Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

How are you doing? Working late?

As I stare at the words I’m suddenly touched. Overwhelmingly touched, in fact. Eric cares about me. He’s thinking about me.

On my way home now, I type back. I missed you today!!

It’s not exactly true, but it has the right sound to it.

I missed you too! comes back instantly.

I knew there was a point to marriage. And this is it. Someone to care about you when everything’s crap. Someone to cheer you up. Just texting Eric is making me feel a million times warmer than the hot chocolate did. I’m composing a reply in my head when the phone beeps once more.

Fancy a Mont Blanc??:):)

Again with the Mont Blanc. What is this? A cocktail, maybe?

Well, it’s obviously really special to Eric. And there’s only one way I’ll find out.

Great! I text back. Can’t wait!

Then I pick up my bag, head out of Langridges, and hail a taxi.

It only takes about twenty minutes to arrive home, during which time I reread three files, each more depressing than the last. Carpet sales have never been worse in the whole history of the company, whereas every other department is booming. At last I close the files and stare out the taxi window, my mind working overtime. If I could just put a rescue package together…I know there’s still value in the Deller Carpet brand-

“Love?” The taxi driver breaks me out of my reverie. “We’re here.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.” I’m fumbling for my purse when my phone beeps yet again.

I’m ready!

Ready? This gets more and more mysterious.

Just got home! See you in a minute!

I text back briskly, and hand the money to the taxi driver.

As I let myself into the flat, the lights are dim, in a setting that I recognize as Seduction. Music is playing so quietly I can barely hear it; other than that it’s totally silent.

“Hi!” I call out cautiously, hanging up my coat.

“Hi!”

Eric’s distant voice seems to be coming from the bedroom. My bedroom.

Well…I guess, officially, our bedroom.

I check my reflection in the mirror and hastily give my disheveled hair a comb. Then I head to the other side of the living area and through to the bedroom. The door is only slightly ajar; I can’t see inside the room. I stand there for a moment, wondering what on earth this is all about. Then I push the door open. And at the sight before me I nearly scream out loud.

This is Mont Blanc? This is Mont Blanc?

Eric is lying on the bed. Totally naked. Except for the most massive mound of whipped cream on his genital region.

“Hi, darling.” He raises his eyebrows with a knowing twinkle, then glances downward. “Dive in!”

In?

Dive?

Dive in?

I’m paralyzed with horror as I survey the creamy, whippy mountain. Every cell in my body is telling me that I do not want to dive in.

But I can’t just turn and run away, can I? I can’t reject him. This is my husband. This is obviously…what we do.

Oh God, oh God…

Gingerly I edge forward toward the creamy edifice. Barely knowing what I’m doing, I extend a finger and take a tiny scoop from the top of the mound, then put it in my mouth.

“It’s…it’s sweetened!” My voice is grainy from nerves.

“Low calorie.” Eric beams back at me.

No. No. I’m sorry. This just…This isn’t happening. Not in my lifetime. I have to come up with an excuse…

“I feel dizzy!” The words come out of nowhere. I clap a hand to my eyes and back away from the bed. “Oh my God. I’m having a flashback.”

“A flashback?” Eric sits up, alert.

“Yes! I had a sudden memory of…the wedding,” I improvise. “It was just a brief image, of you and me, but it was really vivid, it took me by surprise…”

“Sit down, darling!” Eric is frowning anxiously. “Take it easy. Maybe some more memories will come back.”

He seems so hopeful, I feel terrible for lying. But it’s better than saying the truth, surely?

“I might just go and lie down quietly in the other room, if you don’t mind.” I head swiftly toward the door, my hand still shielding my eyes from the sight of the cream mountain. “I’m sorry, Eric, after you went to so much…trouble…”

“Darling, it’s fine! I’ll come too-” Eric makes to get up from the bed.

“No!” I cut him off a bit too shrilly. “You just…sort yourself out. I’ll be fine.”

Before he can say anything else, I hurry out and flop down on the big cream sofa. My head is spinning, whether from the Mont Blanc shocker or the whole day…I don’t know. All I know is, I feel like curling up under a duvet and pretending the world doesn’t exist. I can’t cope with this life of mine. Any of it.

I can’t look at Eric without seeing whipped cream. Last night I dreamed he was made of whipped cream. It wasn’t a great dream.

Thankfully we’ve barely seen each other this weekend. Eric’s been doing corporate entertaining and I’ve been trying desperately to come up with a plan to save Flooring. I’ve read through all the contracts of the last three years. I’ve looked at our supplier information. I’ve analyzed customer feedback. To be honest, it’s a crap situation. We did have a small triumph last year, when I negotiated a good deal with a new software company. I guess that’s what impressed Simon Johnson. But it masked our real position.

Not only are orders too low, no one even seems interested in Flooring anymore. We have a fraction of the advertising and marketing budget that other departments do. We’re not running any special promotions. In the weekly directors’ meeting, Flooring always appears last on the agenda. It’s like the Cinderella of the company.

But all that will change, if I have anything to do with it. Over the weekend I’ve devised a total relaunch. It’ll need a bit of money and faith and cost-trimming-but I’m positive we can kick-start sales. Cinderella went to the ball, didn’t she? And I’m going to be the fairy godmother. I have to be the fairy godmother. I can’t let all my friends lose their jobs.

Oh God. My stomach heaves yet again with nerves. I’m sitting in the taxi on the way to work, my hair firmly up, my presentation folder in my lap. The meeting is in an hour. All the other directors are expecting to vote to disband Flooring. I’m going to have to argue my socks off. Or else…

No. I can’t think about “or else.” I have to succeed, I just have to… My phone rings and I nearly jump off the seat, I’m so on edge.

“Hello?”

“Lexi?” I hear a small voice. “It’s Amy. Are you free?”

“Amy!” I say in astonishment. “Hi! Actually, I’m on my way somewhere-”

“I’m in trouble.” She cuts me off. “You have to come. Please.”

“Trouble?” I say, alarmed. “What kind of trouble?”

“Please come.” Her voice is quivering all over the place. “I’m in Notting Hill.”

“Notting Hill? Why aren’t you at school?”

“Hang on.” The sound is muffled and I can just hear Amy saying, “I’m talking to my big sister, okay? She’s coming.” Then she’s back on the line. “Please, Lexi. Please come. I’ve got myself into a bit of a mess.”

I’ve never heard Amy like this. She sounds desperate.

“What have you done?” My mind’s racing, trying to think what trouble she could have got into. Drugs? Loan sharks?

“I’m on the corner of Ladbroke Grove and Kensington Gardens. How long will you be?”

“Amy…” I clutch my head. “I can’t come now! I have a meeting, it’s really important. Can’t you phone Mum?”

“No!” Amy’s voice rockets in panic. “Lexi, you said. You said I could ring whenever I wanted, that you were my big sister, that you’d be there for me.”