Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

For a moment I just stare speechlessly at her.

“Come on!” She laughs. “Simon Johnson’s gone now, hasn’t he?”

“Um…yes,” I say huskily. “He has.”

“Well, come on, then! We’re all waiting!”

I can’t refuse. I have to appear normal; I have to appear friendly, even though I’m in a state of meltdown…

Fi grabs my arm-and as I follow her into the main office, I feel an almighty shock. A banner has been strung up between two window latches, reading Welcome Back, Lexi!!! A plate of fresh muffins is on the filing cabinet, along with an Aveda gift basket.

“We never gave you a proper welcome back,” says Fi, her face slightly pink. “And we just wanted to say we’re glad you’re okay after the car crash.” She addresses the room. “To those of you who didn’t know Lexi way back when…I just want to say that I think this accident has changed things. I know she’s going to be the most fantastic boss and we should all get right behind her. Here’s to you, Lexi.”

She lifts her coffee mug and the whole room breaks into applause.

“Thanks, everyone,” I manage, my face puce. “You’re…all great.”

They’re all about to lose their jobs. They have no idea. And they’ve bought me muffins and a gift basket.

“Have a coffee.” Fi brings a mug over. “Let me take that folder for you…”

“No!” I gasp, clutching it tighter. “It’s…fairly confidential…”

“It’s all our bonuses, isn’t it?” Debs says with a grin, and then gives me a nudge. “Make sure they’re all nice and big, Lexi! I want a new handbag!”

Somehow I raise a sick smile. I’m in a bad dream.

As I finally leave work at six-thirty, the nightmare hasn’t lifted. I have the weekend to put together a defense of the Flooring department somehow. And I barely know what the problem is, let alone the answer. As I’m jabbing the ground-floor button in the lift, Byron slips in, wearing his overcoat.

“Working at home?” He raises his eyebrows as he sees my stuffed briefcase.

“I have to save the department,” I say shortly. “I’m going to work all weekend until I find a solution.”

“You have to be kidding.” Byron shakes his head incredulously. “Lexi, haven’t you read the proposal? This is going to be better for you and me. They’re creating a new strategic team, we’re going to have more power, more scope…”

“That’s not the point!” I cry in a blaze of fury. “What about all our friends who won’t have anything?”

“Sob, sob, let me just mop up my bleeding heart,” Byron drawls. “They’ll find jobs.” He hesitates, eyeing me closely. “You know, you weren’t bothered before.”

It takes a second or two for his words to register. “What do you mean?”

“Before you had that car crash, you were all for getting rid of Flooring. Once you saw your new package. More power for us, more money…what’s not to love?”

A coldness creeps over me.

“I don’t believe you.” My voice is jerky. “I don’t believe you. I would never have sold out my friends.”

Byron just looks at me pityingly.

“Yeah, you would. You’re not a saint, Lexi. Why should you be?” The doors open and he strides out of the lift.

I arrive at Langridge’s department store, and travel up to the personal shopping department as though in a daze. I have an appointment at seven o’clock with my shopper, Ann. According to the manual, I see her every three months and she picks out some “pieces” and we work on that season’s “look.”

“Lexi! How are you?” A voice greets me as I approach the reception area. Ann is very petite, with close-cropped dark hair, slim black cigarette pants, and a distinct perfume that turns my stomach instantly. “I was so devastated to hear about your accident!”

“I’m fine, thanks. All recovered now.” I attempt a smile.

I should have canceled this appointment. I don’t know what I’m doing here.

“Good! Now, I have some fabulous pieces for you to see.” Ann ushers me into a cubicle and presents a rail of clothes to me with a flourish. “You’ll see some new shapes and styles here, but I think you can carry them off…”

What is she talking about, new shapes and styles? They’re all suits in neutral colors. I have a cupboard full of these already.

Ann is showing me jacket after jacket, talking about pockets and lengths, but I can’t hear a word. Something is buzzing in my head like a trapped insect; it’s getting louder and louder…

“Do you have anything different?” I cut her off abruptly. “Do you have anything…alive?”

“Alive?” Ann echoes uncertainly. She hesitates, then reaches for another beige jacket. “This is full of flair…”

I stride out of the cubicle onto the main shop floor, feeling like I need to gasp for air. Blood is rushing in my ears. I feel a bit deranged, to be honest.

“This.” I seize a purple minidress with bright splodges on it. “This is great. I could go clubbing in this.”

Ann looks like she wants to pass out.

“Lexi,” she says at last. “That’s…not what I would call your style.”

“Well, I would.” Defiantly I grab a silver miniskirt. “And this.”

It’s exactly like what I’d pick up at New Look, only a million times more expensive, obviously.

“Lexi.” Ann places her fingers on the bridge of her nose and breathes in a couple of times. “I am your stylist. I know what suits you. You have a very workable, attractive, professional look that we’ve spent some time honing-”

“It’s boring. It’s stultifying.” I pluck a beige sleeveless dress out of her arms and hold it up. “I’m not this person, I’m just not.”

“Lexi, you are.”

“I’m not! I need fun. I need color.”

“You’ve existed perfectly well for several years in beige and black.” Ann’s face has tightened. “Lexi, you told me specifically at our first meeting that what you required was a working capsule wardrobe in neutral colors-”

“That was then, okay?” I’m trying to curb my agitation, but it’s as if all the events of the day are bubbling up in a rush of distress. “Maybe things have changed. Maybe I’ve changed.”

“This.” Ann comes up with another beige suit, with tiny pleats. “This is you.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not me! It’s not! I’m not this person! I won’t be her!” Tears are stinging my eyes. I start tugging pins out of my chignon, suddenly desperate to get rid of it. “I’m not the kind of person who wears beige suits! I’m not the kind of person who wears her hair in a bun every day. I’m not the kind of person who pays a thousand quid for wine. I’m not the kind of person who…who sells out her friends…”

I’m gulping with sobs by now. My chignon won’t come loose, so strands of hair are sticking out all over my head like a scarecrow. My whole face is wet with tears. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, and Ann whips the beige dress away in horror.

“Don’t get tears on the Armani!” she snaps.

“Here.” I shove it back to her. “You’re welcome to it.” And without saying any more, I leave.

I head to the café on the ground floor, order a hot chocolate, and drink it while I take the rest of the pins out of my chignon. Then I order another, together with a doughnut. After a while, all the carbs have settled in my stomach like a warm, comforting cushion, and I feel better. There has to be a way, there has to. I’ll work all weekend, I’ll find the solution, I’ll save the department…

A beep from my pocket interrupts my thoughts. I pull out my phone and see it’s a text from Eric.