Remember Me?

by Sophie Kinsella

  Not unless…

  No.

  I couldn’t. Could I?

  I’m frozen in a disbelieving excitement, thinking through the implications, with Simon Johnson’s voice running through my head like a soundtrack.

  If you recovered your memory, Lexi, then things would be different.

  If I recovered my memory, then things would be different.

  The kettle is coming to the boil, but I don’t even notice. As though in a dream, I pull out my mobile phone and direct dial.

  “Fi,” I say as soon as it’s answered. “Don’t say anything. Listen.”

  Chapter 19

  Think bitch. Think boss. Think Cobra.

  I survey myself in the mirror and put on some more lipstick. It’s a pale gray-pink shade that could practically be called “Bitch-boss-from-hell.” My hair’s scraped back and I’m wearing the most severe outfit I could find in my wardrobe: the slimmest pencil skirt; the pointiest pumps; a white shirt striped with gray. There’s no mistaking the message this outfit conveys: I mean business.

  I spent two hours with Jeremy Northpool yesterday, at his office in Reading, and every time I think of it, I experience a tiny thrill. Everything’s in place. We both want this deal to work out. Now it’s up to me.

  “You don’t look mean enough.” Fi, standing by my side in a navy trouser suit, surveys me critically. “Try scowling more.”

  I screw my nose up-but now I just look like I want to sneeze.

  “Nope.” Fi shakes her head. “That’s still not right. You used to have this really chilling stare. Like, ‘You are an insignificant minion, get out of my way instantly.’” She narrows her eyes and puts on a hard, dismissive voice. “I’m the boss and I’ll have things done my way.”

  “That’s really good!” I turn in admiration. “You should do this. We’ll swap.”

  “Yeah, right.” She pushes my shoulder. “Go on, do it again. Scowl.”

  “Get out of my way, you minion,” I snarl in a Wicked Witch of the West voice. “I’m the boss and I’ll have things done my way.”

  “Yes!” She applauds. “That’s better. And kind of flick your eyes past people, like you can’t even waste time acknowledging they’re there.”

  I sigh and flop down on the bed. All this bitchy behavior is exhausting. “I was a real cow, wasn’t I?”

  “You weren’t as bad as that all the time.” Fi relents. “But we can’t run any risks of people guessing. The meaner the better.”

  Fi has been coaching me for the last twenty-four hours. She took a sick day yesterday and came over, bringing breakfast with her. In the end we were so engrossed, she stayed all day, and the night. And she’s done the most brilliant job. I know everything. I know what happened at last year’s Christmas party. I know that at a meeting last year, Byron stormed out and called me an arrogant nobody. I know that vinyl sales went up two percent last March, due to an order from a school in Wokingham, which then complained that the color was wrong and tried to sue us.

  My head is so crammed full of facts it’s ready to burst. And that’s not even the most important bit.

  “When you go into your office, always slam the door.” Fi is still instructing me. “Then come out and demand a coffee. In that order.”

  The most important bit is that I come across like the old bitch-boss Lexi and fool everyone. I put away my lipstick and pick up my briefcase.

  “Get me a coffee,” I bark at myself. “At once!”

  “Narrow your eyes even more.” Fi surveys me, then nods. “You’re set.”

  “Fi…thanks.” I turn and give her a hug. “You’re a star.”

  “If you pull this off you’ll be a star.” She hesitates, then adds, a little gruffly, “Even if you don’t pull it off. You didn’t have to make all this effort, Lexi. I know they’re offering you a big job, even if they close the department.”

  “Yeah, well.” I rub my nose awkwardly. “That’s not the point. Come on, let’s go.”

  As we travel to the office in a cab, my stomach is clenched up with nerves and I can’t make small talk. I’m crazy, doing this. I know I’m crazy. But it’s the only way I can think of.

  “Jesus, I’ve got stage fright,” Fi murmurs as we draw up. “And it’s not even me doing it. I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face in front of Debs and Carolyn.”

  We haven’t told the others what I’m up to. We reckon the fewer people that know, the safer.

  “Well, Fi, you’ll just have to make an effort, okay?” I snap in my new-Lexi voice, and nearly giggle as her face jerks in shock.

  “God, that’s scary. You’re good.”

  We get out of the cab, and I hand the driver the fare, practicing my mean-eyed glare as I collect my change.

  “Lexi?” A voice comes from behind me. I look around, all ready to launch my scary-Lexi face on some unsuspecting person-but instead feel it drop in astonishment.

  “Amy? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.” She smooths a strand of hair back a little defiantly. “I’m here to be your intern.”

  “You…what?”

  As the taxi drives away, I goggle at her. She’s dressed in teetering high heels, fishnets, a tiny pin-striped miniskirt with a matching waistcoat, and her blue-streaked hair in a ponytail. On her lapel is a badge reading You don’t have to be crazy to work here but it helps if you’re a hot lesbian.

  “Amy…” I put my hand to my head. “Today really isn’t a good day-”

  “You said!” Her voice quivers. “You said you’d sort it out. I’ve made a real effort to get here. I got up early and everything. Mum was really pleased. She said you’d be pleased too.”

  “I am pleased! But of all the days…”

  “That’s what you said last time. You’re not really interested.” She turns away and yanks her ponytail free. “Fine. I don’t want your stupid crappy job anyway.”

  “She might be a distraction,” Fi says beside me in a low voice. “It might actually be a good idea. Can we trust her?”

  “Trust me?” Amy’s voice sharpens with interest. “With what?” She comes over, her eyes shining. “Have you guys got a secret?”

  “Okay.” I make a snap decision. “Listen, Amy.” I lower my voice. “You can come in, but here’s the thing. I’m telling everyone I’ve recovered my memory and I’m my old self, to get a deal done. Even though I haven’t. Got it?”

  Amy doesn’t bat an eyelid. I can see her mind working furiously, taking all this in. There are some advantages to having a scam artist as a little sister.

  “So you’re trying to make out you’re the old Lexi,” she says.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should look meaner.”

  “That’s what I said,” agrees Fi.

  “Like you think everyone is just a…worm.”

  “Exactly.”

  They both sound so sure, I feel a pang of hurt. “Was I ever nice?” I say, a bit plaintively.

  “Er…yes!” Fi says unconvincingly. “Plenty of times. Come on.”

  As I push open the glass doors to the building, I adopt my meanest scowl. Flanked by Fi and Amy, I stride over the marble, toward the reception desk. Here we go. Showtime.

  “Hi,” I snarl at Jenny. “This is my temporary intern, Amy. Please make her out a pass. For your information, I’m fully recovered and if you’ve got any mail for me I want to know why it isn’t upstairs already.”

  “Excellent!” whispers Fi by my side.

  “There’s nothing for you, Lexi.” Jenny seems taken aback as she fills out a pass for Amy. “So…you remember everything now, do you?”

  “Everything. Come on, Fi. We’re late enough already. I need to talk to the team. They’ve been slacking.”

  I stride away, toward the lifts. A moment later I can hear Jenny behind me, saying in an excited undertone, “Guess what? Lexi’s got her memory back!” I turn back-and sure enough, she’s already on the phone to someone.


  The lift pings. Fi, Amy, and I walk in-and as soon as the doors close, dissolve into giggles.

  “High five!” Fi lifts her hand. “That was great!”

  We all get out at the eighth floor, and I head straight to Natasha’s desk outside Simon Johnson’s office, my head high and imperious.

  “Hi, Natasha,” I say curtly. “I assume you got my message about my memory returning? Obviously I’ll need to see Simon as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, I got your message.” Natasha nods. “But I’m afraid Simon’s quite booked up this morning-”

  “Then juggle things around! Cancel someone else! It’s essential I see him.”

  “Okay!” Natasha types hastily at her keyboard. “I could do you a slot at…ten-thirty?”

  “Fantast-” I stop as Fi nudges me. “That’ll be fine,” I amend, shooting Natasha my meanest scowl for good measure. “Come on, Fi.”

  God, this barking and snapping is a strain. It’s getting me down and I’ve only been doing it for ten minutes.

  “Ten-thirty,” Amy says as we get back in the lift. “That’s cool. Where do we go now?”

  “To the Flooring department.” I feel a stab of nerves. “I’ll have to keep this act up till ten-thirty.”

  “Good luck.” Fi squeezes my shoulder briefly, and the lift doors open.

  As we head along the corridor to the main office I feel slightly sick. I can do this, I tell myself, over and over. I can be a bitch boss. I arrive at the door and stand there for a few moments, surveying the scene before me. Then I draw a breath.

  “So.” I summon a harsh, sarcastic voice. “Reading Hello! magazine is work, is it?”

  Melanie, who had been flicking through Hello! with a telephone receiver under her chin, jumps as though she’s been scalded and flames red.

  “I was just…waiting to be put through to Accounts.” She hastily closes Hello!

  “I’ll be speaking to you all about attitude later.” I glare around the room. “And that reminds me. Didn’t I ask everyone to provide full written travel-expense breakdowns two months ago? I want to see them.”

  “We thought you’d forgotten,” Carolyn says, looking dumbstruck.

  “Well, I’ve remembered.” I give her a sweet, scathing smile. “I’ve remembered everything. And you might all remember that you’re relying on me for references.”

  I sweep out, almost straight into Byron.

  “Lexi!” He nearly drops his cup of coffee. “What the fuck-”

  “Byron. I need to talk to you about Tony Dukes,” I say crisply. “How did you handle the discrepancy in his calculations? Because we all know his reputation for pulling a fast one. Remember the trouble we had in October 2006?”

  Byron’s mouth is hanging open stupidly.

  “And I want to talk to you about our annual strategy conference. Last year’s was a shambles.” I head to my office, then turn around. “Speaking of which, where are the minutes of our last product meeting? You were doing them, as I remember.”

  “I’ll…get those to you.” He looks utterly gobsmacked.

  Everything I’m saying is hitting right home. Fi is a total genius!

  “So, are you recovered?” Byron says as I open my office door. “Are you back?”

  “Oh yes. I’m back.” I usher Amy in and slam the door. I count to three, then I look out again. “Clare, a coffee. And one for my temp, Amy. Fi, can you come in here?”

  As Fi closes the door behind her, I collapse on the sofa, breathless.

  “You should be on the stage!” Fi exclaims. “That was so great! That’s just the way you used to be!”

  I’m still cringing inside. I can’t believe I said those things.

  “So now we just have to sit it out till ten-thirty.” Fi glances at her watch as she perches on my desk. “It’s past ten now.”

  “You were a real bitch out there,” says Amy admiringly. She’s taken out mascara and is applying yet another coat. “That’s what I’ll be like when I go into business.”

  “Then you won’t make any friends.”

  “I don’t want to make friends.” She tosses her head. “I want to make money. You know what Dad always said? He said-”

  Suddenly I really don’t want to hear what Dad always said.

  “Amy, we’ll talk later.” I cut her off. “About Dad.” There’s a knock on the door and we all freeze.

  “Quick!” says Fi. “Get behind the desk. Sound cross and impatient.”

  I scuttle to the office chair, and she quickly pulls up a chair opposite.

  “Come in,” I call, trying to muster the most impatient tone I can. The door opens and Clare appears, holding a tray of coffee. Irritably I jerk my head at the desk. “So, Fi…I’ve had just enough of your attitude!” I improvise as Clare unloads the coffee cups. “It’s unacceptable. What have you got to say for yourself?”

  “Sorry, Lexi,” Fi mumbles, her head bowed. Suddenly I realize she’s in fits of giggles.

  “Yes, well.” I’m trying desperately to keep a straight face. “I’m the boss. And I won’t have you…” Oh God, my brain is blank. What’s she done? “I won’t have you…sitting on the desk!”

  A kind of spluttery snort comes from Fi.

  “Sorry,” she gasps, and clutches a hanky to her eyes.

  Clare looks absolutely petrified. “Um…Lexi,” she says, backing toward the door. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Lucinda is here? With her baby?”

  Lucinda.

  That means nothing to me.

  Fi sits up, her giggles vanished. “Lucinda who worked for us last year, do you mean?” she says quickly, glancing at me. “I didn’t know she was coming in today.”

  “We’re giving her a baby gift and we wondered if Lexi could present it to her?” Clare gestures out the door and I see a small cluster around a blond woman holding a baby carrier. She looks up and waves.

  “Lexi! Come and see the baby!”

  Shit. There’s no way out of this one. I can’t refuse to look at a baby-it’ll seem too weird.

  “Well…all right,” I say at last. “Just for a moment.”

  “Lucinda was with us about eight months,” Fi murmurs frantically as we head out of the office. “Took care of European accounts, mainly. Sat by the window, likes peppermint tea…”

  “Here we are.” Clare hands me a huge gift-wrapped parcel crowned with a satin bow. “It’s a baby gym.”

  As I draw near, the others back away. To be honest, I don’t blame them.

  “Hi, Lexi.” Lucinda looks up, glowing at all the attention.

  “Hi there.” I nod curtly at the baby, which is dressed in a white onesie. “Congratulations, Lucinda. And this is…a girl? A boy?”

  “He’s called Marcus!” Lucinda appears offended. “You’ve met him before!”

  Somehow I force myself to shrug disparagingly. “I’m afraid I’m not into babies.”

  “She eats them!” I hear someone whisper.

  “Anyway, on behalf of the department, I’d like to give you this.” I hand the parcel over.

  “Speech!” says Clare.

  “That’s not necessary,” I say with a forbidding glare. “Everyone back to-”

  “Yes it is!” Debs objects defiantly. “This is like Lucinda’s leaving-do too. She can’t not have a speech.”

  “Speech!” calls someone at the back. “Speech!” A couple of others start banging the desks.

  Oh God. I can’t refuse. Bosses give speeches about their employees. This is what they do.

  “Of course,” I say at last, and clear my throat. “We’re all very pleased for Lucinda on the birth of Marcus. But sad to say good-bye to such a valued member of our team.”

  I notice Byron joining the cluster of people, surveying me closely over his Lost mug.

  “Lucinda was always…” I take a sip of coffee, playing for time. “She was always…by the window. Sipping her peppermint tea. Managing her European accounts.”

  I glance up and see Fi at the back, frantical
ly miming some kind of activity.

  “We all remember Lucinda for her love of…biking,” I say uncertainly.

  “Biking?” Lucinda looks puzzled. “Do you mean riding?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Riding,” I amend hastily. “And we all appreciated your efforts with those…French clients.”

  “I didn’t deal with France.” Lucinda is gazing at me in outrage. “Did you ever even notice what I did?”

  “Tell the story about Lucinda and the snooker table!” calls out someone at the back, and there’s a chorus of laughter.

  “No,” I snap, rattled. “So…here’s to Lucinda.” I raise my coffee cup.

  “Don’t you remember the story, Lexi?” Byron’s bland voice comes from the side. I glance at him-and feel a sudden hollowness inside. He’s guessed.

  “Of course I remember it.” I summon my most cutting tones. “But it’s not the time for silly, irrelevant stories. We should all be at work. Get back to your desks, everyone.”

  “God, she’s a hard bitch,” I can hear Lucinda muttering. “She’s even worse than before!”

  “Wait!” Byron’s voice rises smoothly over the disgruntled muttering. “We forgot Lucinda’s other present! The mother and baby spa voucher.” He brings a slip of paper up to me with an overdeferential air. “It just needs Lucinda’s name filled in, Lexi. You should do that, being head of the department.”

  “Right.” I take the pen.

  “You need to put the surname too,” he adds casually as I take off the cap. I look up and his eyes are gleaming.

  Fuck. He’s got me.

  “Of course,” I say briskly. “Lucinda…remind me what name you’re using these days.”

  “The same as before,” she says resentfully, cradling her baby. “My maiden name.”

  “Right.”

  As slowly as I can, I write Lucinda on the dotted line.

  “And the surname?” Byron says, like a torturer turning the screw. I look up desperately at Fi, to see her mouthing something at me. Dobson? Dodgson?

  Holding my breath, I carefully write a D. Then I pause and stretch out my arm as though limbering it up. “I’ve had problems with my wrist,” I say to no one in particular. “The muscles sometimes get a bit…stiff.”

  “Lexi, face it,” says Byron, shaking his head. “The pantomime’s over.”