Remember Me?

So the reason I couldn’t find my clothes is they’re not in a wardrobe, they’re in a whole other room, behind a concealed door which looks like a mirror. And the reason they need a whole other room is because there’s so bloody many of them.

As I stare at the racks I feel faint. I’ve never seen so many clothes, not outside a shop. Crisp white shirts, tailored black trousers, suits in shades of mushroom and taupe. Chiffony evening wear. Tights rolled up in their own special drawer. Folded silky knickers with La Perla labels. I can’t see anything that doesn’t look brand-new and immaculate. There are no baggy jeans, no sloppy sweaters, no comfy old pj’s.

I leaf through a row of jackets, all pretty much identical apart from the buttons. I can’t believe I’ve spent so much money on clothes and they’re all versions of beige.

“What do you think?” Rosalie is watching me, her eyes sparkling.

“Amazing!”

“A

“I have a personal shopper?”

“Just for the main pieces each season…” Rosalie pulls out a dark blue dress with spaghetti straps and the tiniest ruffle around the hem. “Look, this is the dress you wore when we first met. I remember thinking, ‘Ah, this is the girl Eric’s smitten with.’ It was the talk of the party! And let me tell you, Lexi, there were a lot of disappointed girls out there when you two got married…” She reaches for a long black evening dress. “This is the dress you wore to my murder mystery evening.” She holds it up against me. “With a little fur shrug and pearls…Don’t you remember?”

“Not really.”

“What about this Catherine Walker? You must remember that…or your Roland Mouret…” Rosalie is whipping out dress after dress, none of which looks remotely familiar. She reaches a pale garment carrier and stops with a gasp. “Your wedding dress!” Slowly, reverently, she unzips the garment carrier and pulls out the silky white sheath I recognize from the DVD. “Doesn’t that bring it all back?”

I stare at the dress, trying as hard as I can to will my memory to return…but nothing.

“Oh my God.” Rosalie suddenly claps a hand over her mouth. “You and Eric should have a renewal of vows! I’ll plan it for you! We could have a Japanese theme, you could wear a kimono-”

“Maybe!” I cut her off. “It’s early days. I’ll…think about it.”

“Hmm.” Rosalie looks disappointed as she packs the wedding dress away. Then her face lights up. “Try the shoes. You have to remember your shoes.”

She heads to the other side of the room and flings open a cupboard door. And I stare in disbelief. I’ve never seen so many shoes. All in neat rows, most of them high-heeled. What am I doing with high-heeled shoes?

“This is unbelievable.” I turn to Rosalie. “I can’t even walk in heels, God knows why I bought them.”

“Yes, you can.” Rosalie looks puzzled. “Of course you can.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been able to do heels. I fall over, I twist my ankle, I look stupid…”

“Sweetie.” Rosalie’s eyes are wide. “You live in heels. You were wearing these last time we had lunch.” She pulls out a pair of black pumps with four-inch stiletto heels. The kind I’d never even look at in a shop.

The soles are scuffed. The inside label has been rubbed away. Someone’s been wearing these.

Me?

“Put them on!” says Rosalie.

Cautiously I slip off my loafers and step into the pointy heels. Almost at once I topple over and grab Rosalie. “You see? I can’t balance.”

“Lexi, you can walk in these,” Rosalie says firmly. “I’ve seen you do it.”

“I can’t.” I make to take them off, but Rosalie grabs my arm.

“No! Don’t give up, sweetie. It’s in you, I know it is! You have to…unlock it!”

I try another step, but my ankle bends like plasticine. “It’s no good.” I exhale in frustration. “I wasn’t meant to do this.”

“Yes, you were. Try again! Find the zone!” Rosalie sounds like she’s coaching me for the Olympics. “You can do it, Lexi.”

I totter to the other side of the room and cling to the curtain. “I’ll never crack this,” I say despairingly.

“Of course you will. Just don’t think about it. Distract yourself. I know! We’ll sing a song! ‘Land of hope and gloreeee…’ Come on, Lexi, sing!”

Reluctantly I join in. I really hope Eric doesn’t have a CCTV camera trained on us at this moment.

“Now walk!” Rosalie gives me a little push. “Go!”

“‘Land of hope and gloreeee…’” Trying to keep my mind focused on the song, I take a step forward. Then another. Then another.

Oh my God. I’m doing it. I’m walking in high heels!

“You see?” Rosalie crows in triumph. “I told you! You are a heels girl.”

I get to the other side of the room, swivel around confidently, and walk back, an elated grin on my face. I feel like a model!

“I can do it! It’s easy!”

“Yay!” Rosalie lifts her hand and gives me a high-five. She opens a drawer, scoops up some gym clothes, and pops them into an oversize tote. “Come on, let’s go.”

We drive to the gym in Rosalie’s car. It’s a sumptuous Range Rover with the license plate ROS 1. Designer shopping bags are strewn all over the backseat.

“So, what do you do?” I say as she winds her way between two lanes of traffic.

“I do a lot of volunteer work.” She nods earnestly.

“Wow.” I feel a bit shamefaced. Rosalie didn’t strike me as the volunteer-work type, which just shows how prejudiced I am. “What kind?”

“Event pla

“For a particular charity?”

“No, mostly for friends. You know, if they need a helping hand with the flowers or party favors or whatever…” Rosalie’s smiling winsomely up at a truck driver. “Please let me in, Mr. Lorry-driver…Thank you!” She pulls over into the next lane and blows him a kiss.

“I do the odd bits for the company, too,” she adds. “Eric’s such a sweetie, he always gets me involved in launches, that kind of thing. Oh shit, road works!” She swerves, to a cacophony of angry hooting, and turns the radio up higher.

“So you like Eric?” I try to sound casual, although I’m dying to hear what she thinks of him.

“Oh, he’s the perfect husband. Absolutely perfect.” She draws up at a crosswalk. “Mine’s a monster.”

“Really?” I stare at her.

“Mind you, I’m a monster too.” She turns to face me, her blue eyes deadly serious. “We’re so volatile. It’s a total love-hate relationship. Here we are!” She zooms off again and drives into a tiny car park, pulls up next to a Porsche, and turns off the engine.

“Now, don’t worry,” she says as she ushers me toward the glass double doors. “I know this will be really hard for you, so I’ll do all the talking… Hi there!” She pushes her way into a smart reception area furnished with tan leather seating and a pebbled fountain.

“Hi, ladies.” The receptionist’s face falls as she sees me. “Lexi! You poor thing! We heard about the accident. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” I venture a smile. “Thanks very much for the flowers.”

“Poor Lexi has amnesia,” says Rosalie impressively. “She doesn’t remember this place. She doesn’t remember anything.” She casts around as though for a way to illustrate. “Like, she doesn’t remember this door…or…or this plant…” She gestures to a large frondy fern.

“Goodness!”

“I know.” Rosalie is nodding solemnly. “It’s a nightmare for her.” She turns to me. “Is this bringing back any memories, Lexi?”

“Er…not really.”

Everyone in the reception area is staring at me, agog. I feel like a member of the Amnesia Freak Circus.

“Come on!” Rosalie firmly takes hold of my arm. “We’ll get changed. You might remember once you’re in your exercise clothes.”

The changing rooms are the most palatial ones I’ve ever seen, all smooth wood and mosaic showers and gentle music playing over the speakers. I disappear into a cubicle and pull on a pair of leggings. Then I pull on the leotard bit.