Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

“Sorry,” Amy says suddenly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“No, really, I am.”

I sigh, and look at Amy properly for the first time since we got in the cab. “Why, Amy?”

“To make money.” She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll get in serious trouble! If you need money, can’t you get a job? Or ask Mum?”

“Ask Mum,” she echoes scornfully. “Mum doesn’t have any money.”

“Okay, maybe she doesn’t have loads of money-”

“She doesn’t have any. Why d’you think the house is falling down? Why d’you think the heating’s never on? I spent half of last winter at my friend Rachel’s house. At least they put on the radiators. We’re skint.”

“But that’s weird,” I say, puzzled. “How come? Didn’t Dad leave Mum anything?”

I know some of Dad’s businesses were a bit dodgy. But there were quite a few of them, and I know she was expecting a windfall when he died. Not that she ever would have admitted it.

“Dunno. Not much, anyway.”

“Well, whatever, you can’t carry on like this. Seriously, you’ll end up in jail or something.”

“Bring it on.” Amy tosses back her blue-streaked hair. “Prison’s cool.”

“Prison’s not cool!” I stare at her. “Where d’you get that idea? It’s gross! It’s manky! Everyone has bad hair, and you can’t shave your legs or use cleanser.”

I’m making all this up. Probably these days they have in-prison spas and blow dryers.

“And there aren’t any boys,” I add for good measure. “And you’re not allowed an iPod, or any chocolate or DVDs. You just have to march around a yard.” That bit I’m sure isn’t true. But I’m on a roll now. “With chains around your legs.”

“They don’t have leg chains anymore,” Amy says scornfully.

“They brought them back,” I lie without missing a beat. “Especially for teenagers. It was a new experimental government initiative. Jeez, Amy, don’t you read the papers?”

Amy looks slightly freaked. Ha. That pays her back for Moo-mah.

“Well, it’s in my genes.” She regains some of her defiance. “To be on the wrong side of the law.”

“It’s not in your genes-”

“Dad was in prison,” she shoots back triumphantly.

“Dad?” I stare at her. “What do you mean, Dad?” The idea’s so preposterous, I want to laugh.

“He was. I heard some men talking about it at the funeral. So it’s, like, my fate.” She shrugs and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

“Stop it!” I grab the cigarettes and throw them out the window. “Dad didn’t go to prison. You’re not going to prison. And it’s not cool; it’s lame.” I break off and think for a moment. “Look, Amy…come and be an intern at my office. It’ll be fun. You can get some experience, and earn some money.”

“How much?” she shoots back.

God, she’s annoying sometimes.

“Enough! And maybe I won’t tell Mum about this.” I flick the yellow leaflet. “Deal?”

There’s a long silence in the taxi. Amy is peeling at the chipped blue varnish on her thumbnail, as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Okay,” she says at last, shrugging.

The taxi pulls up at a red light and I feel a spasm as I consult my watch for the millionth time. It’s twenty past. I just hope they started late. My gaze drifts to the yellow leaflet again and a grin reluctantly creeps over my face. It was a pretty ingenious scheme.

“So, who were your other celebrities?” I can’t help asking. “You didn’t really have Madonna.”

“I did!” Amy’s eyes light up. “This woman in Kensington looked just like Madonna, only fatter. Everyone totally fell for it, especially when I said that proved how much air-brushing they did. And I had a Sting, and a Judi Dench, and this really nice milkman in Highgate who looked the spitting image of Elton John.”

“Elton John? A milkman?” I can’t help laughing.

“I said he was doing community service on the quiet.”

“And how on earth did you find them?”

“Just went looking. Gwyneth was my first-she gave me the idea.” Amy grins. “She really hates me.”

“I’m not surprised! She probably gets more hassle than the real Gwyneth Paltrow.”

The taxi moves off again. We’re nearing Victoria Palace Road now. I open my presentation folder and scan my notes, just to make sure all the important points are fresh in my mind.

“You know, they did say Dad had been in prison.” Amy’s quiet voice takes me by surprise. “I didn’t make it up.”

I don’t know what to say. I can’t get my head around this. Our dad? In prison? It seems…impossible.

“Did you ask Mum about it?” I venture at last.

“No.” She shrugs.

“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been for anything-” I flounder, feeling out of my depth-“you know, bad.”

“D’you remember how he used to call us the girls?” All trace of bolshiness has vanished from Amy’s face. “His three girls. You, Mum, and me.”

I smile reminiscently. “And he used to dance with each us.”

“Yeah.” Amy nods. “And he always bought those massive boxes of chocolates-”

“And you used to get sick…”

“Deller Carpets, ladies.” The taxi has drawn up in front of the Deller Building. I hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” I root in my bag for some money. “Amy, I have to rush. I’m sorry, but this is really, really important.”

“What’s up?” To my surprise she actually looks interested.

“I have to save my department.” I wrench open the handle and scramble out of the cab. “I have to talk eleven directors into doing something they’ve already decided not to do. And I’m late. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Wow.” Amy makes a dubious face. “Well…good luck with that.”

“Thanks. And…we’ll talk more.” I give her a brief hug, then skitter up the steps and crash into the lobby. I’m only half an hour late. It could be worse.

“Hi!” I call to Jenny the receptionist as I run past the desk. “I’m here! Can you let them know?”

“Lexi-” Jenny starts to call something out to me, but I haven’t got time to stop. I hurry to a waiting lift, jab the button for the eighth floor, and wait the agonizing thirty or so seconds it takes to get to the top. We need express lifts in this place. We need emergency, late-for-a-meeting instant lifts…

At last. I burst out, run toward the boardroom…and stop.

Simon Johnson is standing in the corridor outside the boardroom, talking cheerfully to three other guys in suits. A man in a blue suit is shrugging on his raincoat. Natasha is milling around, pouring cups of coffee. There’s a hubbub of chatter.

“What’s…” My chest is bursting with adrenaline. I can barely speak. “What’s going on?”

All the faces turn toward me in surprise.

“Don’t panic, Lexi.” Simon shoots me the same disapproving frown he had before. “We’re having a break. We’ve finished the crucial part of the meeting and Angus has to leave.” He gestures toward the guy in the raincoat.

“Finished?” I feel an almighty lurch of horror. “Do you mean-”

“We’ve voted. In favor of the reorganization.”

“But you can’t!” I hurry toward him in panic. “I’ve found a way to save the department! We just have to trim a few costs; and I had some ideas about marketing-”

Simon cuts me off firmly. “Lexi, we’ve made our decision.”

“But it’s the wrong decision!” I cry desperately. “There’s value in the brand-I know there is! Please.” I appeal directly to Angus. “Don’t leave. Hear me out. Then you can vote again…”

“Simon.” Angus turns away from me, looking embarrassed. “Good to see you. I have to run.”