Remember Me?

by Sophie Kinsella

  “Mum…could you possibly get that dog off the sofa?”

  “Raphael won’t do any harm!” says Mum, looking hurt. She lets go of Agnes, who bounces over to join Raphael and whatever the other one is called.

  There are now three whippets romping joyfully on Eric’s sofa. He’d better not turn on the cameras.

  “Have you got any diet Coke?” Amy has sauntered in behind Mum, hands in her pockets.

  “In the kitchen, I think,” I say distractedly, holding out my hand. “Here, dogs! Off the sofa!”

  All three dogs ignore me.

  “Come here, darlings!” Mum produces some dog biscuits out of her cardigan pockets, and the dogs magically stop chewing the upholstery. One sits at her feet and the other two snuggle up beside her, resting their heads on her faded print skirt.

  “There,” says Mum. “No harm done.”

  I look at the mangled cushion that Raphael has just dropped. It’s really not worth saying anything.

  “There’s no diet Coke.” Amy reappears from the kitchen, unwrapping a Chupa Chups lollipop, her legs endless in white skinny jeans tucked into boots. “Have you got any Sprite?”

  “We might have…” I look at her, suddenly distracted. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “No.” Amy pops the lolly in her mouth with a defiant shrug.

  “Why not?” I look from her to Mum, sensing a sudden tension in the air.

  No one answers immediately. Mum is adjusting her velvet Alice band on her hair, her eyes distant, as though positioning it just right is her absolute priority.

  “Amy’s in a teeny bit of trouble,” she says at last. “Isn’t she, Raphael?”

  “I’ve been suspended from school.” With a swagger, Amy heads over to a chair, sits down, and puts her feet up on the coffee table.

  “Suspended? Why?”

  There’s silence. Mum doesn’t appear to have heard me. “Mum, why?”

  “I’m afraid Amy’s been up to her old tricks again,” Mum says with a little wince.

  “Old tricks?”

  The only tricks I can ever remember Amy doing are card tricks from a magic set she once got in her Christmas stocking. I can see her now, in her pink gingham pajamas and bunny slippers in front of the fireplace, asking us to pick a card while we all pretended not to notice the one she had hidden up her sleeve.

  I feel a pang of nostalgia. She was such a sweet little thing.

  “What did you do, Ame?”

  “It was nothing! They so totally overreacted.” Amy takes her lolly out of her mouth and sighs with exaggerated patience. “All I did was bring this psychic into school.”

  “A psychic?”

  “Well.” Amy meets my eye with a smirk. “This woman I met in a club. I don’t know exactly how psychic she is. But everyone believed us. I charged ten quid each and she told all the girls they’d meet a boy tomorrow. Everyone was happy. Until some teacher found out.”

  “Ten quid each?” I stare at her in disbelief. “No wonder you got in trouble!”

  “I’m on my final warning,” she says proudly.

  “Why? Amy, what else have you done?”

  “Nothing much! Just…over the holidays I collected money for this math teacher, Mrs. Winters, who was in the hospital.” Amy shrugs. “I said she was on the way out and everyone gave loads. I raised over five hundred quid.” She snuffles with laughter. “It was so cool!”

  “Darling, it’s extorting money under false pretenses.” Mum’s twisting her amber beads obsessively with one hand, while stroking one of the dogs with the other. “Mrs. Winters was very upset.”

  “I gave her some chocolates, didn’t I?” retorts Amy, unrepentant. “And anyway, I wasn’t lying. You could die from liposuction.”

  I’m trying to find something to say, but I’m too gobsmacked. How did my sister turn from cute, innocent little Amy into…this?

  “I need some lip salve,” Amy says, swinging her legs down off the sofa. “Can I get some off your dressing table?”

  “Um, sure.” As soon as she’s out of the room I turn to Mum. “What’s going on? How long has Amy been getting into trouble?”

  “Oh…for the last couple of years.” Mum doesn’t look at me and instead addresses the dog on her lap. “She’s a good, sweet girl, really, isn’t she, Agnes? She just gets led astray. Some older girls encouraged her into the stealing; that really wasn’t her fault…”

  “Stealing?” I echo in horror.

  “Yes. Well.” Mum looks pained. “It was an unfortunate incident. She took a jacket from a fellow pupil and sewed her own name-tape into the back. But she really was very repentant.”

  “But…why?”

  “Darling, nobody knows. She took her father’s death quite badly and ever since then…it’s been one thing after another.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Maybe all teens who lose their fathers go off the rails for a bit.

  “That reminds me. I’ve got something for you, Lexi.” Mum reaches into her canvas bag and produces a DVD in a plain plastic case. “This is the last message from your father. He did a farewell recording before the operation, just in case. It was played at the funeral. If you don’t remember it, you should probably see it.” She hands it over with two fingers as though it’s contaminated.

  I take the DVD and stare at it. The last surviving message from Dad. I still can’t quite believe he’s been dead for over three years.

  “It’ll be like seeing him again.” I turn the disc over in my hands. “How amazing that he did a recording.”

  “Yes. Well.” Mum’s got that twitchy look again. “You know your father. Always had to be the center of attention.”

  “Mum! It’s fair enough to be the center of attention at your own funeral.”

  Again Mum appears not to have heard. That’s always her trick whenever anyone starts talking about a topic she doesn’t like. She just blanks the whole conversation and changes the subject. Sure enough, a moment later she looks up and says,

  “Maybe you could help Amy, darling. You were going to find her an internship at your office.”

  “An internship?” I frown doubtfully. “Mum, I’m not sure about that.”

  My work situation is complicated enough right now without Amy flouncing around the place.

  “Just for a week or two. You said you’d spoken to the right people about it and it was all set up-”

  “Maybe I did.” I cut her off hastily. “But everything’s different now. I’m not even back at work yet. I need to relearn my job-”

  “You’ve done so well in your career,” says Mum persuasively.

  Yup, I’ve done great. From junior sales manager to bitch-boss-from-hell, in one seamless leap.

  There’s silence for a few moments, apart from the sound of dogs skittering in the kitchen. I dread to think what they’re doing.

  “Mum, I was wondering about that,” I say. “I’m trying to put all the pieces of my life together…and it doesn’t make sense. Why did I go on that TV show? Why did I become all hard and ambitious overnight? I don’t get it.”

  “I have no idea.” Mum seems preoccupied, searching in her bag for something. “Natural career advancement.”

  “But it wasn’t natural.” I lean forward, trying to get her attention. “I was never a high-powered career woman-you know I wasn’t. Why would I suddenly change?”

  “Darling, it was all so long ago, I really can’t remember… Aren’t you a good girl? Aren’t you the most beautiful girl in the world?”

  She’s addressing one of the dogs, I suddenly realize. She isn’t even listening to me. Typical.

  I look up to see Amy coming back into the room, still sucking her lollipop.

  “Amy, Lexi was just talking about you doing an internship at her office!” Mum says brightly. “Would you like that?”

  “Maybe,” I put in quickly. “When I’ve been back at work for a while.”

  “Yeah. S’pose.”

  She doesn’t even look grate
ful.

  “There’d have to be some ground rules,” I say. “You can’t rip off my colleagues. Or steal from them.”

  “I don’t steal!” Amy looks stung. “It was one jacket, and there was a mix-up. Jesus.”

  “Sweetheart, it wasn’t just the jacket, was it?” says Mum, after a pause. “It was the makeup, too.”

  “Everyone thinks the worst of me. Every time anything goes missing, I’m the scapegoat.” Amy’s eyes are glittering in her pale face. She hunches her thin shoulders and suddenly I feel bad. She’s right. I’ve judged her without even knowing the facts.

  “I’m sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I’m sure you don’t steal.”

  “Whatever.” Her face is averted. “Just blame me for everything, like everyone else.”

  “No. I won’t.” I head over to where she’s standing by the window. “Amy, I really want to apologize. I know things have been hard for you since Dad died… Come here.” I hold my arms out for a hug.

  “Leave me alone,” she says almost savagely.

  “But Amy-”

  “Go away!” She backs away urgently, raising her arms as though to fend me off.

  “But you’re my little sister!” I lean forward and give her a tight hug-then draw back almost immediately, rubbing my ribs. “Ow! What the hell…You’re all lumpy!”

  “No, I’m not,” Amy says after a fraction of a beat.

  “Yes, you are!” I peer at her bulky denim jacket. “What on earth have you got in your pockets?”

  “Tins of food,” says Amy seamlessly. “Tuna and sweet corn.”

  “Sweet corn?” I stare at her, baffled.

  “Not again.” Mum shuts her eyes. “Amy, what have you taken from Lexi?”

  “Give me a break!” Amy yells. “I haven’t taken anything!” She throws her hand up in a defensive motion and two Chanel lipsticks fly out of the sleeve of her jacket, followed by a powder compact. They land on the floor with a clatter and we all stare at them.

  “Are those mine?” I say at last.

  “No,” Amy says belligerently, but she’s turned pink.

  “Yes, they are!”

  “Like you’d even notice.” She shrugs sulkily. “You’ve got thousands of bloody lipsticks.”

  “Oh, Amy,” Mum says sorrowfully. “Turn out your pockets.”

  Shooting Mum a murderous glance, Amy starts unpacking her pockets, laying all the contents on the coffee table with a series of little crashes. Two unopened moisturizers. A Jo Malone candle. A load of makeup. A Christian Dior perfume gift set. I watch her in silence, goggling at her haul.

  “Now take off your T-shirt,” Mum orders, like some kind of immigration official.

  “This is so unfair,” mutters Amy. She struggles out of the T-shirt and my jaw drops. Underneath, she’s wearing an Armani slip dress that I recognize from my wardrobe, all scrunched up under her jeans. She has about five La Perla bras worn around her middle, and dangling from them, like charms from a bracelet, are two beaded evening bags.

  “You took a dress?” I suppress a giggle. “And bras?”

  “Fine. You want your dress back. Fine.” She peels everything off and dumps it on the table. “Satisfied?” She looks up and catches the expression on my face. “It’s not my fault. Mum won’t give me any money for clothes.”

  “Amy, that’s nonsense!” Mum exclaims sharply. “You have plenty of clothes!”

  “They’re all out of date!” she instantly yells back at Mum, in a way that suggests they’ve had this argument before. “We don’t all live in a bloody fashion time-warp like you do! When are you going to realize it’s the twenty-first century?” She gestures at Mum’s dress. “It’s tragic!”

  “Amy, stop it!” I say hastily. “That’s not the point. And anyway, those bras don’t even fit you!”

  “You can sell bras on eBay,” she retorts scathingly. “Fancy overpriced bras, that is.”

  She shoves on her T-shirt, sinks down onto the floor, and starts texting something on her phone.

  I’m totally flummoxed by all of this. “Amy,” I say at last, “maybe we should have a little talk. Mum, why don’t you go and make some coffee or something?”

  Mum looks totally flustered, and seems grateful to head out to the kitchen. When she’s gone I sit down on the floor, across from where Amy has plonked herself. Her shoulders are tensed angrily and she doesn’t look up.

  Okay. I have to be understanding and sympathetic. I know there’s a big age gap between me and Amy. I know I can’t even remember a whole chunk of her life. But surely we have a sisterly rapport?

  “Amy, listen,” I say in my best understanding-grown-up-sister-but-still-pretty-cool voice. “You can’t steal, okay? You can’t extort money from people.”

  “Fuck off,” Amy says without raising her head.

  “You’ll get in trouble. You’ll get chucked out of school!”

  “Fuck,” Amy says conversationally. “Off. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off…”

  “Look!” I say, trying to keep my patience. “I know things can be difficult. And you’re probably lonely with just you and Mum at home. But if you ever want to talk about anything, if you’ve got any problems, I’m here for you. Just call me, or text me, anytime. We could go out for a coffee, or see a film together…” I trail away.

  Amy’s still texting with one hand. With the other she has slowly moved her thumb and index finger into the “Loser” sign.

  “Oh fuck off, yourself!” I exclaim furiously, and hug my knees. Stupid little cow. If Mum thinks I’m having her in my office on some internship, she has to be joking.

  We sit there in grouchy silence for a bit. Then I reach for the DVD of Dad’s funeral message, slide across the floor, and plug it into the machine. The huge screen opposite lights up, and after a few moments my father’s face appears.

  I stare at the screen, gripped. Dad’s sitting in an armchair, wearing a red plushy dressing gown. I don’t recognize the room-but then, I never did get to see many of Dad’s homes. His face is gaunt, the way I remember it after he got ill. It was as though he was slowly deflating. But his green eyes are twinkling and there’s a cigar in his hand.

  “Hello,” he says, his voice hoarse. “It’s me. Well, you know that.” He gives a little laugh, then breaks into a hacking cough, which he relieves by taking a puff on his cigar as if it was a drink of water. “We all know this operation has a fifty-fifty chance of survival. My own fault for buggering up my body. So I thought I’d do a little message to you, my family, just in case.”

  He pauses and takes a deep slug from a tumbler of whisky. His hand is shaking as he puts it down, I notice. Did he know he was going to die? Suddenly there’s a hard lump in my throat. I glance over at Amy. She’s let go of her phone and is watching, too, transfixed.

  “Live a good life,” Dad is saying to the camera. “Be happy. Be kind to one another. Barbara, stop living your life through those bloody dogs. They’re not human. They’re never going to love you or support you or go to bed with you. Unless you’re very desperate.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth. “He didn’t say that!”

  “He did.” Amy gives a little snort of laughter. “Mum walked out of the room.”

  “You only get one life, loves. Don’t waste it.” He looks at the camera with glittering green eyes, and I suddenly remember him when I was much younger, picking me up from school in a sports car. I was pointing him out to everyone: That man there is my daddy! All the kids were gasping at the car and all the mothers were shooting surreptitious glances at him, in his smart linen jacket and Spanish tan.

  “I know I’ve fucked up here and there,” Dad’s saying. “I know I haven’t been the best family man. But hand on heart, I did my best. Cheers, m’dears. See you on the other side.” He raises his glass to the camera and drinks. Then the screen goes blank.

  The DVD clicks off, but neither Amy nor I moves. As I gaze at the blank screen I feel even more marooned than before. My dad’s dead. He’s been dead three y
ears. I can never talk to him again. I can never give him a birthday present. I can never ask him for advice. Not that you’d ask Dad’s advice on anything except where to buy sexy underwear for a mistress-but still. I glance over at Amy, who meets my gaze with a tiny shrug.

  “That was a really nice message,” I say, determined not to be sentimental or cry or anything. “Dad came good.”

  “Yeah.” Amy nods. “He did.”

  The frostiness between us seems to have melted. Amy reaches in her bag for a tiny makeup case with Babe embossed on the lid in diamante. She takes out a lip pencil and expertly outlines her lips, peering into a tiny mirror. I’ve never seen her put on makeup before, except as a dressing-up game.

  Amy’s not a child anymore, I think as I watch her. She’s on the brink of being an adult. I know things haven’t gone that well between us today-but maybe in the past she’s been my friend.

  My confidante, even.

  “Hey, Amy,” I say in a low, cautious voice. “Did we talk much before the accident? The two of us, I mean. About…stuff.” I glance toward the kitchen to make sure Mum can’t hear.

  “A bit.” She shrugs. “What stuff?”

  “I was just wondering.” I keep my voice natural. “Out of interest, did I ever mention anyone called…Jon?”

  “Jon?” Amy pauses, lipstick in hand. “You mean the one you had sex with?”

  “What?” My voice shoots out like a rocket. “Are you sure?”

  Oh my God. It’s true.

  “Yeah.” Amy seems surprised by my reaction. “You told me at New Year’s Eve. You were quite pissed.”

  “What else did I tell you?” My heart is thumping wildly. “Tell me everything you can remember.”

  “You told me everything!” Her eyes light up. “All the gory details. It was your first-ever time, and he lost the condom, and you were freezing to death on the school field…”

  “School field?” I stare at Amy, my mind trying to make sense of this. “Do you mean…are you talking about James?”

  “Oh yeah!” She clicks her tongue in realization. “That’s who I meant. James. The guy in the band when you were at school. Why, who are you talking about?” She finishes her lipstick and regards me with fresh interest. “Who’s Jon?”