Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

“Was I?” I say after an infinitesimal pause. “I…don’t really remember.” I start turning over the model in my fingers, trying to ignore the slight flush rising up my neck.

This is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a guilty adulterous wife.

“Jon, there you are!” Ava calls out. “We were just talking about you!”

He’s here? My hands clench involuntarily around the model. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him to see me. I have to make an excuse and leave-

But too late. Here he is, loping across the floor, wearing jeans and a navy V-neck and consulting some bit of paper.

Okay, stay calm. Everything’s fine. You’re happily married and have no evidence of any secret fling, affair, or liaison with this man.

“Hi, Eric, Lexi.” He nods politely as he approaches-then stares at my hands. I look down and feel a jerk of dismay. The model’s totally crushed. The roof’s broken and one of the balconies has become detached.

“Lexi!” Eric has just noticed it. “How on earth did that happen?”

“Jon.” Ava’s brow crumples in distress. “Your model!”

“I’m really sorry!” I say, flustered. “I don’t know how it happened. I was just holding it, and somehow…”

“Don’t worry.” Jon shrugs. “It only took me a month to make.”

“A month?” I echo, aghast. “Look, if you give me some Scotch tape I’ll fix it…” I’m patting at the crushed roof, desperately trying to prod it back into shape.

“Maybe not quite a month,” Jon says, watching me. “Maybe a couple of hours.”

“Oh.” I stop patting. “Well, anyway, I’m sorry.”

Jon shoots me a brief glance. “You can make it up to me.”

Make it up to him? What does that mean? Without quite meaning to I slip my arm through Eric’s. I need some reassurance. I need ballast. I need a sturdy husband by my side.

“So, the apartment’s very impressive, Jon.” I adopt a bland, corporate-wife-type manner, sweeping an arm around the space. “Many congratulations.”

“Thank you. I’m pleased with it,” he replies in equally bland tones. “How’s the memory doing?”

“Pretty much the same as before.”

“You haven’t remembered anything new?”

“No. Nothing.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah.”

I’m trying to stay natural-but there’s an electric atmosphere growing between us as we face each other. My breath is coming just slightly short. I glance up at Eric, convinced he must have noticed something-but he hasn’t even flickered. Can’t he feel it? Can’t he see it?

“Eric, we need to talk about the Bayswater project,” says Ava, who has been riffling through her soft leather handbag. “I went to see the site yesterday and made some notes-”

“Lexi, why don’t you look around the apartment while Ava and I talk?” Eric cuts her off, loosening his arm from mine. “Jon will show you.”

“Oh.” I stiffen. “No, don’t worry.”

“I’d be happy to show you.” Jon’s voice is dry and kind of bored. “If you’re interested.”

“Really, there’s no need…”

“Darling, Jon designed the whole building,” Eric says reprovingly. “It’s a great opportunity for you to find out the vision of the company.”

“Come this way and I’ll explain the initial concept.” Jon gestures toward the other side of the room.

I can’t get out of this.

“That would be great,” I say at last.

Fine. If he wants to talk, I’ll talk. I follow Jon across the room and we pause next to the tumbling streams of the waterfall. How could anyone live with water thundering down the wall like this?

“So,” I say politely. “How do you think of all these ideas? All these ‘statements’ or whatever they are.”

Jon frowns thoughtfully and my heart sinks. I hope he’s not going to come up with a load of pretentious stuff about his artistic genius. I’m really not in the mood.

“I just ask myself, what would a wanker like?” he says at last. “And I put it in.”

I can’t help a half-laugh of shock. “Well, if I were a wanker I’d love this.”

“There you go.” He takes a step nearer and lowers his voice beneath the sound of the water. “So you really haven’t remembered anything?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Okay.” He exhales sharply. “We have to meet. We have to talk. There’s a place we go, the Old Canal House in Islington.” In a much louder voice he adds, “You’ll notice the high ceilings, Lexi. They’re a trademark feature of all our developments.” He glances over and catches my expression. “What?”

“Are you crazy?” I hiss, glancing over to make sure Eric can’t hear. “I’m not meeting you! For your information, I haven’t found a single piece of evidence that you and I are having an affair. Not one. What a great sense of space!” I add at full volume.

“Evidence?” Jon looks as if he doesn’t understand. “Like what?”

“Like…I don’t know. A love note.”

“We didn’t write each other love notes.”

“Or trinkets.”

“Trinkets?” Jon looks like he wants to laugh. “We weren’t much into trinkets, either.”

“Well, it couldn’t have been much of a love affair, then!” I retort. “I’ve looked in my dressing table-nothing. I looked in my diary-nothing. I asked my sister-she’d never even heard of you.”

“Lexi.” He pauses as though working out how to explain the situation to me. “It was a secret affair. That would mean an affair that you keep secret.”

“So you have no proof. I knew it.”

I turn on my heel and stride away toward the fireplace, Jon following closely behind.

“You want proof?” I can hear him muttering in low, incredulous tones. “What, like…you have a strawberry mark on your left buttock?”

“I don’t-” I swivel around in triumph, then stop abruptly as Eric glances across the room at us. “I don’t know how you came up with this amazing use of light!” I wave at Eric, who waves back and continues his conversation.

“I know you don’t have a birthmark on your buttock.” Jon rolls his eyes. “You don’t have any birthmarks at all. Just a mole on your arm.”

I’m briefly silenced. He’s right. But so what?

“That could be a lucky guess.” I fold my arms.

“I know. But it’s not.” He looks at me steadily. “Lexi, I’m not making it up. We’re having an affair. We love each other. Deeply and passionately.”

“Look.” I thrust my hands through my hair. “This is just…mad! I wouldn’t have an affair. Not with you or anyone. I’ve never been unfaithful to anybody in my life-”

“We had sex on that floor four weeks ago,” he cuts me off. “Right there.” He nods at a huge fluffy white sheepskin.

I stare at it speechlessly.

“You were on top,” he adds.

“Stop it!” Flustered, I wheel around and stride away toward the far end of the space, where a trendy Lucite staircase rises to a mezzanine level.

“Let’s take a look at the wet room complex,” Jon says loudly as he follows me up. “I think you’ll like it…”

“No, I won’t,” I shoot over my shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

We both reach the top of the staircase and turn to look over the steel balustrade. I can see Eric on the level below, and beyond, the lights of London through the massive windows. I have to hand it to him, it’s a staggering apartment.

Beside me, Jon is sniffing the air.

“Hey,” he says. “Have you been eating salt and vinegar chips?”

“Maybe.” I give him a suspicious look.

Jon’s eyes open wide. “I’m impressed. How did you sneak those past the food fascist?”

“He’s not a food fascist,” I say, feeling an immediate need to defend Eric. “He just…cares about nutrition.”