Remember Me?

I’m so touched by her belief in me, I can’t quite speak for a moment.

“I just want to be…one of you,” I say at last. “With everybody.”

“You will be. You are. But someone has to be out there.” Fi sits back on her heels. “Lexi, remember when we were at primary school? Remember the sack race on sports day?”

“Don’t remind me.” I roll my eyes. “I fucked that up too. Fell flat on my face.”

“That’s not the point.” Fi shakes her head vigorously. “The point is, you were wi

The door opens again and we both start.

“Lexi?” It’s Natasha, her pale brow wrinkling as she sees me and Fi. “I wondered where you’d got to! Are you ready?” I give one final glance at Fi, then get to my feet and lift my chin high. “Yes. Ready.”

I can do this. I can. As I walk into Simon Johnson’s room, my back is ramrod stiff and my smile rigid.

“Lexi.” Simon beams. “Good to see you. Come and take a seat.”

Everyone else looks totally at ease. Four directors are clustered around a small table, in comfortable leather chairs. Cups of coffee are on the go. A thin, graying man whom I recognize as David Allbright is talking to the man on his left about a villa in Provence.

“So, your memory is recovered!” Simon hands me a cup of coffee. “Tremendous news, Lexi.”

“Yes. It’s great!”

“We’re just going through the implications of June ’07.” He nods at the papers spread over the table. “This is very good timing, because I know you had some strong views about the amalgamation of departments. You know everyone here?” He pulls out a chair, but I don’t sit down.

“Actually…” My hands are damp and I curl them around the folder. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you. All of you. About…something else.”

David Allbright looks up with a frown. “What?”

“Flooring.”

Simon winces. Someone else mutters, “For God’s sake.”

“Lexi.” Simon’s voice is tight. “We’ve discussed this before. We’ve moved on. We’re no longer dealing in Flooring.”

“But I’ve done a deal! That’s what I want to talk about!” I take a deep breath. “I’ve always felt the archive prints that Deller owns are one of its biggest assets. For several months I’ve been trying to find a way to harness these assets. Now I have a deal in place with a company that would like to use one of our old designs. It’ll raise Deller’s profile. It’ll turn the department around!” I can’t help sounding exhilarated. “I know I can motivate my department. This can be the begi

I stop breathlessly and survey the faces.

I can see it at once. I have made precisely no impact whatsoever. Sir David has the same impatient frown on his face. Simon looks murderous. One guy is checking his BlackBerry.

“I thought the decision on Flooring had been made,” Sir David Allbright says testily to Simon. “Why are we raising it again?”

“It has been decided, Sir David,” he says hurriedly. “Lexi, I don’t know what you’re doing-”

“I’m doing business!” I retort with a clench of frustration.

“Young lady,” Sir David says. “Business is forward-looking. Deller is a new-mille

“I’m not clinging!” I try not to yell. “The old Deller prints are fabulous. It’s a crime not to use them.”

“Is this to do with your husband?” Simon says, as though he suddenly understands. “Lexi’s husband is a property developer,” he explains to the others, then turns back to me. “Lexi, with all due respect, you’re not going to save your department by carpeting a couple of show flats.”

One of the men laughs and I feel a knife of fury. Carpeting a couple of show flats? Is that all they think I’m capable of? Once they hear what this deal is, they’ll…they’ll…

I’m drawing myself up, ready to tell them; ready to blow them away. I can feel the bubbling of triumph, mixed with a bit of venom. Maybe Jon’s right, maybe I am a bit of a cobra.

“If you really want to know…” I begin, eyes blazing.

And then all of a sudden I change my mind. I halt, mid-sentence, thinking furiously. I can feel myself retreating, fangs going back in.

Biding my time.

“So…you’ve really made your decision?” I say in a different, more resigned voice.

“We made our decision a long time ago,” says Simon. “As you well know.”

“Right.” I sink as though in massive disappointment and chew at one of my nails. Then I perk up as though an idea’s just hit me. “Well, if you’re not interested, maybe I could buy the copyright of the designs? So I can license them as a private venture.”

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Sir David.

“Lexi, please don’t waste your time and money,” says Simon. “You have a position here. You have prospects. There’s no need for this kind of gesture.”

“I want to,” I say stubbornly. “I really believe in Deller Carpets. But I need it soon, for my deal.”

I can see the directors exchanging glances.

“She had a bump to the head in a car crash,” Simon murmurs to the guy I don’t recognize. “She hasn’t been right since. You have to feel sorry for her, really.”

“Let’s just sort it out.” Sir David Allbright waves an impatient hand.

“I agree.” Simon heads to his desk, lifts his phone, and punches in a number. “Ken? Simon Johnson here. One of our employees will be coming to see you about the copyright of some old Deller Carpets design. We’re closing down the department, as you know, but she’s got some idea of licensing it.” He listens for a moment. “Yes, I know. No, she’s not a company, just a single operator. Work out a nominal fee and the paperwork, could you? Thanks, Ken.”

He puts the phone down, then scribbles a name and number on a piece of paper.

“Ken Allison. Our company lawyer. Call him to make an appointment.”

“Thanks.” I nod and pocket the paper.

“And Lexi.” Simon pauses. “I know we talked about a three-month leave. But I think that by mutual agreement your employment here should be terminated.”

“Fine.” I nod. “I…understand. Good-bye. And thanks.”

I turn on my heel and walk out. As I open the door I can hear Simon saying, “It’s a terrific shame. That girl had such potential…”

Somehow I get out of the room without skipping.

Fi is waiting for me as I step out of the lift at the third floor, and raises her eyebrows. “Well?”

“Didn’t work,” I murmur as we head to the main Flooring office. “But it’s not all over.”

“There she is.” Byron heads out of his office as I pass by. “The miracle recovery girl.”

“Shut up,” I say over my shoulder.

“So, are we really supposed to believe that you’ve recovered your memory?” His sarcastic drawl follows me. “You’re really going to snap back into it?”

I turn and regard him with a blank, perplexed gaze.

“Who’s he?” I say at last to Fi, who snorts with laughter.

“Very fu

“Oh, leave it out, Byron!” I say wearily. “You can have my fucking job.” I’ve arrived at the door to the main office, and clap my hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Hi,” I say, as everyone looks up. “I just wanted to let you know, I’m not cured. I haven’t got my memory back, that was a lie. I tried to pull off a massive bluff, to try to save this department. But…I failed. I’m really sorry.”

As everyone watches, agog, I take a few steps into the office, looking around at the desks, the wall charts, the computers. They’ll all be pulled down and disposed of. Sold, or chucked into skips. This whole little world will be over.