Remember Me?

“Then what?”

“Then I didn’t see you again. Next time I clapped eyes on you, you were on the telly, looking totally different.”

“Right.” I watch two birds circling in the sky. “You know, you could have told me the truth, first time around.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I am.” He sounds as genuine as I’ve ever heard him. “And I’m sorry I shagged that girl. And I’m sorry for what she called you, that was well out of order.”

I sit up, suddenly alert. “What did she call me?”

“Oh. You don’t remember,” he says hastily. “Er…nothing. I don’t remember either.”

“What was it?” I stand up, clutching the phone tighter. “Tell me what she called me! Loser Dave!”

“I gotta go. Good luck with the doctor.” He rings off. I immediately redial his number, but it’s busy. Little sod.

I march into the house to find Jon still sitting on the sofa, reading a copy of Whippet World.

“Hi!” His face lights up. “How did it go?”

“What did the waitress call me at the funeral?”

At once Jon looks evasive. “I don’t know what you mean. Hey, have you ever read Whippet World?” He holds it up. “Because it’s a surprisingly good-”

“You do know what I mean.” I sit down beside him and pull his chin around so he has to look at me. “I know I told you. Tell me.”

Jon sighs. “Lexi, it’s a tiny detail. Why does it matter?”

“Because…it just does. Look, Jon, you can’t lecture my mum about denial and then not tell me something which happened in my own life, which I deserve to know. Tell me what that waitress called me. Now.” I glare at him.

“All right!” Jon lifts his hands as though in defeat. “If you have to know, she called you…Dracula.”

Dracula? In spite of myself-in spite of the fact that I know my teeth aren’t snaggly anymore-I can feel my cheeks staining with mortification.

“Lexi-” Jon’s wincing, as he reaches for my hand.

“No.” I shake him off. “I’m fine.”

My face still hot, I stand up and head over to the window, trying to picture the scene, trying to put myself back in my own chewed-up, flat-heeled Lexi shoes. It’s 2004. I didn’t get a bonus. It’s my dad’s funeral. The bailiffs have just arrived to bankrupt us. I come across my boyfriend screwing a waitress…and she takes one look at me and calls me Dracula.

Okay. Things are starting to make sense.

Chapter 18

On the way back, I sit in silence for a long, long while. I’m clutching the blue folder tightly on my lap as if it might try to run away. The fields are whizzing past outside. Jon glances at me every now and then but doesn’t speak.

I’m going around and around it all in my head, trying to digest everything I’ve just learned. I feel like I’ve done a degree in Lexi Smart, in the space of half an hour.

“I still can’t believe my dad left us in trouble like that,” I say at last. “With no warning or anything.”

“Oh no?” Jon sounds noncommittal.

Kicking off my shoes, I draw my feet up onto the seat and rest my chin on my knees, gazing out at the road. “You know, everyone loved my dad. He was so good-looking, and fun, and sparky, and he loved us. Even though he fucked up a few times, he really did love us. He used to call us his three girls.”

“His three girls.” Jon’s voice is drier than ever. “A dog-obsessive in denial, a teenage extortionist, and a screwed-up amnesiac. And all of them in debt. Good work, Michael. Nicely done.”

I shoot him a look. “You don’t think much of my dad, do you?”

“I think he had a good time and left the pieces for all of you to deal with,” says Jon. “I think he was a selfish prick. But hey, I never met the guy.” Abruptly he signals and pulls into another lane. His hands are gripping the wheel tightly, I suddenly notice. He seems almost angry.

“At least I get myself a bit more.” I chew on my thumbnail. “Did I ever talk to you about it? The funeral?”

“Once or twice.” Jon gives me a wry smile.

“Oh, right.” I color. “All the time. I must have bored you to death.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He takes a hand off the wheel and squeezes mine briefly. “One day, really early on, when we were still just friends, it all came out. The whole story. How that day changed your life. How you took on your family’s debt, booked a cosmetic dentistry appointment the next day, went on a crash diet, decided to change everything about yourself. Then you went on TV and everything became even more extreme. You rocketed up the career ladder, you met Eric, and he seemed like the answer. He was solid, rich, stable. A million miles away from…” He breaks off into silence.

“My dad,” I say eventually.

“I’m no psychologist. But I would guess.”

There’s silence. I watch a small plane heading higher and higher into the sky, leaving a double trail of white smoke.

“You know, when I woke up, I thought I’d landed the dream life,” I say slowly. “I thought I was Cinderella. I was better than Cinderella. I thought I must be the happiest girl in the world…” I break off as Jon shakes his head.

“You were living your whole life under a strain. You went too far too soon; you didn’t know how to handle it; you made mistakes.” He hesitates. “You alienated your friends. You found that the hardest of all.”

“But I don’t understand,” I say helplessly. “I don’t understand why I became a bitch.”

“You didn’t mean to. Lexi, give yourself a break. You were thrust into this boss position. You had a big department to run, you wanted to impress senior management, not be accused of favoritism…and you floundered. You did some things the wrong way. Then you felt trapped. You’d built up this tough persona. It was part of your success.”

“The Cobra,” I say, wincing. I still can’t believe I got nicknamed after a snake.

“The Cobra.” He nods, a smile pushing at his mouth again. “You know, that was the TV producers’ idea. That wasn’t you. Although they had something-you are pretty cobra-like when it comes to business.”

“No, I’m not!” I lift my head in horror.

“In a good way.” He grins.

A good way? How can you be like a cobra in a good way?

We drive on for a while without speaking, golden fields sprawling into the distance on either side of us. At length Jon turns on the radio. The Eagles are playing “Hotel California” and as we zip along, sunlight glinting off the windshield, I suddenly feel like we could be in another country. Another life.

“You once said to me, if you could go back in time and do everything differently, you would.” Jon’s voice is softer than before. “With everything. Yourself…your job…Eric…Everything looks different when the gloss is gone.”

I feel a sudden sting at the mention of Eric. Jon’s talking like everything’s in the past-but this is now. I’m married. Nor do I like what he’s implying.

“Look, I’m not some shallow gold-digger, okay?” I say hotly. “I must have loved Eric. I wouldn’t just marry a guy because of the gloss.”

“At first you thought Eric was the real deal,” Jon agrees. “He’s charming, he ticks the boxes…In fact, he’s like one of the intelligent systems from our lofts. Put him on ‘Husband’ setting and away he goes.”

“Stop it.”

“He’s state-of-the-art. He has a range of mood settings; he’s touch sensitive…”

“Stop it.” I’m trying not to laugh. I lean forward and turn the radio up higher, as though to block Jon out. A moment later I’ve worked out what I want to say, and turn it down again.

“Okay, look. Maybe we did have an affair. In the past. But that doesn’t mean…Maybe I want to make my marriage work this time around.”

“You can’t make it work.” Jon doesn’t miss a beat. “Eric doesn’t love you.”

Why does he have to be such a bloody know-it-all?

“Yes, he does.” I fold my arms. “He told me so. In fact, it was really romantic, if you want to know.”