Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

“Sweetie, you’re a natural!” Rosalie is slathering body lotion all over herself. “You’re the best in the class.”

I switch off the hair dryer, pull my hands through my dry hair, and survey my reflection. For the millionth time, my gaze is drawn to my gleaming white teeth-and my full pink lips. My mouth never looked like that in 2004-I know it didn’t.

“Rosalie.” I lower my voice. “Can I ask you a…a personal question?”

“Of course!” Rosalie whispers back.

“Did I ever have anything done? To my face? Like Botox? Or”-I lower my voice still further, hardly able to believe I’m saying this-“surgery?”

“Sweetie!” Rosalie looks appalled. “Shh!” She puts her finger to her lips.

“But…”

“Shh! Of course we haven’t had anything done! All totally, one-hundred-percent natural.” She winks.

What does that wink mean?

“Rosalie, you have to tell me what I’ve had done…” I trail off suddenly, distracted by my reflection in the mirror. Without noticing what I’ve been doing, I’ve been taking hairpins from the jar in front of me and putting my hair up on autopilot. In about thirty seconds, I’ve constructed the most perfect chignon.

How the fuck did I do that?

As I survey my own hands I can feel slight hysteria rising inside me. What else can I do? Defuse a bomb? Assassinate someone with one blow of my hand?

“What is it?” Rosalie catches my gaze.

“I just put my hair up.” I gesture at the mirror. “Look. It’s incredible. I’ve never done that before in my life.”

“Yes, you have.” She looks puzzled. “You wear it like that for work every day.”

“But I don’t remember. It’s like…it’s like Superwoman’s taken over my body or something. I can walk in heels, I can put my hair up, I can do splits… I’m like this überwoman! It’s not me.”

“Sweetie, it is you.” Rosalie squeezes my arm. “You better get used to it!”

We have lunch in the juice bar and chat with a couple of girls who seem to know me, and then Rosalie drives me home. As we travel up in the lift I’m suddenly exhausted.

“So!” Rosalie says as we enter the apartment. “Do you want to have another look at your clothes? Maybe swim-wear!”

“Actually, I feel pretty wiped out,” I say apologetically. “Do you mind if I go and have a rest?”

“Of course not!” She pats my arm. “I’ll wait out here for you, make sure you’re okay…”

“Don’t be silly.” I smile. “I’ll be fine until Eric comes home, really. And…thanks, Rosalie. You’ve been so kind.”

“Darling girl.” She gives me a hug and picks up her bag. “I’ll give you a call. Look after yourself!” She’s halfway out the door when something occurs to me.

“Rosalie!” I call. “What should I make Eric for dinner tonight?”

She turns and gazes at me uncomprehendingly. I suppose it is quite a strange question, out of the blue.

“I just thought you might know what sort of thing he likes.” I laugh awkwardly.

“Sweetie…” Rosalie blinks several times. “Sweetie, you don’t make the dinner. Gianna makes the dinner. Your housekeeper? She’ll be out shopping right now, then she’ll come back, make dinner, turn down your bed…”

“Oh, right. Of course!” I nod hastily, trying to look like I knew that all along.

But bloody hell. This really is a different life. I’ve never even had a cleaner before, let alone a five-star-hotel-type housekeeper.

“Well, I guess I’ll go to bed, then,” I say. “Bye.”

Rosalie blows me a kiss and closes the door behind her, and I head into the bedroom, which is all cream and luxurious dark wood, with a massive suede-upholstered bed. Eric has insisted that I take the main bedroom, which is very kind and noble of him. Mind you, the spare room is pretty sumptuous too; in fact, I think he gets his own Jacuzzi, so he can’t complain.

I kick off my heels, climb under the duvet, and feel myself instantly relax. This is the most comfortable bed I have ever been in, ever. I wriggle around a bit, luxuriating in the smooth sheets and perfect squashy pillows. Mmm, that’s good. I’ll just close my eyes and have a tiny kip…

I wake to a dim light and the sound of chinking crockery.

“Darling?” comes a voice from outside the door. “Are you awake?”

“Oh.” I struggle to a sitting position and rub my eyes. “Er…hi.”

The door opens and in comes Eric, holding a tray and a shopping bag.

“You’ve been asleep for hours. I’ve brought you some supper.” He heads toward the bed, puts down the tray, and switches on the bedside light. “It’s Thai chicken soup.”

“I love Thai chicken soup!” I say in delight. “Thanks!”

Eric smiles and hands me a spoon. “Rosalie told me you two girls went to the gym today.”

“Yes. It was great.” I take a spoonful of soup and it’s absolutely delicious. God, I’m ravenous. “Eric, you couldn’t get me a piece of bread, could you?” I raise my head. “Just to mop this up?”

“Bread?” Eric frowns, looking puzzled. “Darling, we don’t keep bread in the house. We’re both low-carb.”

Oh, right. I’d forgotten about the low-carb thing.

“No problem!” I smile at him and take another mouthful of soup. I can be low-carb. Easy.

“Which brings me to my little gift,” says Eric. “Or in fact…two gifts. This is the first one…”

He reaches into the shopping bag and produces a laminated ring-bound booklet, which he hands to me with a flourish. The front cover is a color photograph of me and Eric in our wedding outfits, and the title reads: Eric and Lexi Gardiner: Marriage Manual.

“You remember the doctor suggested writing down all the details of our life together?” Eric looks proud. “Well, I’ve compiled this booklet for you. Any question you have about our marriage and life together, the answer should be in there.”

I turn the first page, and there’s a frontispiece.

Eric and Lexi

A better marriage for a better world

“We have a mission statement?” I’m slightly stunned.

“I came up with it just now.” Eric shrugs modestly. “What do you think?”

“It’s great!” I flip through the booklet. There are pages of print, interspersed with headings, photographs, and even some hand-drawn diagrams. I can see sections on holidays, family, laundry, weekends…

“I’ve organized the entries in alphabetical order,” Eric explains. “And indexed them. It should be fairly simple to use.”

I flip to the index and run my eyes down the page at random.

Tomatoes-pp. 5, 23

Tongs-see Barbecue

Tongues-p. 24

Tongues? Immediately I start flipping to page twenty-four.

“Don’t try and read it now.” Eric gently closes the manual. “You need to eat and sleep.”

I’ll look up “tongues” later. When he’s gone.

I finish the rest of the soup and lean back with a contented sigh. “Thank you so much, Eric. That was perfect.”

“It’s no trouble, my darling.” Eric removes the tray and puts it on the dressing table. As he does so, he notices my shoes on the floor. “Lexi!” He flashes me a smile. “Shoes go in your dressing room.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.”

“No problem. There’s a lot to learn.” He comes back over to the bed and reaches into his pocket. “And this is my other gift…” He produces a little jewelry box made of leather.

My head starts prickling in disbelief as I gaze at it. My husband is giving me a present in a posh jewelry box. Just like grown-up people in movies.

“I’d like you to have something you actually remember me giving you,” Eric says with a rueful smile, then nods at the box. “Open it.”