. About lunch hours. Some people in the company…um…I mean, not necessarily any of you-”

“Lexi,” says Carolyn clearly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Fi and Debs explode with laughter and my face flames with color.

“Look, guys,” I try to keep my composure. “This is serious.”

“Seriousssss,” someone echoes, and there are sniggers about the room. “It’s sssseriousssss.”

“Very funny!” I try to smile. “But listen, seriously…”

“Sssseriousssly…”

Now almost everyone in the room seems to be hissing or laughing or both. All the faces are alive; everyone’s enjoying the joke, except me. All of a sudden a paper airplane flies past my ear and lands on the floor. I jump with shock and the entire office erupts with gales of laughter.

“Okay, well, look, just don’t take too long over lunch, okay?” I say desperately.

No one’s listening. Another paper airplane hits me on the nose, followed by an eraser. In spite of myself, tears spring to my eyes.

“Anyway, I’ll see you guys!” I manage. “Thanks for…for all your hard work.” With laughter following me I turn and stumble out of the office. In a daze, I head toward the ladies’ room, passing Dana on the way.

“Going to the bathroom, Lexi?” she says in surprise as I’m pushing my way in. “You know, you have a key to the executive washroom! Much nicer!”

“I’m fine in here.” I force a smile. “Really.”

I head straight for the end cubicle, slam the door shut, and sink down with my head in my hands, feeling the tension drain from my body. That was the single most humiliating experience of my life.

Except for the white swimsuit episode.

Why did I ever want to be a boss? Why? All that happens is you lose your friends and have to give people bollockings and everyone hisses at you. And for what? A sofa in your office? A posh business card?

At last, wearily, I lift my head, and find myself focusing on the back of the cubicle door, which is covered in graffiti as usual. We’ve always used this door like a kind of message board, to vent, or make jokes or just silly conversation. It gets fuller and fuller, then someone scrubs it clean and we start again. The cleaners have never said anything, and none of the executives ever comes in here-so it’s pretty safe.

I’m running my eye down the messages, smiling at some libelous story about Simon Johnson, when a new message in blue marker catches my eye. It’s in Debs’s handwriting and it reads: “The Cobra’s back.”

And underneath, in faint black Biro: “Don’t worry, I spat in her coffee.”

There’s only one way to go. And that’s to get really, really, really drunk. An hour later and I’m slumped at the bar at the Bathgate Hotel, around the corner from work, finishing my third mojito. Already the world has turned a little blurry-but that’s fine by me. As far as I’m concerned, the blurrier the better. Just as long as I can keep my balance on this bar stool.

“Hi.” I lift my hand to get the attention of the barman. “I’d like another one, please.”

The barman raises his eyebrows very slightly, then says, “Of course.”

I watch him a touch resentfully as he gets out the mint. Isn’t he going to ask me why I want another one? Isn’t he going to offer me some homespun barman wisdom?

He puts the cocktail on a coaster and adds a bowl of peanuts, which I push aside scornfully. I don’t want anything soaking up the alcohol. I want it right in my bloodstream.

“Can I get you anything else? A snack, perhaps?”

He gestures at a small menu, but I ignore it and take a deep gulp of the mojito. It’s cold and tangy and limey and perfect.

“Do I look like a bitch to you?” I say as I look up. “Honestly?”

“No.” The barman smiles.

“Well, I am, apparently.” I take another slug of mojito. “That’s what all my friends say.”

“Some friends.”

“They used to be.” I put my cocktail down and stare at it morosely. “I don’t know where my life went wrong.”

I sound slurred, even to my own ears.

“That’s what they all say.” A guy sitting at the end of the bar looks up from his Evening Standard. He has an American accent and dark, receding hair. “No one knows where it went wrong.”

“No, but I really don’t know.” I lift a finger impressively. “I have a car crash…and boom! I wake up and I’m trapped in the body of a bitch.”

“Looks like you’re trapped in the body of a babe to me.” The American guy edges along to the next bar stool, a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t trade that body for anything.”

I gaze at him in puzzlement for a moment-until realization dawns.

“Oh! You’re flirting with me! Sorry. But I’m already married. To a guy. My husband.” I lift up my left hand, locate my wedding ring after a few moments, and point at it. “You see. Married.” I think intently for a moment. “Also, I may have a lover.”

There’s a muffled snort from the barman. I look up suspiciously, but his face is straight. I take another gulp of my drink and feel the alcohol kicking in, dancing around my head. My ears are buzzing and the room is starting to sway.

Which is a good thing. Rooms should sway.

“You know, I’m not drinking to forget,” I say conversationally to the barman. “I already forgot everything.” This suddenly strikes me as being so funny, I start giggling uncontrollably. “I had one bang on the head and I forgot everything.” I’m clutching my stomach; tears are edging out of my eyes. “I even forgot I had a husband. But I do!”

“Uh-huh.” The barman is exchanging glances with the American guy.

“And they said there isn’t a cure. But you know, doctors can be wrong, can’t they?” I appeal to the bar. Quite a few people seem to be listening now, and a couple of them nod.

“Doctors are always wrong,” the American guy says emphatically. “They’re all assholes.”

“Exactly!” I swivel to him. “You are so right! Okay.” I take a deep gulp of my mojito, then turn back to the barman. “Can I ask you a small favor? Can you take that cocktail shaker and hit me over the head with it? They said it wouldn’t work, but how do they know?”

The barman smiles, as if he thinks I’m joking.

“Great.” I sigh impatiently. “I’ll have to do it myself.” Before he can stop me, I grab the cocktail shaker and whack myself on the forehead. “Ow!” I drop the shaker and clutch my head. “Ouch! That hurt!”

“Did you see that?” I can hear someone exclaiming behind me. “She’s a nutter!”

“Miss, are you all right?” The barman looks alarmed. “Can I call you a-”

“Wait!” I lift a hand. For a few moments I’m poised, completely still, waiting for memories to flood into my brain. Then I subside in disappointment. “It didn’t work. Not even one. Bugger.”

“I’d get her a strong black coffee,” I can hear the American guy saying in an undertone to the barman. Bloody nerve. I don’t want a coffee. I’m about to tell him this, when my phone beeps. After a small struggle with the zipper of my bag I get my phone out-and it’s a text from Eric.

Hi, on my way home. E

“That’s from my husband,” I inform the barman as I put away my phone. “You know, he can drive a speedboat.”

“Great,” says the barman politely.

“Yeah. It is.” I nod emphatically, about seven times. “It is great. It’s the perfect, perfect marriage…” I consider for a moment. “Except we haven’t had sex.”

“You haven’t had sex?” the American guy echoes in astonishment.

“We have had sex.” I take a slug of mojito and lean toward him confidentially. “I just don’t remember it.”

“That good, huh?” He starts to laugh. “Blew your mind, huh?”

Blew my mind. His words land in my mind like a big neon flashing light. Blew my mind.

“You know what?” I say slowly. “You may not realize it, but that’s very sig…sigficant…significant.”

I’m not sure that word came out quite right. But I know what I mean. If I have sex, maybe it’ll blow my mind. Maybe that’s just what I need! Maybe Amy was right all along, it’s nature’s own amnesia-cure.

“I’m going to do it.” I put my glass down with a crash. “I’m going to have sex with my husband!”

“You go, girl!” says the American, laughing. “Have fun.”

I’m going to have sex with Eric. This is my mission. As I ride home in a taxi I’m quite excited. As soon as I get back, I’ll jump him. And we’ll have amazing sex and my mind will be blown and suddenly everything will be clear.

The only tiny snag I can think of is I don’t have the marriage manual on me. And I can’t totally remember the order of foreplay.

I close my eyes, trying to ignore my dizzy head and recall exactly what Eric wrote. Something was in a clockwise direction. And something else was with “gentle, then urgent tongue strokes.” Thighs? Chest? I should have memorized it. Or written it on a Post-it; I could have stuck it on the headboard.

Okay, I think I have it. Buttocks first, then inner thighs, then scrotum…

“Sorry?” says the taxi driver.

Oops. I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud.

“Nothing!” I say hastily.

Earlobes came in somewhere, I suddenly remember. Maybe that was the urgent tongue strokes. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What I can’t remember I’ll make up. I mean, it can’t be that we’re some boring old married couple and do it exactly the same way each time, can it?

Can it?

I feel a tiny qualm, which I ignore. It’s going to be great. Plus, I have fantastic underwear on. Silky and matching, and everything. I don’t even possess anything scaggy anymore.

We draw up in front of the building and I pay the taxi driver. As I travel up in the lift I remove the chewing gum that I’ve been chewing for fresh breath, and unbutton my shirt a bit.

Too far. You can see my bra.

I do it up again, let myself into the apartment, and call out, “Eric!”

There’s no answer, so I head toward the office. I am quite drunk, to tell the truth. I’m lurching on my heels, and the walls are going backward and forward in my field of vision. We’d better not try and do it standing up.

I arrive at the door of the office and look for a few moments at Eric, who’s working at his computer. On the screen I can see the brochure for Blue 42, his new building. The launch party is in a few days, and he’s spending all his time preparing his presentation.

Okay, what he should do now is sense the charged sexual vibe in the room, turn around, and see me. But he doesn’t.

“Eric,” I say in my most husky, sensual voice-but still he doesn’t move. Suddenly I realize he’s wearing earphones. “Eric!” I yell, and at last he turns around. He pulls out his earphones and smiles.

“Hi. Good day?”

“Eric…take me.” I push a hand through my hair. “Let’s do it. Blow my mind.”

He peers at me for a few seconds. “Sweetheart, have you been drinking?”

“I may have had a couple of cocktails. Or three.” I nod, then hold on to the door frame for balance. “The point is, they made me realize what I want. What I need. Sex.”

“Oooo-kay.” Eric raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should sober up, have something to eat. Gianna made us a great seafood stew-”

“I don’t want seafood stew!” I feel like stamping my foot. “We have to do it! It’s the only way I’ll ever remember!”

What’s wrong with him? I was expecting him to leap on me, but instead he’s rubbing his forehead with the back of his fist.

“Lexi, I don’t want to rush you into anything. This is a big decision. The doctor at the hospital said we should only go to whatever stage you’re comfortable with…”

“Well, I’m comfortable with us doing it right now.” I undo two more buttons, exposing my La Perla underwire plunge bra. God, my boobs look great in this.

I mean, they ought to, for sixty quid.

“Come on.” I lift my chin in a challenging way. “I’m your wife.”

I can see Eric’s mind working as he stares at me.

“Well…okay!” He closes his document and turns off the computer, then walks over, puts his arms around me, and starts kissing me. And it’s…nice.

It is. It’s…pleasant.

His mouth is quite soft. I noticed that before. It’s a bit weird for a man. I mean, it’s not exactly unsexy, but-

“Are you comfortable, Lexi?” Eric’s breathy voice comes in my ear.

“Yes!” I whisper back.

“Shall we move to the bedroom?”

“Okay!”

Eric leads the way out of the office and I follow him, stumbling slightly on my heels. It all seems a bit oddly formal, like he’s showing me in to a job interview.

In the bedroom, we resume kissing. Eric seems really into it, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next. I glimpse the marriage manual on the ottoman and wonder if I could quickly nudge it open to Foreplay with my toe. Except Eric might notice.

Now he’s pulling me down onto the bed. I have to reciprocate. But with what? Eeny-meeny-miney-No. Stop it. I’m going to go with…chest. Unbutton the shirt. Sweeping strokes. Clockwise.

He does have a good chest. I’ll give him that. Firm and muscled from the hour he spends in the gym every day.

“Are you comfortable with me touching your breast?” he murmurs as he starts undoing my bra.

“I guess so,” I murmur back.

Why is he squeezing me? It’s like he’s buying fruit. He’s going to give me a bruise in a minute.

Anyway. Stop being picky. This is all great. I have a fab husband with a fab body and we’re in bed and-

Ouch. That was my nipple.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Eric. “Listen, sweetheart, are you comfortable with me touching your abdomen?”

“Er…I guess!”

Why did he ask that? Why would I be comfortable with the breast and not the abdomen? That doesn’t make sense. And to be absolutely honest, I don’t know if comfortable is the word. This is all a bit surreal. We’re moving around and panting and doing it all like in a book, but I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere.

Eric’s breath is hot on my neck. I think it’s time for me to do something else. Buttocks, maybe, or…Oh, right. From the way Eric’s hands are moving, looks like we’re jumping straight to inner thighs.

“You’re hot,” he’s saying, his voice urgent. “Jesus, you’re hot. This is so hot.”

I don’t believe this! He says hot the whole time too! He should so have sex with Debs.

Oh. No. Obviously he shouldn’t have sex with Debs. Erase that thought.

Suddenly I realize I’m about three steps behind on the whole foreplay thing, not to mention the sex talk. But Eric doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

“Lexi, sweetheart?” he murmurs breathily, right in my ear.

“Yes?” I whisper back, wondering if he’s about to say “I love you.”

“Are you comfortable with me putting my penis into your-”

Uurk!

Before I can stop myself, I’ve pushed him off me and rolled away.

Oops. I didn’t mean to shove quite so hard.

“What’s wrong?” Eric sits up in alarm. “Lexi! What happened? Are you okay? Did you have a flashback?”

“No.” I bite my lip. “I’m sorry. I just suddenly felt a bit…um…”

“I knew it. I knew we were rushing things.” Eric sighs and takes both my hands. “Lexi, talk to me. Why weren’t you comfortable? Was it because of some…traumatic memory resurfacing?”

Oh God. He looks so earnest. I have to lie.

No. I can’t lie. Marriages only work if you’re totally honest.

“It wasn’t because of a traumatic memory,” I say at last, carefully looking past him at the duvet. “It was because you said ‘penis.’”

“Penis?” Eric looks utterly stumped. “What’s wrong with ‘penis’?”

“It’s just…you know. Not very sexy. As words go.”

Eric leans back against the headboard, his brow knitted in a frown.

“I find ‘penis’ sexy,” he says at last.

“Oh, right!” I backtrack quickly. “Well, I mean, obviously it is quite sexy…”

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.”