Remember Me?

“But I can’t.” I drop my hands on the table in despair. “I can’t say ‘Hi, this is Lexi Smart, do we have a deal, oh and by the way, what’s your business?’ I don’t know enough! Where’s all the information?”

“It’s there.” Jon is stirring his coffee. “It’s there somewhere. You must have moved the file. Hidden it somewhere, or put it somewhere for safekeeping…”

“But where?”

The waitress arrives and puts a cappuccino down in front of me. I pick up the little freebie biscuit and distractedly start unwrapping it. Where would I have put a file? Where would I hide it? What was I thinking?

“I remember something else.” Jon drains his cup and gestures to the waitress for another. “You went down to Kent. You went to your mother’s house.”

“Really?” I look up. “When?”

“Just before the accident. Maybe you took the file down.”

“To my mum’s house?” I say skeptically.

“It’s worth a chance.” He shrugs. “Call her up and ask her.”

I stir my cappuccino moodily as the waitress brings over another coffee for Jon. I don’t want to ring up Mum. Ringing Mum is bad for my health.

“Come on, Lexi, you can do it.” Jon’s mouth twitches with amusement at my expression. “What are you, woman or walrus?”

I raise my head, stu

“That’s what Fi says,” I say at last.

“I know. You told me about Fi.”

“What did I tell you about Fi?” I say suspiciously.

Jon takes a sip of coffee. “You told me you met in Mrs. Brady’s class. You had your first and last cigarette with her. You went to Ibiza together three times. Losing her friendship has been really traumatic.” He nods at my phone, sticking out of my bag. “Which is why you should make the call.”

This is so spooky. What the hell else does he know? Sliding him wary glances, I take the phone out of my bag and key in Mum’s number.

“Lexi, I’m not magic.” Jon looks even more as if he wants to laugh. “We had a relationship. We talked.”

“Hello?” Mum’s voice on the line tears me away from Jon.

“Oh, Mum! It’s me, Lexi. Listen, did I bring some papers down any time recently? Or like…a folder?”

“That big blue folder?”

I feel an almighty thrust of disbelief. It’s true. It exists. I can feel the excitement rising inside me. And the hope.

“That’s right.” I try to stay calm. “Do you have it? Is it still there?”

“It’s in your room, exactly where you left it.” Mum sounds defensive. “One corner may be slightly damp…”

I don’t believe it. A dog’s peed on it.

“But it’s still okay?” I say anxiously. “It’s still legible?”

“Of course!”

“Great!” I clutch the phone tighter. “Well, just hold on to it, Mum. Keep it safe and I’ll come and get it today.” I flip my phone shut and turn to Jon. “You were right! It’s there. Okay, I have to go down there straightaway. I have to get to Victoria-there’s bound to be a train in the next hour…”

“Lexi, calm down.” Jon drains his coffee. “I’ll drive you, if you like.”

“What?”

“I’m not busy today. It’ll have to be in your car, though. I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a car?” I say disbelievingly.

“I’m between cars at the moment.” He shrugs. “I use my bike or taxis. But I do know how to drive a swanky Mercedes open-top.” Again he looks like he’s sharing a private joke with someone.

With me, it suddenly hits me. With the girl I used to be.

I open my mouth to speak-but I’m too confused. My head is teeming with thoughts.

“Okay,” I say at last. “Okay. Thanks.”

We have our story totally worked out. At least I do. If anyone asks, Jon is giving me a driving lesson. He just happened to drop by when I was getting into the car, and just happened to offer.

But no one does ask.

It’s a su

I take the hair elastic in surprise. “How come you have this in your pocket?”

“I have them everywhere. They’re all yours.” He rolls his eyes, signaling left. “I don’t know what you do, shed them?”

Silently, I put my hair up into a ponytail before it can get windswept. Jon turns onto the road and heads to the first junction. “It’s in Kent,” I say as we pull up at the lights. “You have to head out of London on the-”

“I know where it is.”

“You know where my mother’s house is?” I say a touch incredulously.

“I’ve been there.”

The lights turn green and we move on. I stare out at the grand white houses passing by, barely noticing them. He’s been to Mum’s house. He knows about Fi. He has my hair elastic in his pocket. He was right about the blue folder. Either he’s really, really done his research, or…

“So…hypothetically,” I say at last. “If we were once lovers…”

“Hypothetically.” Jon nods without turning his head.

“What exactly happened? How did we…”

“Like I told you, we met at a launch party. We kept bumping into each other through the company. I came over to your place more and more. I’d arrive early, while Eric was still tied up. We’d chat, hang out on the terrace… It was i

I’m starting to believe. It’s like the world is sliding-a screen is going back. Colors are becoming sharper and clearer.

“So what else happened?” I say.

“We saw each other as often as we could.”

“I know that.” I cast around. “I mean…what was it like? What did we say, what did we do? Just…tell me stuff.”

“You crack me up.” Jon shakes his head, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “That’s what you always said to me in bed. ‘Tell me stuff.’”

“I like hearing stuff.” I shrug defensively. “Any old stuff.”

“I know you do. Okay. Any old stuff.” He drives silently for a while and I can see a smile pushing at his mouth as he thinks. “Everywhere we’ve been together, we’ve ended up buying you socks. Same thing every time, you rip off your shoes to be barefoot on the sand or the grass or whatever, and then you get cold and we need to find you socks.” He pulls up at a crosswalk. “What else? You’ve got me into putting mustard on fries.”

“French mustard?”

“Exactly. When I first saw you, I thought it was an evil perversion. Now I’m addicted.” He pulls away from the crossing and turns onto a big dual carriageway. The car is speeding up; he’s harder to hear over traffic noise. “One weekend it rained. Eric was away playing golf and we watched every single episode of Doctor Who, back to back.” He glances at me. “Should I keep going?”

Everything he’s saying is resonating. My brain is tuning up. I don’t remember what he’s talking about, but I’m feeling stirrings of recognition. It feels like me. This feels like my life.

“Keep going.” I nod.

“Okay. So…we play table te

“I am so not about to crack,” I retort automatically.

“Oh, you are.”

“Never!” I can’t help gri

“You met my mum. She instantly guessed. She knows me too well to kid her. But that’s okay. She’s cool, she’d never say anything.” Jon pulls into another lane. “You always sleep on the left. We’ve had five whole nights together in eight months.” He’s silent for a moment. “Eric’s had two hundred and thirty-five.”

I don’t know how to reply to that. Jon’s gaze is focused ahead; his face is intent. “Should I keep going?” he says at last.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat huskily. “Keep going.”

As we drive through the Kent countryside, Jon has exhausted all the details he can give me about our relationship. Obviously I can’t supply any of my own, so we’re sitting in silence as the hop fields and oast houses pass by. Not that I’m looking at them. I grew up in Kent, so I don’t even notice the picturesque, garden-of-England scenery. Instead I’m watching the GPS screen in a trance; following the arrow with my gaze.