Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

Well, Eric and I probably wanted to start again, choosing things together. And we probably got loads of amazing wedding presents. Those blue-glass vases on the mantelpiece look like they cost a fortune.

I wander over to the huge windows and peer down at the street below. There’s no noise or draft or anything. I watch a man carry a package into a taxi far below and a woman struggling with a dog on a lead. Then I pull out my phone and start texting Fi. I have to talk to her about all of this. I’ll get her to come around later. We’ll curl up on the sofa and she can fill me in on my life, starting with Eric. I can’t help smiling with anticipation as I press the buttons.

Hi! Back home-give me a call! Can’t wait to c u!!! Lxxxx

I send the same text to Carolyn and Debs. Then I put my phone away and swivel around on the shiny wooden floor. I’ve been trying to keep up a nonchalant air in front of Eric, but now that I’m alone I can feel a beam of elation popping through. I never thought I’d live anywhere like this, ever.

A laugh suddenly bubbles to my lips. I mean, it’s crazy. Me. In this place!

I swivel again on the floor, then start twirling, my arms out, laughing madly. I, Lexi Smart, live here in this state-of-the-art remote-controlled palace!

Sorry, Lexi Gardiner.

This thought makes me giggle even more. I didn’t even know my own married name when I woke up. What if it had been Pratt-Bottom? What would I have said then? “Sorry, Eric, you seem a lovely guy, but there’s absolutely no way on earth…”

Crash. The sound of breaking glass interrupts my thoughts. I stop twirling in horror. Somehow I accidentally caught my hand on a glass leopard that was leaping through the air on a display shelf. Now it’s lying on the floor in two pieces.

I’ve broken a priceless ornament, and I’ve only been in the place about three minutes.

Shit.

I cautiously bend down and touch the bigger tail-end piece. There’s a nasty jagged edge and some splinters of glass on the floor. There’s no way this can be mended.

I’m hot with panic. What am I going to do? What if it was worth ten thousand quid, like the sofa? What if it’s some family heirloom of Eric’s? What was I thinking, twirling around?

Gingerly I pick up the first piece, and then the second. I’ll have to sweep up the splinters of glass and then-

An electronic beep interrupts me and my head jerks up. The giant screen opposite has turned bright blue with a message in green capitals.

HI, LEXI-HOW ARE YOU DOING?

Fuck! He can see me. He’s watching me. It’s Big Brother!

In terror I leap to my feet and shove the two pieces of glass under a cushion on the sofa.

“Hi,” I say to the blue screen, my heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to do that, it was an accident…”

There’s silence. The screen isn’t moving or reacting in any way.

“Eric?” I try again.

There’s no reply.

Okay…maybe he can’t see me after all. He must be typing this from the car. Cautiously I venture over to the screen and notice a wall-mounted keyboard and tiny silver mouse, discreetly tucked away to the side. I click on Reply and slowly type FINE, THANKS!

I could leave it there. I could find a way to fix the leopard…or replace it somehow…

No. Come on. I can’t start off my brand-new marriage by keeping secrets from my husband. I have to be brave and own up. HAVE BROKEN GLASS LEOPARD BY MISTAKE, I type. REALLY SORRY. HOPE IS NOT IRREPLACEABLE?

I press Send and pace about as I wait for the reply, telling myself over and over not to worry. I mean, I don’t know for certain that it’s a priceless ornament, do I? Maybe we won it in a raffle. Maybe it’s mine, and Eric’s always hated it. How am I supposed to know?

How am I supposed to know anything?

I sink down onto a chair, suddenly overwhelmed by how little I know about my own life. If I’d known I was going to get amnesia, I would have at least written myself a note. Given myself a few tips. Be careful of the glass leopard, it’s worth a bloody fortune. P.S., you like spiders.

There’s a beep from the screen. I catch my breath and look up. OF COURSE IS NOT IRREPLACEABLE! DON’T WORRY.

I feel a huge whoosh of relief. It’s all right.

THANKS! I type, smiling. WON’T BREAK ANYTHING ELSE, PROMISE!

I can’t believe I overreacted like that. I can’t believe I hid the pieces under a cushion. What am I, five years old? This is my own house. I’m a married woman. I have to start behaving like it. Still beaming to myself, I lift up the cushion to retrieve the pieces-and freeze.

Fuck.

The bloody glass has ripped the bloody cream sofa. I must have caught it as I shoved the pieces underneath. The plushy fabric’s all ragged.

The ten-thousand-pound sofa.

I automatically glance up at the screen-then quickly look away, hollow with fear. I can’t tell Eric I’ve ruined the sofa too. I can’t.

Okay. What I’ll do is…is…I won’t tell him today. I’ll wait for a better moment. Flustered, I rearrange the cushions so the rip isn’t visible. There. Good as new. No one looks under cushions, do they?

I grab the bits of glass leopard and head into the kitchen, which is all glossy gray-lacquer cupboards and rubber floor. I locate a roll of kitchen paper, wrap up the leopard, manage to track down the trash behind a streamlined unit door, and chuck the bits in. Okay. That’s it. I am not wrecking anything else.

A buzzer sounds through the apartment and I look up, my spirits lifting. This must be Rosalie, my new best friend. I can’t wait to meet her.

Rosalie turns out to be even skinnier than she looked on the wedding DVD. She’s dressed in black capri pants, a pink cashmere V neck, and huge Chanel sunglasses pushing her blond hair back. As I open the door she gives a small shriek and drops the Jo Malone gift bag she’s holding.

“Oh my God, Lexi. Look at your poor face.”

“It’s fine!” I say reassuringly. “Honestly, you should have seen me six days ago. I had a plastic staple in my head.”

“You poor thing. What a nightmare.” She retrieves her gift bag, then kisses me on each cheek. “I would have come around earlier, only you know how long I waited to get that slot at Cheriton Spa.”

“Come in.” I gesture to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Sweetie…” She looks puzzled. “I don’t drink coffee. Dr. André banned me. You know that.”

“Oh right.” I pause. “The thing is…I don’t remember. I have amnesia.”

Rosalie is gazing at me, politely blank. Doesn’t she know? Didn’t Eric tell her?

“I don’t remember anything about the last three years,” I try again. “I hit my head and it’s all been wiped from my memory.”

“Oh my God.” Rosalie’s hand goes to her mouth. “Eric kept saying things about amnesia and you wouldn’t know me. I thought he was joking!”

I want to giggle at her horrified expression. “No, he wasn’t joking. To me you’re…a stranger.”

“I’m a stranger?” She sounds hurt.

“Eric was a stranger too,” I add hastily. “I woke up and I didn’t know who he was. I still don’t, really.”

There’s a short silence during which I can see Rosalie processing this information. Her eyes widen and her cheeks puff out and she chews her lip.

“Oh my God,” she says at last. “Nightmare.”

“I don’t know this place.” I spread my arms around. “I don’t know my own home. I don’t know what my life is like. If you could help me out, or…tell me a few things…”

“Absolutely! Let’s sit down…” She leads the way into the kitchen area. She dumps the Jo Malone bag on the counter and sits down at the trendy steel breakfast table-and I follow suit, wondering if I chose this table, or Eric chose it, or we both chose it together.