Remember Me?

I put my glass down and survey him. His gaze is as open and blameless as it used to be when he co

“So that’s exactly what happened?” I say.

“Word for word.” He picks up the menu. “Fancy some garlic bread?”

Is it my imagination or does he seem a whole lot more cheerful since he’s heard I have amnesia?

“Loser Dave…is that really what happened?” I give him my severest, most penetrating look.

“Of course,” he says in an injured tone. “And stop calling me Loser Dave.”

“Sorry.” I sigh, and start unwrapping a bread stick. Maybe he’s telling the truth. Or a Loser-Dave version of it, at least. Maybe I did chuck him. I was certainly pissed off with him.

“So…did anything else happen back then?” I snap the bread stick in two and start nibbling it. “Is there anything you can remember? Like, why did I suddenly get so career-oriented? Why did I shut my friends out? What was going on in my head?”

“Search me.” Loser Dave is perusing the specials menu. “D’you fancy sharing the lasagne for two?”

“It’s all just so…confusing.” I rub my brow. “I feel like I’ve been plonked in the middle of a map, with one of those big arrows pointing to me. ‘You Are Here.’ And what I want to know is, how did I get here?”

At last Loser Dave lifts his eyes from the specials menu.

“What you want is GPS,” he says, like the Dalai Lama making a pronouncement on top of a mountain.

“That’s it! Exactly!” I lean forward eagerly. “I feel lost. And if I could just trace the path, if I could navigate back somehow…”

Loser Dave is nodding wisely. “I can do you a deal.”

“What?” I say, not understanding.

“I can do you a deal on GPS.” He taps his nose. “We’re branching out at Auto Repair.”

For a moment I think I might explode with frustration.

“I don’t literally need GPS!” I almost yell. “It’s a metaphor! Me-ta-phor!”

“Right, right. Yeah, of course.” Loser Dave nods, his brow furrowed as though he’s digesting my words and mulling them over. “Is that a built-in system?”

I don’t believe it. Did I actually go out with this guy?

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say finally. “Honda makes it. Let’s have the garlic bread.”

When I arrive home later, I’m pla

“Come on, Lexi.” He puts his hand briefly over the phone. “We’ll be late.”

“For what?”

“For what?” echoes Eric, looking as though I’ve asked him what gravity is. “For the launch!”

Shit. It’s the Blue 42 launch party tonight. I did know that; it just slipped my mind.

“Of course,” I say hurriedly. “I’ll just go and get ready.”

“Shouldn’t your hair be up?” Eric casts a critical eye over me. “It looks unprofessional.”

“Oh. Er…right. Yes.”

Totally flustered, I change into a black silk tailored suit, put on my highest black pumps, and quickly shove my hair up into its chignon. I accessorize with diamonds, then turn to survey myself.

Aargh. I look so boring. Like an actuary or something. I need…something else. Don’t I have any brooches anymore? Or any silk flowers or scarves or sparkly hair clips? Anything fun? I root around for a bit in my drawers, but can’t find anything except a plain quilted beige hair band. Great. That’s a real style statement.

“Ready?” Eric strides in. “You look fine. Let’s go.”

Jeez Louise. I’ve never seen him so tense and hyper before. All the way there, he’s on the phone, and when at last he puts it away, he taps his fingers on it, staring out the car window.

“I’m sure it’ll go really well,” I say encouragingly.

“It has to,” he says without turning toward me. “This is our big sales push. Lots of ultra-highs. Lots of press. This is where we turn Blue 42 into the talk of the city.”

As we turn in at the entrance gates I can’t help gasping. Burning torches lead the way to the front doors. Lasers are sweeping the night sky. There’s a red carpet for guests to walk down and even a couple of photographers waiting. It looks like a film premiere.

“Eric, this is amazing.” Impulsively I squeeze his hand. “It’s going to be a triumph.”

“Let’s hope.” For the first time Eric turns to give me a quick, tight smile. The driver opens my door, and I pick up my bag to leave.

“Oh, Lexi.” Eric is feeling in his pocket. “Before I forget. I’ve been meaning to give you this.” He hands me a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I smile as I unfold it. Then my smile kind of melts away. It’s an invoice. At the top is Eric’s name, but he’s crossed it out and written “Assigned to Lexi Gardiner.” I scan the words in disbelief. Chelsea Bridge Glass Objets. Large Blown Leopard: quantity 1. To pay: £3,200.

“I ordered a replacement,” Eric is saying. “You can settle up anytime. Check is fine, or just put a transfer into my bank account…”

He’s invoicing me?

“You want me to pay for the leopard?” I force a little laugh, just to see if he’s joking. “Out of my own money?”

“Well, you broke it.” Eric sounds surprised. “Is there a problem?”

“No! That’s…that’s fine.” I swallow. “I’ll write you a check. As soon as we get home.”

“No hurry.” Eric smiles, and gestures at the waiting driver, holding the door. “We’d better get going.”

It’s fine, I tell myself firmly. It’s fair for him to invoice me. It’s obviously how our marriage works.

That’s not how a marriage should work.

No. Stop it. It’s fine. It’s lovely.

I stuff the paper into my bag and smile as brightly as I can at the driver, then get out and follow Eric along the red carpet.

Chapter 14

Bloody hell. This is a real, serious, glitzy party. The whole building is alive with light and thudding music. The penthouse loft looks even more spectacular than before, with flowers everywhere, and waiters in cool black outfits holding trays of champagne, and gift bags ready for people to take. Ava and Jon, and a few other people I don’t recognize, are gathered by the window, and Eric strides straight over to them.

“People,” he says. “Have we done the rundown on the guests? Sarah, you’ve got the press list? All under control?”

“They’re here.” A young girl in a wrap dress comes hurrying in, almost tripping over her stilettos. “The van Gogens are early. And they’ve brought friends. And there’s another lot right behind them!”

“Good luck, guys.” Eric is high-fiving his entire team. “Let’s sell this building.”

The next moment a couple in expensive-looking coats enters, and Eric springs into full-charm offensive, ushering them to meet Ava, handing them champagne, and taking them over to see the view. More people are arriving, and soon there’s a small crowd chattering and leafing through the brochure and eyeing the waterfall.

Jon is about ten yards away, to my left, wearing a dark suit, frowning as he talks to the van Gogens. I haven’t spoken to him yet. I have no idea if he’s noticed me. Occasionally I glance over at him, then quickly look away as my stomach pops over.

It’s like I’m thirteen again and he’s my crush. All I’m aware of in this entire roomful of people is him. Where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s talking to. I dart another glance at him and this time he meets my eye. Cheeks flaming, I turn away and swig my wine. Great, Lexi. Not at all obvious.

Deliberately, I swivel right away so he’s out of my line of vision. I’m watching everyone arrive, almost in a trance, when Eric arrives beside me.

“Lexi, darling.” He has a fixed, disapproving smile. “You look awkward, standing there on your own. Come with me.”