Remember Me?

“Hi, Eric!” I withdraw my hands from the cupboard as nonchalantly as I can. “I just thought I’d look for…some bras!”

Okay, this is the main reason why I can’t be having an affair. I’m the most crap liar in the world. Why would I need “some bras”? Do I suddenly have six boobs?

“Actually, I was wondering,” I continue hastily. “Is there any more of my stuff anywhere?”

“Stuff?” Eric wrinkles his brow.

“Letters, diaries, that kind of thing?”

“There’s your desk in the office. That’s where you keep all your work files.”

“Of course.” I’d forgotten about the office. Or rather, I thought it was more Eric’s domain than mine.

“It was a marvelous evening last night, I thought.” Eric comes a couple of steps into the room. “Bravo, darling. Can’t have been easy for you.”

“It was good fun.” I sit back on my haunches, fiddling with my watch strap. “There were some…interesting people there.”

“You weren’t too overwhelmed?”

“A little.” I shoot him a bright smile. “There’s still so much to learn.”

“Well, you know you can ask me anything about your life. That’s what I’m here for.” Eric spreads his arms. “Is there anything particular on your mind?”

I stare back at him for a moment, speechless.

Have I been shagging your architect, do you happen to know?

“Well.” I clear my throat. “Since you ask, I was just wondering. We are happy together, aren’t we? We do have a happy…faithful…marriage?”

I’m thinking I dropped in faithful quite subtly there, but Eric’s keen ears pick it up straightaway.

“Faithful?” He frowns. “Lexi, I’ve never been unfaithful to you. I would never think of being unfaithful to you. We made vows. We made a commitment.”

“Of course!” I exclaim quickly. “Absolutely.”

“I can’t even imagine how such an idea came to you.” He looks quite shocked. “Has someone been saying otherwise? One of our guests? Because whoever it was-”

“No! No one said anything! I just…everything’s still so new and strange.” I’m floundering, my face hot. “I just…thought I’d ask. Just out of interest.”

Okay, so we don’t have some open, groovy marriage. Just in case I needed that point clarified.

I shut the bra drawer, open another at random, and stare at three rows of rolled-up tights, my mind whirling. I should move away from this whole subject area. But I can’t help it, I have to probe.

“So, um, that guy…” I wrinkle my brow artificially as though I can’t remember his name. “The architect guy.”

“Jon.”

“Jon. Of course. He seems like a pretty good guy.” I shrug, trying to appear as casual as possible.

“Oh, one of the best,” says Eric firmly. “He’s been a massive part of our success. That guy has more imagination than anyone I know.”

“Imagination?” I seize on this with slight hope. “So is he maybe overimaginative sometimes? Like…a bit of a fantasist?”

“No.” Eric seems puzzled. “Not at all. He’s my right-hand man. You’d trust Jon with your life.”

To my relief, the phone suddenly gives a shrill ring, before Eric can ask why I’m so interested in Jon.

Eric disappears into the bedroom to answer it and I shut the tights drawer. I’m about to give up on searching in my cupboard when suddenly I see something I never noticed before. A concealed drawer, at the base of the unit, with a tiny keypad located to the right.

I have a secret drawer?

My heart starts to thump. Slowly I reach down and punch in the PIN number I’ve always used-4591. There’s a tiny click-and the drawer opens. Glancing at the door to make sure Eric isn’t there, I gingerly stretch out my hand and clasp my hand around something hard, like the handle of a…

It’s a whip.

For a moment I’m too gobsmacked to move. It’s a little whip, with strands of black leather, like something straight out of a bondage shop. I’m totally transfixed by the sight of it in my hand. Is this my adultery whip? Have I turned into a completely different person? Am I now a fetishist and go to S &M bars to drag men around while wearing a studded corset?

Suddenly I can feel eyes on me and turn to see Eric leaning in the doorway. His gaze falls on the whip and he raises his eyebrows quizzically.

“Oh!” I say, starting in panic. “I just…I found that here! I didn’t know…”

“You’d better not leave that around for Gia

I stare back, my befuddled brain working overtime. Eric knows about the whip. He’s smiling. That, therefore, would mean…

No. Way.

No way no way no way.

“This wasn’t in the manual, Eric!” I’m aiming to sound light and jokey, but my voice is shrill.

“Not everything’s in the manual.” His eyes twinkle.

Okay, this is changing the rules. I thought everything was supposed to be in the manual.

I glance at the whip nervously. So…what happens? Do I whip him? Or does he-

No. I can’t think about it anymore. I shove it back in the drawer and bang it shut, my hands sweaty.

“That’s right.” Eric gives me a tiny wink. “Keep it safe. See you later.” He heads out and a few moments later I hear the front door bang.

I think I might need a small vodka.

In the end I settle for a cup of coffee and two biscuits Gia

Anyway, stop fantasizing about carbs. And stop thinking about the whip. One teeny whip. So what?

Mum’s coming over to visit at eleven, and I have nothing to do till then. I wander into the sitting room, sit down on the arm of the immaculate sofa, and open a magazine. After two minutes I close it again. I’m too edgy to read. It’s as if tiny cracks are appearing in my perfect life. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what to do.

I put down my coffee cup and stare at my immaculate nails. I was a normal girl with frizzy hair and snaggle teeth and a crap boyfriend. And a fairly crap job, and friends who I had a laugh with, and a cozy little flat.

And now…I still do a double take whenever I catch my reflection in the mirror. I don’t see my personality reflected anywhere in this apartment. The TV show…the high heels…my friends refusing to hang out with me…a guy saying he’s my secret lover…I just don’t know who I’ve turned into. I don’t get what the fuck’s happened to me.

On impulse I head into the office. There’s my desk, all spick-and-span with the chair pushed under tidily. I’ve never owned a desk that looked like that in my life; no wonder I didn’t realize it was mine. I sit down and open the first drawer. It’s full of letters, tidily clipped together in plastic files. The second is full of bank statements, threaded onto a piece of blue string.

Jeez Louise. Since when did I become so anal?

I open the last, biggest drawer, expecting to find neatly stacked bottles of Wite-Out or something-but it’s empty except for two scraps of paper.

I pull the bank statements out of the other drawer and flick through them, my eyes widening as I clock my monthly salary, which is at least three times what I used to earn. Most of my money seems to be going out of my single account into the joint account I hold with Eric, except one big sum every month, going to something called “Unito Acc.” I’ll have to find out what that is.

I put the bank statements away and reach into the bottom drawer for the scraps of paper. One is covered in my own handwriting-but so abbreviated I can’t make anything out. It’s almost in code. The other is torn out of a foolscap pad and has my writing scrawled across it, only three words in pencil.

I just wish

I stare at it, riveted. What? What did I wish?

As I turn the scrap over in my fingers I try to imagine myself writing those words. I even try-though I know it’s pointless-to remember myself writing them. Was it a year ago? Six months? Three weeks? What was I talking about?