Remember Me?

Eric comes into the room and I do a twirl.

“How do I look?”

“Great!” He nods, but doesn’t seem surprised at my appearance. I suppose to him this kind of outfit is normal. Whereas I can’t imagine this ever feeling like anything other than dressing up.

“All set?”

“I guess!” I pick up my bag-a black Bottega Veneta tote I found in the cupboard.

I tried asking Eric about Fi yesterday-but he barely seemed to know who she was, even though she’s my oldest friend and was at our wedding and everything. The only friend of mine he seems to know about is Rosalie, which is because she’s married to Clive.

Anyway, it’s fine. I’ll see Fi today, and there’ll be some explanation, and everything will fall back into place. I expect we’ll all go out for a drink at lunchtime and have a good old catch-up.

“Now, don’t forget this!” Eric is opening a cupboard in the corner. He retrieves a sleek black briefcase and hands it to me. “I gave it to you when we were married.”

“Wow, this is beautiful!” It’s made of buttery-soft calfskin and on the front are discreetly embossed initials: L.G.

“I know you still use your maiden name for work,” says Eric, “but I wanted you to take a little piece of me to the office with you every day.”

He is so romantic. He is so perfect.

“I must go. The car will be here to pick you up in five minutes. Have a good time.” He kisses me and heads out.

As I hear the front door close I pick up my briefcase and look at it, wondering what to put in it. I’ve never used a briefcase before-I always just shoved everything into my bag. Eventually I take a packet of tissues and some Polos out of my bag and put them into the briefcase. Then I add a pen. I feel like I’m packing for my first day at a new school. As I’m sliding the pen into a silk pocket, my fingers bump against something thin, like a card, and I pull it out.

It’s not a card; it’s an old photo of me, Fi, Debs, and Carolyn. Before I had my hair done. When my teeth were still all snaggly. We’re in a bar, all dressed up in glittery tops with rosy cheeks and party-popper streamers over our heads. Fi has her arm clenched around my neck and I have a cocktail umbrella in my teeth, and we’re all in hysterics. I can’t help gri

I remember that evening really well. Debs had chucked her awful banker boyfriend, Mitchell, and we were on a mission to help her forget. Halfway through the evening, when Mitchell called Debs’s mobile, Carolyn answered and pretended to be a £1,000 Russian call girl who thought she was being booked. Carolyn took Russian in school, so she was quite convincing, and Mitchell got genuinely rattled, no matter what he claimed later. We were all listening on speakerphone and I thought I’d die of laughter.

Still smiling, I slide the photo back into the pocket and snap the briefcase shut. I pick it up and regard myself in the mirror. Boss Lady Goes to Work.

“Hi,” I say to my reflection, trying to adopt a businesslike tone. “Hi, there. Lexi Smart, Director of Flooring. Yup, hi. I’m the boss.”

Oh God. I don’t feel like a boss. Maybe I’ll snap back into it when I get there.

Deller Carpets is the company everyone remembers from the TV ads back in the eighties. The first one showed a woman lying on some blue swirling patterned carpet in a shop, pretending it was so soft and luxurious she immediately had to have sex on it with the nerdy sales assistant. Then there was the follow-up ad where she married the nerdy assistant and had the whole aisle carpeted in flowery Deller carpet. And then they had twins, who couldn’t sleep unless they had blue and pink Deller carpet in their cribs.

They were pretty tacky ads, but they did make Deller Carpets a household name. Which is part of its trouble. The company tried to change its name a few years ago, to just Deller. There was a new logo and mission statement and everything. But nobody took any notice of that. You say you work at Deller and people frown and then they say, “You mean Deller Carpets?”

It’s even more ironic because carpet is only a fraction of the company these days. About ten years ago the maintenance department started producing a carpet cleaner that was sold by mail order and became incredibly popular. They expanded into all sorts of cleaning products and gadgets, and now the mail-order business is huge. So are soft furnishings and fabrics. But poor old carpets have fallen by the wayside. Trouble is, they’re not cool these days. It’s all slate and laminate wood flooring. We do sell laminate flooring-but hardly anyone realizes we do, because they think we’re still called Deller Carpets. It’s like one big vicious circle that all leads back to shag.

I know carpets aren’t cool. And I know patterned carpets are even less cool. But secretly, I really love them. Especially all the old retro designs from the seventies. I’ve got an old pattern book on my desk, which I always flick through when I’m in the middle of a long, tedious phone conversation. And once I found a whole box of old samples at the warehouse. No one wanted them, so I took them back to the office and pi

That’s to say, my old desk. I guess I’ve been upgraded now. As I head toward the familiar building on Victoria Palace Road, I feel a fizz of anticipation in my stomach. It’s the same as it ever was: a tall, pale gray block with granite pillars at the entrance. I push open the glass doors to reception-and stop in surprise. The foyer is different. It looks really cool! They’ve moved the desk, and there are glass partitions where there used to be a wall…and the flooring is blue metallic-effect vinyl. There must be a new range out.

“Lexi!” A plump woman in a pink shirt and tapered black trousers is bustling toward me. She has highlights and fuchsia lipstick and pumps and she’s called…I know her…head of human resources…

“Dana.” I gasp the name in relief. “Hi.”

“Lexi.” She holds out a hand to shake mine. “Welcome back! You poor thing! We were all so upset to hear what happened…”

“I’m fine, thanks. A lot better.” I follow her over the shiny vinyl floor, take a security pass from her, and swipe my way through the security entrance. This is all new too. We didn’t use to have barriers, just a guard called Reg.

“Good! Well, come this way…” Dana’s ushering me along. “I thought we could have a short chat in my office, pop in on the budget meeting, and then you’ll want to see your department!”

“Great! Good idea.”

My department. I used to just have a desk and a stapler.

We travel up in the lift and get out at the second floor, and Dana ushers me into her office.

“Take a seat.” She pulls out a plushy chair and sits down at her desk. “So now, obviously, we need to talk about your…condition.” She lowers her voice discreetly as though I have some embarrassing ailment. “You have amnesia.”

“That’s right. Apart from that, I’m pretty much okay.”

“Good!” She scribbles something on her pad of paper. “And is this amnesia permanent or temporary?”

“Well…the doctors said I might start remembering things at any time.”

“Marvelous!” Her face brightens. “Obviously, from our point of view it would be great if you could remember everything by the twenty-first. That’s when our sales conference is,” she adds, giving me an expectant look.

“Right,” I say after a pause. “I’ll do my best.”

“You can’t do better than that!” She trills with laughter and pushes back her chair. “Now, let’s go and say hello to Simon and the others. You remember Simon Johnson, the MD?”

“Of course!”

How could I not remember the boss of the whole company? I remember him giving a speech at the Christmas party. I remember him appearing in our office and asking our names while Gavin, our department head then, followed him around like a lackey. And now I go to meetings with him!