Remember Me?

by Sophie Kinsella

  “My darling.” He strides to the bed in a rustle of expensive flowers. “You look so much better than yesterday.”

  “I feel fine. Um…thanks very much.” I take the bouquet from him. It’s the most amazing, trendy designer-looking bouquet I’ve ever seen, all shades of white and taupe. Where on earth do you get taupe roses?

  “So…you’re Eric?” I add, just to be one hundred percent sure.

  I can see the shock reverberate through his face, but he manages a smile. “Yes. That’s right. I’m Eric. You still don’t know me?”

  “Not really. In fact…not at all.”

  “I told you,” Mum chips in, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Eric. But I’m sure she’ll remember soon, if she makes a real effort.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shoot her an affronted look.

  “Well, darling,” she says, “these things are all a matter of willpower, I’ve read. Mind over matter.”

  “I’m trying to remember, okay?” I say indignantly. “You think I want to be like this?”

  “We’ll take it slowly,” Eric says, ignoring Mum. He sits down on the bed. “Let’s see if we can trigger some memories. May I?” He gestures toward my hand.

  “Um…yes. Okay.” I nod, and he takes my hand in his. It’s a nice hand, warm and firm. But it’s a stranger’s hand.

  “Lexi, it’s me,” he says in firm, resonant tones. “It’s Eric. Your husband. We’ve been married for nearly two years.”

  I’m too mesmerized to reply. He’s even better-looking up close. His skin is really smooth and tan, and his teeth are a perfect gleaming white…

  Oh my God-I’ve had sex with this man shoots through my mind.

  He’s seen me naked. He’s ripped my underwear off. We’ve done who-knows-what together and I don’t even know him. At least…I assume he’s ripped my underwear off and we’ve done who-knows-what. I can’t exactly ask, with Mum in the room.

  I wonder what he’s like in bed. Surreptitiously I run my eyes over his body. Well, I married him. He must be pretty good, surely…

  “Is something on your mind?” Eric has noticed my wandering gaze. “Darling, if you have any questions, just ask away…”

  “Nothing!” I flush. “Nothing. Sorry. Carry on.”

  “We met nearly three years ago,” Eric continues, “at a reception at Pyramid TV. They make Ambition, the reality show we were both involved in. We were attracted instantly. We were married in June and honeymooned in Paris. We had a suite at the George V. It was wonderful. We went to Montmartre, we visited the Louvre, we had café au lait every morning…” He breaks off. “Do you recall any of this?”

  “Not really,” I say, feeling guilty. “Sorry.”

  Maybe Mum’s right. I should try harder to remember. Come on. Paris. The Mona Lisa. Men with stripy shirts. Think. I cast my mind back, desperately trying to match his face with images of Paris, to trigger some memory…

  “Did we go up the Eiffel Tower?” I say at last.

  “Yes!” His face lights up. “Are you starting to remember? We stood in the breeze and took photos of each other-”

  “No.” I cut him off. “I just guessed. You know, Paris…Eiffel Tower…it seemed quite likely.”

  “Ah.” He nods with obvious disappointment, and we lapse into silence. To my slight relief, there’s a knock at the door and I call out, “Come in!”

  Nicole enters, holding a clipboard. “Just need to do a quick blood pressure check-” She breaks off as she sees Eric holding my hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Don’t worry!” I say. “This is Nicole, one of the nurses who’s been looking after me.” I gesture around the room. “This is my mum, and sister…and my husband, who’s called”-I meet her eyes significantly-“Eric.”

  “Eric!” Nicole’s eyes light up. “Very nice to meet you, Eric.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Eric nods at her. “I’m eternally grateful to you for looking after my wife.”

  Wife. My stomach flips over at the word. I’m his wife. This is all so grownup. I bet we have a mortgage, too. And a burglar alarm.

  “My pleasure.” Nicole gives him a professional smile. “Lexi’s a great patient.” She wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm and turns to face me. “I’ll just pump this up…”

  “He’s gorgeous!” she mouths, giving me a surreptitious thumbs-up, and I can’t help beaming back.

  It’s true. My husband is officially gorgeous. I’ve never even had a date with anyone in his league before. Let alone get married to them. Let alone go and eat croissants in the George V hotel.

  “I’d very much like to make a donation to the hospital,” Eric says to Nicole, his deep, actory voice filling the room. “If you have any special appeal or fund…”

  “That would be wonderful!” exclaims Nicole. “We’ve got an appeal right now for a new scanner.”

  “Maybe I could run the marathon for it?” he suggests. “I run every year for a different cause.”

  I’m nearly bursting with pride. None of my other boyfriends has ever run the marathon. Loser Dave could barely make it from the sofa to the TV.

  “Well!” says Nicole, raising her eyebrows as she lets the blood pressure cuff deflate. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Eric. Lexi, your pressure looks fine…” She writes something on my notes. “Is that your lunch there?” she adds, noticing the untouched tray.

  “Oh yes. I forgot all about it.”

  “You must eat. And I’m going to ask everyone not to stay too much longer.” She turns to Mum and Amy. “I know you want to spend time with Lexi, but she’s still fragile. She needs to take it easy.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.” Eric clasps my hand. “I just want my wife well again.”

  Mum and Amy start to gather their things-but he stays put.

  “I’d like a few moments, just the two of us,” he says. “If that’s okay, Lexi?”

  “Oh,” I say with a dart of apprehension. “Er…fine!”

  Mum and Amy both come over to hug me good-bye, and Mum makes another quick attempt to straighten my hair. Then the door closes behind them and I’m left alone with Eric, in a still, strange silence.

  “So,” Eric says at last.

  “So. This is…weird.” I attempt a little laugh, which immediately peters out to nothing. Eric is gazing at me, his brow furrowed.

  “Have the doctors said whether you’ll ever retrieve your memories?”

  “They think I will. But they don’t know when.”

  Eric gets up and strides to the window, appearing lost in thought. “So it’s a waiting game,” he says at last. “Is there anything I can do to speed the process?”

  “I don’t know,” I say helplessly. “Maybe you could tell me some more about us and our relationship?”

  “Absolutely. Good idea.” He turns, his frame silhouetted against the window. “What do you want to know about? Ask me anything at all.”

  “Well…where do we live?”

  “We live in Kensington in a loft-style apartment.” He proclaims the words as though they’re capitalized. “That’s my business. Loft-style living.” As he says the phrase loft-style living he makes a sweeping, parallel-hands gesture, as though he’s moving bricks along a conveyor belt.

  Wow. We live in Kensington! I cast around for another question to ask, but it all seems so arbitrary, like I’m padding out time in an interview.

  “What sort of things do we do together?” I say eventually.

  “We eat fine food, we watch movies…We went to the ballet last week. Had dinner at The Ivy afterward.”

  “The Ivy?” I can’t help gasping. I’ve been to dinner at The Ivy?

  Why can’t I remember any of this? I shut my eyes tightly, trying to mentally kick-start my brain into action. But…nothing.

  At last I open my eyes again, feeling a bit dizzy, to see Eric has noticed the rings on the cabinet. “That’s your wedding ring, isn’t it?” He looks up, puzzled. “W
hy is it here?”

  “They took it off for the scans,” I explain.

  “Shall I?” He picks up the ring and takes hold of my left hand.

  I feel a sudden prickle of alarm.

  “I…um…no…” Before I can stop myself I yank my hand away and Eric flinches. “I’m sorry,” I say after an awkward pause. “I’m really sorry. I just…you’re a stranger.”

  “Of course.” Eric has turned away, still holding the ring. “Of course. Stupid of me.”

  Oh God, he looks really hurt. I shouldn’t have said “stranger.” I should have said “friend I haven’t met yet.”

  “I’m really sorry, Eric.” I bite my lip. “I do want to know you and…love you and everything. You must be a really wonderful person or I wouldn’t have married you. And you look really good,” I add encouragingly. “I wasn’t expecting anyone nearly so handsome. I mean, my last boyfriend wasn’t a patch on you.”

  I look up to see Eric staring at me.

  “It’s strange,” he says at last. “You’re not yourself. The doctors warned me, but I didn’t realize it would be so…extreme.” For a moment he looks almost overcome, then his shoulders straighten. “Anyway, we’ll get you right again. I know we will.” He carefully puts the ring back on the cabinet, sits down on the bed, and takes my hand. “And just so you know, Lexi…I love you.”

  “Really?” I beam delightedly before I can stop myself. “I mean…fab. Thanks very much!”

  None of my boyfriends has ever said “I love you” like that-i.e., properly, in the middle of the day, like a grownup, and not just pissed or while having sex. I have to reciprocate. What shall I say?

  I love you too.

  No.

  I probably love you too.

  No.

  “Eric, I’m sure I love you too, deep down somewhere,” I say at last, clasping his hand. “And I’ll remember. Maybe not today. And maybe not tomorrow. But…we’ll always have Paris.” I pause, thinking this through. “At least, you’ll have it. And you can tell me about it.”

  Eric looks slightly mystified.

  “Eat your lunch and take a rest.” He pats my shoulder. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and remember everything,” I say hopefully as he gets to his feet.

  “Let’s hope.” He scans my face for a moment or two. “But even if you don’t, my darling, we’ll sort this out. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I nod.

  “See you later.”

  He lets himself out quietly. I sit still in the silence for a moment. My head’s starting to throb again and I’m a bit dazed. It’s all too much. Amy has blue hair and Brad Pitt has a love child with Angelina Jolie and I have a gorgeous husband who just said he loves me. I’m half-expecting to go to sleep and wake up back in 2004, hungover on Carolyn’s floor, and find this was all a dream.

  Chapter 6

  But it was no dream. I wake up the next morning and it’s still 2007. I still have shiny perfect teeth and bright chestnut hair. And I still have a big black hole in my memory. I’m just eating my third piece of toast and taking a sip of tea when the door opens and Nicole appears, wheeling a trolley laden with flowers. I gape at it, impressed by the array. There must be about twenty arrangements on there. Tied bouquets…orchids in pots…grand-looking roses…

  “So…is one of these mine?” I can’t help asking.

  Nicole looks surprised. “All of them.”

  “All of them?” I splutter, almost spilling my tea.

  “You’re a popular girl! We’ve run out of vases!” She hands me a stack of little cards. “Here are your messages.”

  “Wow.” I take the first card and read it.

  Lexi-darling girl. Look after yourself,

  get well, see you very soon, all my love.

  Rosalie.

  Rosalie? I don’t know anyone called Rosalie. Bemused, I put it aside for later and read the next one.

  Best wishes and get well soon.

  Tim and Suki.

  I don’t know Tim and Suki, either.

  Lexi, get well soon! You’ll soon be back to three hundred reps! From all your friends at the gym.

  Three hundred reps? Me?

  Well, I guess that would account for the muscled legs. I reach for the next card-and at last, it’s from people I actually know.

  Get well soon, Lexi. All best wishes from Fi,

  Debs, Carolyn, and everyone in Flooring.

  As I read the familiar names, I feel a warm glow inside. It’s stupid, but I almost thought my friends had forgotten all about me.

  Nicole interrupts my thoughts. “So your husband’s quite a stunner!”

  “D’you think so?” I try to appear nonchalant. “Yeah, he is quite nice-looking, I suppose…”

  “He’s amazing! And you know, he came around the ward yesterday, thanking us all again for looking after you. Not many people do that.”

  “I’ve never been out with a guy like Eric in my life!” I abandon all pretense at being nonchalant. “To be honest, I still can’t believe he’s my husband. I mean, me. And him.”

  There’s a knock on the door and Nicole calls, “Come in!”

  It opens and in come Mum and Amy, both looking hot and sweaty, lugging between them about six shopping bags stuffed with photograph albums and envelopes.

  “Good morning!” Nicole smiles as she holds the door open. “Lexi’s feeling a lot better today, you’ll be glad to hear.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me she’s remembered everything!” Mum’s face drops. “After we’ve carried all these pictures all this way. Do you know how heavy photograph albums are? And we couldn’t find a space in the car park-”

  Nicole cuts her off. “She’s still experiencing severe memory loss.”

  “Thank goodness for that!” Mum suddenly notices Nicole’s expression. “I mean…Lexi, darling, we’ve brought some pictures to show you. Maybe they’ll trigger your memory.”

  I eye the bag of photos, suddenly excited. These pictures will tell my missing story. They’ll show me my transformation from Snaggletooth to…whoever I am now. “Fire away!” I put down all the flower messages and sit up. “Show me my life!”

  ***

  I’m learning a lot from this hospital stay. And one thing I’ve learned is, if you have a relative with amnesia and want to trigger her memory, just show her any old picture-it doesn’t matter which one. It’s ten minutes later, but I haven’t seen a single photo yet, because Mum and Amy keep arguing about where to start.

  “We don’t want to overwhelm her,” Mum keeps saying as they both root through a bag of pictures. “Now, here we are.” She picks up a photo in a cardboard frame.

  “No way.” Amy grabs it from her. “I’ve got a zit on my chin. I look gross.”

  “Amy, it’s a tiny pimple. You can hardly see it.”

  “Yes, you can. And this one is even grosser!” She starts ripping both photographs into shreds.

  Here I am, waiting to learn all about my long-lost life, and Amy’s destroying the evidence?

  “I won’t look at your zits!” I call over. “Just show me a picture! Anything!”

  “All right.” Mum advances toward the bed, holding an unframed print. “I’ll hold it up, Lexi. Just look at the image carefully and see if it jogs anything. Ready?” Mum turns the print around.

  It’s a picture of a dog dressed up as Santa Claus.

  “Mum…” I try to control my frustration. “Why are you showing me a dog?”

  “Darling, it’s Tosca!” Mum appears wounded. “She would have looked very different in 2004. And here’s Raphael with Amy last week, both looking lovely…”

  “I look hideous.” Amy snatches the picture and rips it up before I can even see it.

  “Stop ripping up the pictures!” I almost yell. “Mum, did you bring photographs of anything else? Like people?”

  “Hey, Lexi, do you remember this?” Amy comes forward, holding up a distinctive necklace with a rose made out of jade. I
squint at it, trying desperately to dredge some memory up.

  “No,” I say at last. “It doesn’t jog anything at all.”

  “Cool. Can I have it, then?”

  “Amy!” says Mum. She riffles through the pictures in her hand with dissatisfaction. “Maybe we should just wait for Eric to come with the wedding DVD. If that doesn’t trigger your memory, nothing will.”

  The wedding DVD.

  My wedding.

  Every time I think about this, my stomach curls up with a kind of excited, nervous anticipation. I have a wedding DVD. I had a wedding! The thought is alien. I can’t even imagine myself as a bride. Did I wear a pouffy dress with a train and a veil and some hideous floral headdress? I can’t even bring myself to ask.

  “So…he seems nice,” I say. “Eric, I mean. My husband.”

  “He’s super.” Mum nods absently, still leafing through pictures of dogs. “He does a lot for charity, you know. Or the company does, I should say. But it’s his own company, so it’s all the same.”

  “He has his own company?” I frown, confused. “I thought he was a real-estate agent.”

  “It’s a company that sells properties, darling. Big loft developments all over London. They sold off a large part of it last year, but he still retains a controlling interest.”

  “He made ten million quid,” says Amy, who’s still crouched down by the bag of photos.

  “He what?” I stare at her.

  “He’s stinking rich.” She looks up. “Oh, come on. Don’t say you hadn’t guessed that?”

  “Amy!” says Mum. “Don’t be so vulgar!”

  I can’t quite speak. In fact, I’m feeling a bit faint. Ten million quid?

  There’s a knock at the door. “Lexi? May I come in?”

  Oh my God. It’s him. I hastily check my reflection and spray myself with some Chanel perfume that I found in the Louis Vuitton bag.

  “Come in, Eric!” calls Mum.

  The door swings open-and there he is, manhandling two shopping bags, another bunch of flowers, and a gift basket full of fruit. He’s wearing a striped shirt and tan trousers, a yellow cashmere sweater, and loafers with tassels.