Remember Me?

“I…don’t feel too good.” I put a hand to my brow. “I’ve got a headache. Can we go now?”

“Of course we can, darling.” He squeezes my shoulders and glances up at the mezzanine level. “Have you said good-bye to Jon?”

“Yes. Let’s just…go.”

As we head to the door I cling to his expensive jacket, letting the feel of him soothe my jangled nerves. This is my husband. This is who I’m in love with. This is reality.

Chapter 12

Okay, I need my memory back. I’ve had it with amnesia. I’ve had it with people telling me they know more about my life than I do.

It’s my memory. It belongs to me.

I stare into my eyes, reflected an inch away in the mirrored wardrobe door. This is a new habit of mine, to stand right up close to the mirror so the only bit I can see is my eyes. It’s comforting. It makes me feel as if I’m looking at the old me.

“Remember, you moron,” I instruct myself in a low, fierce voice. “Re-mem-ber.”

My eyes stare back at me as though they know everything but won’t tell. I sigh, and lean my head against the glass in frustration.

In the days since we got back from the show apartment, I’ve done nothing but immerse myself in the last three years. I’ve looked through photo albums, watched movies I know I’ve “seen,” listened to songs that I know the old Lexi heard a hundred times… But nothing’s worked. Whichever mental filing cabinet my missing memories are locked into, it’s pretty sturdy. It’s not about to fly open just because I listen to a song called “You’re Beautiful” by James…someone or other.

Stupid secretive brain. I mean, who’s in charge here? Me or it?

Yesterday I went to see that neurologist, Neil. He nodded sympathetically as I poured everything out, and scribbled loads of notes. Then he said it was all fascinating and he might write a research paper on me. When I pressed him, he added that maybe it would help to write out a timeline, and I could go and see a therapist if I liked.

But I don’t need therapy. I need my memory. The mirror is misting up from my breath. I’m pressing my forehead harder against the mirror, as though the answers are all inside the mirror-me, as though I can get them if I concentrate enough…

“Lexi? I’m off.” Eric comes into the bedroom, holding a DVD, out of its box. “Darling, you left this on the rug. Sensible location for a DVD?”

I take the disc from him. It’s the Ambition EP 1 DVD that I started watching the other day.

“I’m sorry, Eric,” I say quickly, taking it from him. “I don’t know how it got there.”

That’s a lie. It got there when Eric was out and I had about fifty DVDs all scattered over the rug, together with magazines and photo albums and candy wrappers. If he’d seen it, he’d have had a heart attack.

“Your taxi will be here at ten,” says Eric. “I’m off now.”

“Great!” I kiss him, like I do every morning now. It’s actually starting to feel quite natural. “Have a good day!”

“You too.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Hope it goes well.”

“It will,” I say with confidence.

I’m going back to work today, full-time. Not to take over the department-obviously I’m not ready to do that. But to start relearning my job, catching up on what I’ve missed. It’s five weeks since the accident. I can’t just sit around at home anymore. I have to do something. I have to get my life back. And my friends.

On the bed, all ready, are three glossy gift bags with presents inside for Fi, Debs, and Carolyn, which I’m going to take in today. I spent ages choosing the perfect gifts; in fact, every time I think about them I want to hug myself with pleasure.

Humming, I head into the sitting room and slot the Ambition DVD into the player. I never did watch the rest of this. Maybe it’ll help me get back into office mode. I fast-forward through the introductory shots, until I come to a bit with me in a limo with two guys in suits, and press Play.

“Lexi and her teammates won’t be taking it easy tonight,” explains a male voice-over. The camera focuses in on me, and I hold my breath with anticipation.

“We’re going to win this task!” I’m saying in a sharp voice to the guys, slapping the back of one hand on the other palm. “If we have to work around the clock, we’re going to win. Okay? No excuses.”

My jaw drops slightly. Is that fierce, scary businesswoman me? I’ve never spoken like that in my life.

“As ever, Lexi is taking her team to task,” says the voice-over. “But has the Cobra gone too far this time?”

I don’t quite understand what he’s talking about. What cobra?

The picture now flashes to one of the guys from the limo. He’s sitting in an office chair, a night sky visible through the plate-glass window behind him.

“She isn’t human,” he’s muttering. “There’s only so many fucking hours in the day. We’re all doing our best, you know, but does she fucking care?”

As he’s talking, an image of me striding around some warehouse has appeared on the screen. I feel a sudden dismay. Is he talking about me? Now the picture cuts to a full, stand-up row between me and the same guy. We’re standing on a London street and he’s trying to defend himself, but I’m not letting him get a word in.

“You’re sacked!” I snap at last, my voice so scathing that I wince. “You’re sacked from my team!”

“And the Cobra has struck!” the jaunty voice-over comes again. “Let’s see that moment again!”

Hang on a minute. Is he saying-

I’m the Cobra?

To menacing music, a slow-motion replay has begun onscreen, zooming right into my face.

“You’re ssssssacked!” I’m hissing. “You’re sssssacked from my team.”

I stare, light-headed with horror. What the fuck have they done? They’ve manipulated my voice. It sounds like I’m a snake.

“And Lexi’s in top venomous form this week!” says the voice-over. “Meanwhile, over on the other team…”

A different group of people in suits appears on the screen and starts arguing about a price negotiation. But I’m too shell-shocked to move.

Why-How-

Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t anyone warn me about this? On autopilot, I reach for my phone and jab in Eric’s number.

“Hi, Lexi.”

“Eric, I just watched the DVD of that TV show!” My voice comes shooting out in agitation. “They called me the Cobra! I was a total bitch to everyone! You never told me about that!”

“Sweetheart, it was a great show,” says Eric soothingly. “You came across really well.”

“But they named me after a snake.”

“So what?”

“So I don’t want to be a snake!” I know I sound almost hysterical, but I can’t help it. “No one likes snakes! I’m more like a…a squirrel. Or a koala.”

Koalas are soft and furry. And a bit snaggly.

“A koala? Lexi!” Eric laughs. “Darling, you’re a cobra. You have timing. You have attack. That’s what makes you a great businesswoman.”

“But I don’t want to be-” I break off as the buzzer sounds. “My taxi’s here. I’d better go.”

I head into the bedroom and pick up my three glossy gift bags, trying to regain my former optimism, trying to be excited about the day again. But suddenly all my confidence has evaporated.

I’m a snake. No wonder everyone hates me.

As my taxi wends its way toward the Victoria Palace Road, I sit rigid on the backseat, clutching my gift bags, giving myself a pep talk. First of all, everyone knows the TV skews things. No one really thinks I’m a snake. Besides which, that TV show was ages ago-everyone’s probably forgotten about it.

Oh God. The trouble with giving yourself a pep talk is, deep down you know it’s all bullshit.

The taxi deposits me outside the building and I take a deep breath, tugging my beige Armani suit straight. Then, with trepidation, I make my way up to the third floor. As I step out of the lift the first thing I see is Fi, Carolyn, and Debs standing by the coffee machine. Fi is gesturing to her hair and talking with animation while Carolyn chips in, but as I appear the conversation instantly stops, as though someone pulled the plug on the radio.