Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

I’ve grown increasingly uncomfortable seeing her and her niece scurrying around the table with heavy plates. And the way no one even looks at them as they take their food. And the way that awful man Charlie barked at her when he wanted some more water. It’s so rude.

“Lexi!” Eric says with a laugh. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“I want to,” I say stubbornly. “Gianna, sit down. Have a biscuit or something. I can easily make a few cups of coffee. Really, I insist.”

Gianna looks perplexed. “I’ll go and turn down your bed,” she says at last, and heads off toward the bedroom, her niece in her wake.

That’s not exactly what I meant by having a break. But anyway.

“There.” I smile around the table. “Now, who would like coffee? Hands up…” I start counting the hands. “And anyone for mint tea?”

“I’ll help,” Jon says suddenly, pushing his chair back.

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well…okay. Thanks.”

I head into the kitchen, fill the kettle, and switch it on. Then I start looking in cupboards for cups. Maybe we have some special posh coffee cups for dinner parties. I briefly consult the marriage manual, but can’t find anything.

Meanwhile Jon is just pacing around the kitchen, his face screwed up as though in some distant daydream, not helping at all.

“Are you okay?” I say at last, with a flash of irritation. “I don’t suppose you know where the coffee cups are, do you?”

Jon doesn’t even seem to hear the question.

“Hello?” I wave at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

At last he stops pacing and regards me, an even stranger expression on his face.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he says. “So I’m just going to tell you.” He takes a breath-then he seems to change his mind and comes over close, studying my face. “You really don’t remember? This isn’t some kind of game you’re playing with me?”

“Remember what?” I say, totally bewildered.

“Okay, okay.” He turns and resumes pacing, thrusting his hands through his dark hair, leaving it spiky on top. At last he turns to face me again. “Here’s the thing. I love you.”

“What?” I look at him in confusion.

“And you love me,” he continues, without giving me time to say anything more. “We’re lovers.”

“Sweetie!” The door bursts open and Rosalie’s face appears. “Two more orders for mint tea and a decaf for Clive.”

“Coming up!” I say, my voice sounding strangled.

Rosalie disappears and the kitchen door swings shut. There’s silence between us, the most prickling silence I’ve ever known. I can’t move or speak. My eyes keep flicking ludicrously to the marriage manual still lying on the counter, as though the answer might be in there.

Jon follows my gaze.

“I’m guessing,” he says in a dry, confidential tone, “that I’m not in the manual.”

Okay. I have to get a grip.

“I…don’t understand,” I say, trying to summon some composure. “What do you mean, lovers? You’re trying to tell me we’ve been having an affair?”

“We’ve been seeing each other for eight months.” His dark gaze is fixed on me. “You’re planning to leave Eric for me.”

I can’t stop a gurgle of laughter. At once I clap my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but…leave Eric? For you?”

Before Jon can react, the door opens again.

“Hi, Lexi!” A red-faced man comes in. “Can I grab some more sparkling water?”

“Here.” I thrust two bottles into his arms. The door closes again and Jon shoves his hands in his pockets.

“You were about to tell Eric you couldn’t be with him anymore,” he says, speaking faster. “You were about to leave him. We’d made plans…” He breaks off and exhales. “Then you had the accident.”

His face is deadly serious. He really means all this.

“But…that’s ludicrous!”

For an instant Jon looks like I’ve hit him. “Ludicrous?”

“Yes, ludicrous! I’m not the unfaithful type. Plus, I have a great marriage, a fantastic husband, I’m happy-”

“You’re not happy with Eric.” Jon interrupts me. “Believe me.”

“Of course I’m happy with Eric!” I say in astonishment. “He’s lovely! He’s perfect!”

“Perfect?” Jon looks as if he’s trying to stop himself from going further. “Lexi, he’s not perfect.”

“Well, near enough,” I retort, suddenly rattled. Who does this guy think he is, interrupting my dinner party to say he’s my lover? “Listen, Jon…whoever you are. I don’t believe you. I would never have an affair, okay? I have the dream marriage. I have the dream life!”

“The dream life?” Jon rubs his forehead as though trying to gather his thoughts. “That’s what you think?”

Something about this guy is getting under my skin.

“Of course!” I swing my arms around the kitchen. “Look at this place! Look at Eric! It’s all fantastic! Why would I throw it all away on some-”

I break off abruptly as the kitchen door swings open.

“Sweetheart.” Eric beams at me from the doorway. “How are those coffees going?”

“They’re…on their way,” I say, flustered. “Sorry, darling.” I turn away to hide the blood pumping through my cheeks, and start spooning coffee messily into the cafetiere. I just want this man to leave.

“Eric, I’m afraid I have to go,” Jon says behind me, as though reading my mind. “Thanks for a great evening.”

“Jon! Good man.” I can hear Eric clapping Jon on the back. “We should hook up tomorrow, talk about the planning meeting.”

“Let’s do it,” Jon replies. “Good-bye, Lexi. Nice to make your acquaintance again.”

“Good-bye, Jon.” Somehow I force myself to turn and present a hostessy smile. “Lovely to see you.” He bends forward and kisses me lightly on the cheek.

“You don’t know anything about your life,” he murmurs in my ear, then strides out of the kitchen without looking back.

It can’t be true.

Morning light is creeping in around the blinds and I’ve been awake for a while, but I haven’t got out of bed. I’m gazing straight up at the ceiling, breathing evenly in and out. My theory is that if I lie still enough, maybe the maelstrom of my mind will calm down and everything will fall neatly into place.

So far it’s turning out to be a pretty crap theory.

Every time I replay the events of yesterday I feel giddy. I thought I was coming to grips with this new life of mine. I thought it was all falling into place. But now it’s like everything is slipping and sliding away. Fi says I’m a bitch-boss-from-hell. Some guy says I’m his secret lover. What next? I discover I’m an FBI agent?

It cannot be true. End of story. Why would I cheat on Eric? He’s good-looking and caring and a multimillionaire and knows how to drive a speedboat. Whereas Jon is scruffy. And kind of…spiky.

As for saying “You don’t know anything about your life”-what a nerve! I know plenty about my life, thank you. I know where I get my hair done, I know what dessert I had at my wedding, I know how often Eric and I have sex…It’s all in the manual.

And anyway, how rude is that? You don’t just pitch up in someone’s house and say “We’re lovers” when they’re trying to host a dinner party with their husband. You…you choose a different moment. You write a note.

No, you don’t write a note. You-

Anyway. Stop thinking about it.

I sit up, press the button for the window blinds to retract, and run my fingers through my hair, wincing at the tangles. The screen in front of me is blank and the room is eerily silent. I still find it weird, after my drafty bedroom in Balham, to be living in such a hermetically sealed box. According to the manual we’re not supposed to open the windows because it messes up the air-conditioning system if you do.