Remember Me?

Jon doesn’t even seem to hear the question.

“Hello?” I wave at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

At last he stops pacing and regards me, an even stranger expression on his face.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he says. “So I’m just going to tell you.” He takes a breath-then he seems to change his mind and comes over close, studying my face. “You really don’t remember? This isn’t some kind of game you’re playing with me?”

“Remember what?” I say, totally bewildered.

“Okay, okay.” He turns and resumes pacing, thrusting his hands through his dark hair, leaving it spiky on top. At last he turns to face me again. “Here’s the thing. I love you.”

“What?” I look at him in confusion.

“And you love me,” he continues, without giving me time to say anything more. “We’re lovers.”

“Sweetie!” The door bursts open and Rosalie’s face appears. “Two more orders for mint tea and a decaf for Clive.”

“Coming up!” I say, my voice sounding strangled.

Rosalie disappears and the kitchen door swings shut. There’s silence between us, the most prickling silence I’ve ever known. I can’t move or speak. My eyes keep flicking ludicrously to the marriage manual still lying on the counter, as though the answer might be in there.

Jon follows my gaze.

“I’m guessing,” he says in a dry, confidential tone, “that I’m not in the manual.”

Okay. I have to get a grip.

“I…don’t understand,” I say, trying to summon some composure. “What do you mean, lovers? You’re trying to tell me we’ve been having an affair?”

“We’ve been seeing each other for eight months.” His dark gaze is fixed on me. “You’re pla

I can’t stop a gurgle of laughter. At once I clap my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but…leave Eric? For you?”

Before Jon can react, the door opens again.

“Hi, Lexi!” A red-faced man comes in. “Can I grab some more sparkling water?”

“Here.” I thrust two bottles into his arms. The door closes again and Jon shoves his hands in his pockets.

“You were about to tell Eric you couldn’t be with him anymore,” he says, speaking faster. “You were about to leave him. We’d made plans…” He breaks off and exhales. “Then you had the accident.”

His face is deadly serious. He really means all this.

“But…that’s ludicrous!”

For an instant Jon looks like I’ve hit him. “Ludicrous?”

“Yes, ludicrous! I’m not the unfaithful type. Plus, I have a great marriage, a fantastic husband, I’m happy-”

“You’re not happy with Eric.” Jon interrupts me. “Believe me.”

“Of course I’m happy with Eric!” I say in astonishment. “He’s lovely! He’s perfect!”

“Perfect?” Jon looks as if he’s trying to stop himself from going further. “Lexi, he’s not perfect.”

“Well, near enough,” I retort, suddenly rattled. Who does this guy think he is, interrupting my di

“The dream life?” Jon rubs his forehead as though trying to gather his thoughts. “That’s what you think?”

Something about this guy is getting under my skin.

“Of course!” I swing my arms around the kitchen. “Look at this place! Look at Eric! It’s all fantastic! Why would I throw it all away on some-”

I break off abruptly as the kitchen door swings open.

“Sweetheart.” Eric beams at me from the doorway. “How are those coffees going?”

“They’re…on their way,” I say, flustered. “Sorry, darling.” I turn away to hide the blood pumping through my cheeks, and start spooning coffee messily into the cafetiere. I just want this man to leave.

“Eric, I’m afraid I have to go,” Jon says behind me, as though reading my mind. “Thanks for a great evening.”

“Jon! Good man.” I can hear Eric clapping Jon on the back. “We should hook up tomorrow, talk about the pla

“Let’s do it,” Jon replies. “Good-bye, Lexi. Nice to make your acquaintance again.”

“Good-bye, Jon.” Somehow I force myself to turn and present a hostessy smile. “Lovely to see you.” He bends forward and kisses me lightly on the cheek.

“You don’t know anything about your life,” he murmurs in my ear, then strides out of the kitchen without looking back.

Chapter 11

It can’t be true.

Morning light is creeping in around the blinds and I’ve been awake for a while, but I haven’t got out of bed. I’m gazing straight up at the ceiling, breathing evenly in and out. My theory is that if I lie still enough, maybe the maelstrom of my mind will calm down and everything will fall neatly into place.

So far it’s turning out to be a pretty crap theory.

Every time I replay the events of yesterday I feel giddy. I thought I was coming to grips with this new life of mine. I thought it was all falling into place. But now it’s like everything is slipping and sliding away. Fi says I’m a bitch-boss-from-hell. Some guy says I’m his secret lover. What next? I discover I’m an FBI agent?

It ca

As for saying “You don’t know anything about your life”-what a nerve! I know plenty about my life, thank you. I know where I get my hair done, I know what dessert I had at my wedding, I know how often Eric and I have sex…It’s all in the manual.

And anyway, how rude is that? You don’t just pitch up in someone’s house and say “We’re lovers” when they’re trying to host a di

No, you don’t write a note. You-

Anyway. Stop thinking about it.

I sit up, press the button for the window blinds to retract, and run my fingers through my hair, wincing at the tangles. The screen in front of me is blank and the room is eerily silent. I still find it weird, after my drafty bedroom in Balham, to be living in such a hermetically sealed box. According to the manual we’re not supposed to open the windows because it messes up the air-conditioning system if you do.

This Jon guy is probably a psycho. He probably makes a habit of targeting people with amnesia and telling them he’s their lover. There’s no evidence we’re having an affair. None. I haven’t seen any mention of him, no scribbled notes, no photos, no mementos.

But then…I’d hardly leave them around for Eric to find, would I? says a tiny voice at the back of my brain.

I sit perfectly still for a moment, letting my thoughts swirl around. Then on impulse I get up and head into my clothes room. I hurry to the dressing table and wrench open the top drawer. It’s full of Chanel makeup, arranged in neat rows by Gia

Slowly I shut the drawer. Even here, in my very own private sanctum, everything’s so tidy and sterile and kind of nothing-y. Where’s the mess? Where’s the stuff? Where’s the letters and the photos? Where’s all my studded belts and free lipsticks off crappy magazines? Where’s…me?

I lean forward on my elbows, chewing my nail for a moment. Then inspiration hits me. Underwear drawer. If I was going to hide anything, it would be there. I open the wardrobe and pull open my knicker drawer. I reach down among the satiny sea of La Perla -but I can’t feel anything. Nor in my bra drawer…

“Looking for something?” Eric’s voice makes me jump. I turn my head to see him standing at the door, watching me search, and at once my cheeks stain pink.

He knows.

No, he doesn’t. Don’t be stupid. There’s nothing to know.