Remember Me?

And then a sound alerts me. A voice outside the door. “Is she in there?”

“Where’s Lexi?” chimes in another voice.

“Is she hiding? Bitch.”

For an instant I consider diving under the sofa and never coming out.

“Is she still upstairs?” The voices are getting louder outside my door.

“No, I saw her! She’s in there! Lexi! Come out here!” Someone bangs on the door, making me flinch. Somehow I force myself to move forward across the carpet. Gingerly I stretch out a hand and open the door.

They know.

They’re all standing there. All fifteen members of the Flooring department, silent and reproachful. Fi is at the front, her eyes like stone.

“It…it wasn’t me,” I stammer desperately. “Please listen, everyone. Please understand. It wasn’t my decision. I tried to…I was going to…” I trail off.

I’m the boss. The bottom line is, it was down to me to save the department. And I failed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes, looking from face to unrelenting face. “I’m so, so sorry…”

There’s silence. I think I might melt under the hatred of their gazes. Then, as though at a signal, they all turn and silently walk away. My legs like jelly, I back toward my desk and sink into my chair. How did Byron break it to everybody? What did he say?

And then suddenly I spot it in my inbox. A round-robin e-mail under the heading: COLLEAGUES-SOME BAD NEWS.

With trepidation I click on the e-mail, and as I read the words, I give a whimper of despair. This went out? Under my name?

To all colleagues in Flooring,

As you may have noticed, the performance of Flooring has been appalling of late. It has been decided by senior management to disband the department.

You will all therefore be made redundant in June. In the meantime, Lexi and I would be grateful if you would work with improved efficiency and standards. Remember, we’ll be giving your references, so no slacking or taking the piss.

Yours,

Byron and Lexi

OK. Now I want to shoot myself.

When I arrive home Eric is sitting on the terrace in the evening sun. He’s reading the Evening Standard and sipping a gin and tonic. He looks up from the paper. “Good day?”

“To be honest…no,” I say, my voice quivering. “It was a pretty terrible day. The entire department is being fired.” As I say the words out loud I can’t help it-I dissolve into tears. “All my friends. They’re all losing their jobs. And they all hate me…and I don’t blame them…”

“Darling.” Eric puts down his paper. “It’s business. These things happen.”

“I know. But these are my friends. I’ve known Fi since I was six.”

Eric seems to be thinking as he sips his drink. At last he shrugs and turns back to the paper. “Like I say, these things happen.”

“They don’t just happen.” I shake my head vehemently. “You stop them from happening. You fight.”

“Sweetheart.” Eric appears amused. “You still have your job, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The company’s not collapsing, is it?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Have a gin and tonic.”

How can he respond like that? Isn’t he human?

“I don’t want a gin and tonic, okay?” I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. “I don’t want a bloody gin and tonic!”

“A glass of wine, then?”

“Eric, don’t you understand?” I almost shout. “Don’t you get how terrible this is?”

All my rage toward Simon Johnson and the directors is swiveling direction like a twister, cha

“Lexi-”

“These people need their jobs! They’re not all…ultra-high rich bloody billionaires!” I gesture around at our glossy balcony. “They have mortgages. Rent to find. Weddings to pay for.”

“You’re overreacting,” Eric says shortly, and turns a page of his paper.

“Well, you’re underreacting! And I don’t understand. I just don’t understand you.” I’m appealing to him directly. Wanting him to look up, to explain his view, to talk about it.

But he doesn’t. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.

My whole body is pulsating with frustration. I feel like throwing his gin and tonic off the balcony.

“Fine,” I say at last. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just pretend everything’s okay and we agree, even though we don’t.” I wheel around and draw a sharp breath.

Jon is standing at the doors to the terrace. He’s wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt and shades, so I can’t see his expression.

“Hi.” He steps down onto the terrace. “Gia

“No!” I turn away swiftly so he can’t see my face. “Of course not. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Of all the people to show up. Just to make my day complete. Well, I’m not even going to look at him. I’m not going to acknowledge him.

“Lexi’s a little upset,” Eric says to Jon in a man-to-man undertone. “A few people at her work are losing their jobs.”

“Not just a few people!” I can’t help expostulating. “A whole department! And I didn’t do anything to save them. I’m supposed to be their boss and I fucked up.” A tear creeps down my cheek and I roughly wipe it away.

“Jon.” Eric isn’t even listening to me. “Let me get you a drink. I’ve got the Bayswater plans right here. There’s a lot to talk about…” He gets up and steps into the sitting room. “Gia

“Lexi.” Jon comes across the terrace to where I’m standing, his voice low and urgent.

He’s trying it on again. I don’t believe this.

“Leave me alone!” I round on him. “Didn’t you get the message before? I’m not interested! You’re just a…a womanizing bullshitter. And even if I were interested, it’s not a good time, okay? My whole department has just crumbled to nothing. So unless you have the answer to that, piss off.”

There’s silence. I’m expecting Jon to come back with some cheesy chat-up line, but instead he takes off his shades and rubs his head as though perplexed.

“I don’t understand. What happened to the plan?”

“Plan?” I say aggressively. “What plan?”

“Your big carpet deal.”

“What carpet deal?”

Jon’s eyes snap open in shock. For a few moments he just stares at me as though I have to be joking. “You’re not serious. You don’t know about it?”

“Know about what?” I exclaim, at the end of my tether. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Jesus Christ.” Jon exhales. “Okay, Lexi. Listen to me. You had this massive carpet deal all lined up in secret. You said it was going to change everything, it was going to bring in big bucks, it was going to transform the department… So! You enjoy the view, huh.” He seamlessly switches track as Eric appears at the door, holding a gin and tonic.

Massive carpet deal?

My heart is beating fast as I stand there, watching Eric give Jon his drink and pull out a chair under the huge sunshade.

Ignore him, says a voice in my head. He’s making it up. He’s playing you-this is all part of the game.

But what if it’s not?

“Eric, darling, I’m sorry about earlier.” My words come out almost too fluently. “It’s just been a difficult day. Could you possibly get me a glass of wine?”

I’m not even looking at Jon.

“No problem, sweetheart.” Eric disappears inside again and I wheel around.

“Tell me what you’re talking about,” I say in low tones. “Quickly. And this better not be a windup.”

As I meet his gaze I feel the sting of humiliation. I have no idea if I can trust anything he says or not. But I have to hear more. Because if there’s just a one percent chance that what he’s saying is true…

“This isn’t a windup. If I’d realized before that you didn’t know…” Jon shakes his head incredulously. “You’d been working on this thing for weeks. You had a big blue file that you used to carry around. You were so excited about it you couldn’t sleep-”