Remember Me?

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.”

“Fine,” I say, and shoot a murderous look at Amy. “Whatever.”

“Piss off!” Not-Gwyneth is rounding on a young geeky guy who is tagging along behind her hopefully, holding out a CD. “No, I can’t get that to Chris Martin! I don’t even like bloody Coldplay!”

Amy is sucking in her cheeks as though she’s trying not to laugh.

Yeah. This is so funny. We’re all having a great time. I don’t have to be somewhere else really important, or anything.

I fill in all the forms as quickly as I can, stamping a furious full stop after my signature.

“Can we go now?”

“All right. Try and keep tabs on her,” the policeman adds, handing me back a duplicate form and leaflet entitled “Your Guide to a Police Reprimand.”

Keep tabs on her? Why should I have to keep tabs on her?

“Sure.” I give a tight smile and stuff the documents into my bag. “I’ll do my best. Come on, Amy.” I glance at my watch and feel a spasm of panic. It’s already ten to twelve. “Quick. We need to find a taxi.”

“But I want to go to Portobello-”

“We need to find a fucking taxi!” I yell. “I need to get to my meeting!” Her eyes widen and she obediently starts scanning the road. At last I flag one down and bundle Amy into it.

“Victoria Palace Road, please. Quick as you can.”

There’s no way I’ll make it for the start. But I can still get there. I can still say my piece. I can still do it.

“Lexi…thanks,” says Amy in a small voice.

“It’s fine.” As the taxi heads back down Ladbroke Grove my eyes are glued to the road, desperately willing lights to change, willing traffic to move over. But everything’s suddenly solid. I’m never going to get there for midday.

Abruptly I pull out my phone, dial Simon Johnson’s office number, and wait for his PA, Natasha, to answer.

“Hi, Natasha?” I say, trying to sound calm and professional. “It’s Lexi. I’m having a slight holdup, but it’s really vital that I speak at the meeting. Could you tell them to wait for me? I’m on my way in a taxi.”

“Sure,” Natasha says pleasantly. “I’ll tell them. See you later.”

“Thanks!”

I ring off and lean back in my seat, a tiny bit more relaxed.

“Sorry,” Amy says suddenly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“No, really, I am.”

I sigh, and look at Amy properly for the first time since we got in the cab. “Why, Amy?”

“To make money.” She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll get in serious trouble! If you need money, can’t you get a job? Or ask Mum?”

“Ask Mum,” she echoes scornfully. “Mum doesn’t have any money.”

“Okay, maybe she doesn’t have loads of money-”

“She doesn’t have any. Why d’you think the house is falling down? Why d’you think the heating’s never on? I spent half of last winter at my friend Rachel’s house. At least they put on the radiators. We’re skint.”

“But that’s weird,” I say, puzzled. “How come? Didn’t Dad leave Mum anything?”

I know some of Dad’s businesses were a bit dodgy. But there were quite a few of them, and I know she was expecting a windfall when he died. Not that she ever would have admitted it.

“Dunno. Not much, anyway.”

“Well, whatever, you can’t carry on like this. Seriously, you’ll end up in jail or something.”

“Bring it on.” Amy tosses back her blue-streaked hair. “Prison’s cool.”

“Prison’s not cool!” I stare at her. “Where d’you get that idea? It’s gross! It’s manky! Everyone has bad hair, and you can’t shave your legs or use cleanser.”

I’m making all this up. Probably these days they have in-prison spas and blow dryers.

“And there aren’t any boys,” I add for good measure. “And you’re not allowed an iPod, or any chocolate or DVDs. You just have to march around a yard.” That bit I’m sure isn’t true. But I’m on a roll now. “With chains around your legs.”

“They don’t have leg chains anymore,” Amy says scornfully.

“They brought them back,” I lie without missing a beat. “Especially for teenagers. It was a new experimental government initiative. Jeez, Amy, don’t you read the papers?”

Amy looks slightly freaked. Ha. That pays her back for Moo-mah.

“Well, it’s in my genes.” She regains some of her defiance. “To be on the wrong side of the law.”

“It’s not in your genes-”

“Dad was in prison,” she shoots back triumphantly.

“Dad?” I stare at her. “What do you mean, Dad?” The idea’s so preposterous, I want to laugh.

“He was. I heard some men talking about it at the funeral. So it’s, like, my fate.” She shrugs and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

“Stop it!” I grab the cigarettes and throw them out the window. “Dad didn’t go to prison. You’re not going to prison. And it’s not cool; it’s lame.” I break off and think for a moment. “Look, Amy…come and be an intern at my office. It’ll be fun. You can get some experience, and earn some money.”

“How much?” she shoots back.

God, she’s annoying sometimes.

“Enough! And maybe I won’t tell Mum about this.” I flick the yellow leaflet. “Deal?”

There’s a long silence in the taxi. Amy is peeling at the chipped blue varnish on her thumbnail, as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Okay,” she says at last, shrugging.

The taxi pulls up at a red light and I feel a spasm as I consult my watch for the millionth time. It’s twenty past. I just hope they started late. My gaze drifts to the yellow leaflet again and a grin reluctantly creeps over my face. It was a pretty ingenious scheme.

“So, who were your other celebrities?” I can’t help asking. “You didn’t really have Madonna.”

“I did!” Amy’s eyes light up. “This woman in Kensington looked just like Madonna, only fatter. Everyone totally fell for it, especially when I said that proved how much air-brushing they did. And I had a Sting, and a Judi Dench, and this really nice milkman in Highgate who looked the spitting image of Elton John.”

“Elton John? A milkman?” I can’t help laughing.

“I said he was doing community service on the quiet.”

“And how on earth did you find them?”

“Just went looking. Gwyneth was my first-she gave me the idea.” Amy grins. “She really hates me.”

“I’m not surprised! She probably gets more hassle than the real Gwyneth Paltrow.”

The taxi moves off again. We’re nearing Victoria Palace Road now. I open my presentation folder and scan my notes, just to make sure all the important points are fresh in my mind.

“You know, they did say Dad had been in prison.” Amy’s quiet voice takes me by surprise. “I didn’t make it up.”

I don’t know what to say. I can’t get my head around this. Our dad? In prison? It seems…impossible.

“Did you ask Mum about it?” I venture at last.

“No.” She shrugs.

“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been for anything-” I flounder, feeling out of my depth-“you know, bad.”

“D’you remember how he used to call us the girls?” All trace of bolshiness has vanished from Amy’s face. “His three girls. You, Mum, and me.”

I smile reminiscently. “And he used to dance with each us.”

“Yeah.” Amy nods. “And he always bought those massive boxes of chocolates-”

“And you used to get sick…”

“Deller Carpets, ladies.” The taxi has drawn up in front of the Deller Building. I hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” I root in my bag for some money. “Amy, I have to rush. I’m sorry, but this is really, really important.”

“What’s up?” To my surprise she actually looks interested.

“I have to save my department.” I wrench open the handle and scramble out of the cab. “I have to talk eleven directors into doing something they’ve already decided not to do. And I’m late. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Wow.” Amy makes a dubious face. “Well…good luck with that.”

“Thanks. And…we’ll talk more.” I give her a brief hug, then skitter up the steps and crash into the lobby. I’m only half an hour late. It could be worse.

“Hi!” I call to Jenny the receptionist as I run past the desk. “I’m here! Can you let them know?”

“Lexi-” Jenny starts to call something out to me, but I haven’t got time to stop. I hurry to a waiting lift, jab the button for the eighth floor, and wait the agonizing thirty or so seconds it takes to get to the top. We need express lifts in this place. We need emergency, late-for-a-meeting instant lifts…

At last. I burst out, run toward the boardroom…and stop.

Simon Johnson is standing in the corridor outside the boardroom, talking cheerfully to three other guys in suits. A man in a blue suit is shrugging on his raincoat. Natasha is milling around, pouring cups of coffee. There’s a hubbub of chatter.

“What’s…” My chest is bursting with adrenaline. I can barely speak. “What’s going on?”

All the faces turn toward me in surprise.

“Don’t panic, Lexi.” Simon shoots me the same disapproving frown he had before. “We’re having a break. We’ve finished the crucial part of the meeting and Angus has to leave.” He gestures toward the guy in the raincoat.

“Finished?” I feel an almighty lurch of horror. “Do you mean-”

“We’ve voted. In favor of the reorganization.”

“But you can’t!” I hurry toward him in panic. “I’ve found a way to save the department! We just have to trim a few costs; and I had some ideas about marketing-”

Simon cuts me off firmly. “Lexi, we’ve made our decision.”

“But it’s the wrong decision!” I cry desperately. “There’s value in the brand-I know there is! Please.” I appeal directly to Angus. “Don’t leave. Hear me out. Then you can vote again…”

“Simon.” Angus turns away from me, looking embarrassed. “Good to see you. I have to run.”

“Absolutely.”

They aren’t even acknowledging me. No one wants to know. I watch, my legs watery, as the directors file back into the boardroom.

“Lexi.” Simon is in front of me. “I admire your loyalty to your department. But you cannot behave like this at directors’ meetings.”

There’s steel beneath his pleasant voice; I can tell he’s furious.

“Simon, I’m sorry…” I swallow.

“Now, I know things have been tricky for you since your accident.” He pauses. “So what I suggest is you take three months’ paid leave. And when you return, we’ll find you a more…suitable role within the company. All right?”

All the blood drains from my face. He’s demoting me.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I don’t need any leave-”

“I think you do.” He sighs. “Lexi, I’m truly sorry about how things have gone. If you recovered your memory, then things would be different, but Byron’s been filling me in on your situation. You’re not up to a senior position right now.”

There’s an absolute finality in his voice.

“Fine,” I manage at last. “I understand.”

“Now, you might want to go down to your department. Since you weren’t here”-he pauses meaningfully-“I gave Byron the task of breaking the unfortunate news to them.”

Byron?

With a final curt nod, Simon disappears into the boardroom. I watch the door as though pinioned to the floor, then with a sudden burst of panic, run to the lift. I can’t let Byron tell them the bad news. I have to do that myself, at least.

In the lift, I punch Byron’s direct line into my cell phone and get his voice mail.

“Byron!” I say, my voice quivering with urgency. “Don’t tell the department about the redundancies yet, okay? I want to do it myself. Repeat, do not tell them.”

Without looking right or left I pelt out of the lift, into my office, and close the door. I’m shaking all over. I’ve never been so petrified in my life. How am I going to break the news? What am I going to say? How do you tell all your friends they’re losing their jobs?

I pace around my office, twisting my hands, feeling like I might throw up. This is worse than any exam, any test, anything I’ve ever done…

And then a sound alerts me. A voice outside the door. “Is she in there?”

“Where’s Lexi?” chimes in another voice.

“Is she hiding? Bitch.”

For an instant I consider diving under the sofa and never coming out.

“Is she still upstairs?” The voices are getting louder outside my door.

“No, I saw her! She’s in there! Lexi! Come out here!” Someone bangs on the door, making me flinch. Somehow I force myself to move forward across the carpet. Gingerly I stretch out a hand and open the door.

They know.

They’re all standing there. All fifteen members of the Flooring department, silent and reproachful. Fi is at the front, her eyes like stone.

“It…it wasn’t me,” I stammer desperately. “Please listen, everyone. Please understand. It wasn’t my decision. I tried to…I was going to…” I trail off.

I’m the boss. The bottom line is, it was down to me to save the department. And I failed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes, looking from face to unrelenting face. “I’m so, so sorry…”

There’s silence. I think I might melt under the hatred of their gazes. Then, as though at a signal, they all turn and silently walk away. My legs like jelly, I back toward my desk and sink into my chair. How did Byron break it to everybody? What did he say?

And then suddenly I spot it in my inbox. A round-robin e-mail under the heading: COLLEAGUES-SOME BAD NEWS.

With trepidation I click on the e-mail, and as I read the words, I give a whimper of despair. This went out? Under my name?

To all colleagues in Flooring,

As you may have noticed, the performance of Flooring has been appalling of late. It has been decided by senior management to disband the department.

You will all therefore be made redundant in June. In the meantime, Lexi and I would be grateful if you would work with improved efficiency and standards. Remember, we’ll be giving your references, so no slacking or taking the piss.

Yours,

Byron and Lexi

OK. Now I want to shoot myself.

When I arrive home Eric is sitting on the terrace in the evening sun. He’s reading the Evening Standard and sipping a gin and tonic. He looks up from the paper. “Good day?”

“To be honest…no,” I say, my voice quivering. “It was a pretty terrible day. The entire department is being fired.” As I say the words out loud I can’t help it-I dissolve into tears. “All my friends. They’re all losing their jobs. And they all hate me…and I don’t blame them…”

“Darling.” Eric puts down his paper. “It’s business. These things happen.”

“I know. But these are my friends. I’ve known Fi since I was six.”

Eric seems to be thinking as he sips his drink. At last he shrugs and turns back to the paper. “Like I say, these things happen.”

“They don’t just happen.” I shake my head vehemently. “You stop them from happening. You fight.”

“Sweetheart.” Eric appears amused. “You still have your job, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The company’s not collapsing, is it?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Have a gin and tonic.”

How can he respond like that? Isn’t he human?

“I don’t want a gin and tonic, okay?” I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. “I don’t want a bloody gin and tonic!”

“A glass of wine, then?”

“Eric, don’t you understand?” I almost shout. “Don’t you get how terrible this is?”

All my rage toward Simon Johnson and the directors is swiveling direction like a twister, channeling toward Eric, with his calm roof terrace and his Waterford glass and his complacent life.

“Lexi-”

“These people need their jobs! They’re not all…ultra-high rich bloody billionaires!” I gesture around at our glossy balcony. “They have mortgages. Rent to find. Weddings to pay for.”

“You’re overreacting,” Eric says shortly, and turns a page of his paper.

“Well, you’re underreacting! And I don’t understand. I just don’t understand you.” I’m appealing to him directly. Wanting him to look up, to explain his view, to talk about it.

But he doesn’t. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.

My whole body is pulsating with frustration. I feel like throwing his gin and tonic off the balcony.

“Fine,” I say at last. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just pretend everything’s okay and we agree, even though we don’t.” I wheel around and draw a sharp breath.

Jon is standing at the doors to the terrace. He’s wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt and shades, so I can’t see his expression.

“Hi.” He steps down onto the terrace. “Gianna let me in. I’m not…intruding?”

“No!” I turn away swiftly so he can’t see my face. “Of course not. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Of all the people to show up. Just to make my day complete. Well, I’m not even going to look at him. I’m not going to acknowledge him.

“Lexi’s a little upset,” Eric says to Jon in a man-to-man undertone. “A few people at her work are losing their jobs.”

“Not just a few people!” I can’t help expostulating. “A whole department! And I didn’t do anything to save them. I’m supposed to be their boss and I fucked up.” A tear creeps down my cheek and I roughly wipe it away.

“Jon.” Eric isn’t even listening to me. “Let me get you a drink. I’ve got the Bayswater plans right here. There’s a lot to talk about…” He gets up and steps into the sitting room. “Gianna! Gianna, are you there?”

“Lexi.” Jon comes across the terrace to where I’m standing, his voice low and urgent.

He’s trying it on again. I don’t believe this.

“Leave me alone!” I round on him. “Didn’t you get the message before? I’m not interested! You’re just a…a womanizing bullshitter. And even if I were interested, it’s not a good time, okay? My whole department has just crumbled to nothing. So unless you have the answer to that, piss off.”

There’s silence. I’m expecting Jon to come back with some cheesy chat-up line, but instead he takes off his shades and rubs his head as though perplexed.

“I don’t understand. What happened to the plan?”

“Plan?” I say aggressively. “What plan?”

“Your big carpet deal.”

“What carpet deal?”

Jon’s eyes snap open in shock. For a few moments he just stares at me as though I have to be joking. “You’re not serious. You don’t know about it?”

“Know about what?” I exclaim, at the end of my tether. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Jesus Christ.” Jon exhales. “Okay, Lexi. Listen to me. You had this massive carpet deal all lined up in secret. You said it was going to change everything, it was going to bring in big bucks, it was going to transform the department… So! You enjoy the view, huh.” He seamlessly switches track as Eric appears at the door, holding a gin and tonic.

Massive carpet deal?

My heart is beating fast as I stand there, watching Eric give Jon his drink and pull out a chair under the huge sunshade.

Ignore him, says a voice in my head. He’s making it up. He’s playing you-this is all part of the game.

But what if it’s not?

“Eric, darling, I’m sorry about earlier.” My words come out almost too fluently. “It’s just been a difficult day. Could you possibly get me a glass of wine?”

I’m not even looking at Jon.

“No problem, sweetheart.” Eric disappears inside again and I wheel around.

“Tell me what you’re talking about,” I say in low tones. “Quickly. And this better not be a windup.”

As I meet his gaze I feel the sting of humiliation. I have no idea if I can trust anything he says or not. But I have to hear more. Because if there’s just a one percent chance that what he’s saying is true…

“This isn’t a windup. If I’d realized before that you didn’t know…” Jon shakes his head incredulously. “You’d been working on this thing for weeks. You had a big blue file that you used to carry around. You were so excited about it you couldn’t sleep-”

“But what was it?”

“I don’t know the exact details. You were too superstitious to tell me. You had this theory I was a jinx.” His mouth twists briefly as though he’s sharing a private joke. “But I know it was using retro carpet designs from some old pattern book. And I know it was going to be huge.”

“But why don’t I know about it? Why doesn’t anyone know about it?”

“You were keeping it quiet until the last moment. You said you didn’t trust everyone at the office and it was safer not to.” He lifts his voice. “Hey, Eric. How’s it going?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. He can’t stop there.

“Here you are, Lexi,” Eric says cheerfully, handing me a glass of wine. Then he heads to the table, sits down, and gestures at Jon to sit. “So the latest is, I spoke to the planning officer again…”

I’m standing perfectly still as they talk, my mind racing, torn apart with uncertainty. It could all be bullshit. Maybe I’m a gullible fool, listening to even a word.

But how would he know about the old pattern book? What if it’s true? My chest constricts with a deep, painful spasm of hope. If there’s still a chance, even a tiny chance…

“Are you all right, Lexi?” Eric shoots me an odd look, and I realize I’m standing stock-still in the middle of the terrace, my hands clasped to my face.

“Fine.” Somehow I gather myself, retreat to the other end of the terrace, and sit down in a galvanized-steel swing seat. The sun is hot on my face. I’m barely aware of the distant roar of traffic below. Over at the table, Jon and Eric are studying an architect’s drawing.

“We might have to rethink the parking completely.” Jon is sketching on the paper. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Okay.” Eric sighs heavily. “If you think it can be done, Jon, I trust you.”

I take a deep swig of wine-then pull out my phone. I cannot believe I’m about to do this. With fumbling hands I find Jon’s number and type a text.

Can we meet? L

I press Send, then immediately slip my phone into my bag and stare rigidly out at the view.

A moment later, still sketching and without looking anywhere near me, Jon takes his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. He checks it briefly and types back a return text. Eric doesn’t even seem to notice.

I force myself to count to fifty-then casually flip open my phone.

Sure. J