Sophie Kinsella - Remember Me?

“At least I get myself a bit more.” I chew on my thumbnail. “Did I ever talk to you about it? The funeral?”

“Once or twice.” Jon gives me a wry smile.

“Oh, right.” I color. “All the time. I must have bored you to death.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He takes a hand off the wheel and squeezes mine briefly. “One day, really early on, when we were still just friends, it all came out. The whole story. How that day changed your life. How you took on your family’s debt, booked a cosmetic dentistry appointment the next day, went on a crash diet, decided to change everything about yourself. Then you went on TV and everything became even more extreme. You rocketed up the career ladder, you met Eric, and he seemed like the answer. He was solid, rich, stable. A million miles away from…” He breaks off into silence.

“My dad,” I say eventually.

“I’m no psychologist. But I would guess.”

There’s silence. I watch a small plane heading higher and higher into the sky, leaving a double trail of white smoke.

“You know, when I woke up, I thought I’d landed the dream life,” I say slowly. “I thought I was Cinderella. I was better than Cinderella. I thought I must be the happiest girl in the world…” I break off as Jon shakes his head.

“You were living your whole life under a strain. You went too far too soon; you didn’t know how to handle it; you made mistakes.” He hesitates. “You alienated your friends. You found that the hardest of all.”

“But I don’t understand,” I say helplessly. “I don’t understand why I became a bitch.”

“You didn’t mean to. Lexi, give yourself a break. You were thrust into this boss position. You had a big department to run, you wanted to impress senior management, not be accused of favoritism…and you floundered. You did some things the wrong way. Then you felt trapped. You’d built up this tough persona. It was part of your success.”

“The Cobra,” I say, wincing. I still can’t believe I got nicknamed after a snake.

“The Cobra.” He nods, a smile pushing at his mouth again. “You know, that was the TV producers’ idea. That wasn’t you. Although they had something-you are pretty cobra-like when it comes to business.”

“No, I’m not!” I lift my head in horror.

“In a good way.” He grins.

A good way? How can you be like a cobra in a good way?

We drive on for a while without speaking, golden fields sprawling into the distance on either side of us. At length Jon turns on the radio. The Eagles are playing “Hotel California” and as we zip along, sunlight glinting off the windshield, I suddenly feel like we could be in another country. Another life.

“You once said to me, if you could go back in time and do everything differently, you would.” Jon’s voice is softer than before. “With everything. Yourself…your job…Eric…Everything looks different when the gloss is gone.”

I feel a sudden sting at the mention of Eric. Jon’s talking like everything’s in the past-but this is now. I’m married. Nor do I like what he’s implying.

“Look, I’m not some shallow gold-digger, okay?” I say hotly. “I must have loved Eric. I wouldn’t just marry a guy because of the gloss.”

“At first you thought Eric was the real deal,” Jon agrees. “He’s charming, he ticks the boxes…In fact, he’s like one of the intelligent systems from our lofts. Put him on ‘Husband’ setting and away he goes.”

“Stop it.”

“He’s state-of-the-art. He has a range of mood settings; he’s touch sensitive…”

“Stop it.” I’m trying not to laugh. I lean forward and turn the radio up higher, as though to block Jon out. A moment later I’ve worked out what I want to say, and turn it down again.

“Okay, look. Maybe we did have an affair. In the past. But that doesn’t mean…Maybe I want to make my marriage work this time around.”

“You can’t make it work.” Jon doesn’t miss a beat. “Eric doesn’t love you.”

Why does he have to be such a bloody know-it-all?

“Yes, he does.” I fold my arms. “He told me so. In fact, it was really romantic, if you want to know.”

“Oh yeah?” Jon doesn’t sound remotely fazed. “What’d he say?”

“He said he fell in love with my beautiful mouth and my long legs and the way I swing my briefcase.” I can’t help coloring with self-consciousness. I’ve always remembered Eric saying that, in fact I memorized it on the spot.

“That’s a crock of shit.” Jon doesn’t even turn.

“It’s not a crock of shit!” I retort indignantly. “It’s romantic!”

“Oh, really? So would he love you if you didn’t swing your briefcase?”

I’m momentarily stumped. “I…don’t know. That’s not the point.”

“How can it not be the point? It’s exactly the point. Would he love you if your legs weren’t long?”

“I don’t know!” I say crossly. “Shut up! It was a lovely, beautiful moment.”

“It was bullshit.”

“Okay.” I jut out my chin. “So what do you love about me?”

“I don’t know. The essence of you. I can’t turn it into a list,” he says, almost scathingly.

There’s a long pause. I’m staring straight ahead, my arms still folded tightly. Jon’s focused on the road, as though he’s already forgotten the conversation. We’re getting nearer London now, and the traffic is thickening up around us.

“Okay,” he says finally, as we draw to a halt in a queue of cars. “I like the way you squeak in your sleep.”

“I squeak in my sleep?” I say disbelievingly.

“Like a chipmunk.”

“I thought I was supposed to be a cobra,” I retort. “Make up your mind.”

“Cobra by day.” He nods. “Chipmunk by night.”

I’m trying to keep my mouth straight and firm, but a smile is edging out.

As we crawl along the dual carriageway, my phone beeps with a text and I pull it out.

“It’s Eric,” I say after reading it. “He’s arrived safely in Manchester. He’s scoping out some possible new sites for a few days.”

“Uh-huh. I know.” Jon swings around a roundabout.

We’re into the outskirts of the city now. The air seems grayer and a spot of rain suddenly hits me on the cheek. I shiver, and Jon puts the roof of the Mercedes back up. His face is set as he negotiates the lanes of the dual carriageway.

“You know, Eric could have paid off your dad’s debt in his sleep,” he suddenly says, his voice matter-of-fact. “But he left you to it. Never even mentioned it.”

I feel at a loss. I don’t know how to reply to that; I don’t know what to think.

“It’s his money,” I say at last. “Why should he? And anyway, I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“I know. I offered. You wouldn’t take anything. You’re pretty stubborn.” He reaches a big junction, draws up behind a bus, and turns to look at me. “I don’t know what you’re planning now.”

“Now?”

“The rest of today.” He shrugs. “If Eric’s away.”

Deep within me, something starts stirring. A gentle pulsing, which I don’t want to admit to. Even to myself.

“Well.” I try to sound businesslike. “I wasn’t planning anything. Just go home, have some supper, read through this folder…” I force myself to leave a natural pause before I add, “Why?”

“Nothing.” Jon leaves a pause too, and frowns ahead at the road before he adds casually, “It’s just there’s some stuff of yours at my flat. You might want to pick it up.”

“Okay.” I shrug noncommittally.

“Okay.” He swings the car around and we travel the rest of the way in silence.

Jon lives in the most beautiful flat I’ve ever seen.