Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

“He’s Hitler. If he could round up every loaf of bread and put it in a camp, he would.”

“Stop it.”

“He’d gas them all. Finger rolls first. Then croissants.”

“Stop it.” My mouth twists with an urge to giggle and I turn away.

This guy is funnier than I thought at first. And he’s kind of sexy, close up, with his rumpled dark hair.

But then, lots of things are funny and sexy. Friends is funny and sexy. It doesn’t mean I’m having an affair with it.

“What do you want?” At last I turn to face Jon, helpless. “What do you expect me to do?”

“What do I want?” He pauses, his brow knitted as though he’s thinking it through. “I want you to tell your husband you don’t love him, come home with me, and start a new life together.”

He’s serious. I almost want to laugh.

“You want me to come and live with you,” I say, as though to clarify arrangements. “Right now. Just like that.”

“In, say, five minutes.” He glances at his watch. “I have a few things to do first.”

“You’re a total psycho.” I shake my head.

“I’m not a psycho,” he says patiently. “I love you. You love me. Really. You have to take my word on that.”

“I don’t have to take your word on anything!” I suddenly resent his confidence. “I’m married, okay? I have a husband whom I love, whom I’ve promised to love forever. Here’s the proof!” I brandish my wedding ring at him. “This is proof!”

“You love him?” Jon ignores the ring. “You feel love for him? Right deep down here?” He thumps his chest.

I want to snap “Yes, I’m desperately in love with Eric” and shut him up for good. But for some ridiculous reason I can’t quite bring myself to lie.

“Maybe it’s not quite there yet…but I’m sure it will be,” I say, sounding more defiant than I meant to. “Eric’s a fantastic guy. Everything’s wonderful between us.”

“Uh-huh.” Jon nods politely. “You haven’t had sex since the accident, have you?”

I stare at him mistrustfully.

“Have you?” There’s a glint in his eye.

“I…we…” I flounder. “Maybe we have, maybe we haven’t! I’m not in the habit of discussing my private life with you.”

“Yeah, you are.” There’s a sudden wryness in his face. “You are. That’s the point.” To my surprise he reaches for one of my hands. He just holds it for a moment, looking at it. Then, very slowly, he starts tracing over the skin with his thumb.

I can’t bring myself to move. My skin is fizzing; his thumb is leaving a trail of delicious sensation wherever it goes. I can feel tiny prickles up the back of my neck.

“So what do you think?” Eric’s booming voice heralds us from below and I jump a mile, whipping my hand away. What was I thinking?

“It’s great, darling!” I trill back over the balustrade, my voice unnaturally high. “We’ll just be a couple more seconds…” I draw back, out of sight of the floor below, and beckon Jon to follow. “Look, I’ve had enough,” I say in a swift undertone. “Leave me alone. I don’t know you. I don’t love you. Things are hard enough for me right now. I just want to get on with my life, with my husband. Okay?” I make to head down the stairs.

“No! Not okay!” Jon grabs hold of my arm. “Lexi, you don’t know the whole picture. You’re unhappy with Eric. He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t understand you-”

“Of course Eric loves me!” Now I’m really rattled. “He sat by my hospital bed night and day, he brought me these amazing taupe roses…”

“You think I didn’t want to sit by your hospital bed night and day?” Jon’s eyes darken. “Lexi, it nearly killed me.”

“Let me go.” I try to pull my arm free, but Jon holds firm.

“You can’t throw us away.” He’s scanning my face desperately. “It’s in there. It’s all in there somewhere, I know it is-”

“You’re wrong!” With a huge effort I wrench my arm out of his grasp. “It’s not!” I clatter down the stairs without looking back, straight into Eric’s arms.

“Hi!” He laughs. “You seem in a rush. Is everything all right?”

“I…don’t feel too good.” I put a hand to my brow. “I’ve got a headache. Can we go now?”

“Of course we can, darling.” He squeezes my shoulders and glances up at the mezzanine level. “Have you said good-bye to Jon?”

“Yes. Let’s just…go.”

As we head to the door I cling to his expensive jacket, letting the feel of him soothe my jangled nerves. This is my husband. This is who I’m in love with. This is reality.

Okay, I need my memory back. I’ve had it with amnesia. I’ve had it with people telling me they know more about my life than I do.

It’s my memory. It belongs to me.

I stare into my eyes, reflected an inch away in the mirrored wardrobe door. This is a new habit of mine, to stand right up close to the mirror so the only bit I can see is my eyes. It’s comforting. It makes me feel as if I’m looking at the old me.

“Remember, you moron,” I instruct myself in a low, fierce voice. “Re-mem-ber.”

My eyes stare back at me as though they know everything but won’t tell. I sigh, and lean my head against the glass in frustration.

In the days since we got back from the show apartment, I’ve done nothing but immerse myself in the last three years. I’ve looked through photo albums, watched movies I know I’ve “seen,” listened to songs that I know the old Lexi heard a hundred times… But nothing’s worked. Whichever mental filing cabinet my missing memories are locked into, it’s pretty sturdy. It’s not about to fly open just because I listen to a song called “You’re Beautiful” by James…someone or other.

Stupid secretive brain. I mean, who’s in charge here? Me or it?

Yesterday I went to see that neurologist, Neil. He nodded sympathetically as I poured everything out, and scribbled loads of notes. Then he said it was all fascinating and he might write a research paper on me. When I pressed him, he added that maybe it would help to write out a timeline, and I could go and see a therapist if I liked.

But I don’t need therapy. I need my memory. The mirror is misting up from my breath. I’m pressing my forehead harder against the mirror, as though the answers are all inside the mirror-me, as though I can get them if I concentrate enough…

“Lexi? I’m off.” Eric comes into the bedroom, holding a DVD, out of its box. “Darling, you left this on the rug. Sensible location for a DVD?”

I take the disc from him. It’s the Ambition EP 1 DVD that I started watching the other day.

“I’m sorry, Eric,” I say quickly, taking it from him. “I don’t know how it got there.”

That’s a lie. It got there when Eric was out and I had about fifty DVDs all scattered over the rug, together with magazines and photo albums and candy wrappers. If he’d seen it, he’d have had a heart attack.

“Your taxi will be here at ten,” says Eric. “I’m off now.”

“Great!” I kiss him, like I do every morning now. It’s actually starting to feel quite natural. “Have a good day!”

“You too.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Hope it goes well.”

“It will,” I say with confidence.

I’m going back to work today, full-time. Not to take over the department-obviously I’m not ready to do that. But to start relearning my job, catching up on what I’ve missed. It’s five weeks since the accident. I can’t just sit around at home anymore. I have to do something. I have to get my life back. And my friends.

On the bed, all ready, are three glossy gift bags with presents inside for Fi, Debs, and Carolyn, which I’m going to take in today. I spent ages choosing the perfect gifts; in fact, every time I think about them I want to hug myself with pleasure.