Remember Me?

“No.”

Something is clenching at my throat. It was Jon.

Jon, who I’ve tried not to think about every single day since I walked away.

“What did I buy him?”

“It was this shirt, as I recall.” She hands me a pale green shirt, then turns away to another customer. “Can I help you?”

I hold the shirt, trying to picture Jon in it; myself choosing it for him. Trying to conjure up the happiness. Maybe it’s the wine; maybe it’s just the end of a long day. But I can’t seem to let go of this shirt. I can’t put it down.

“Could I buy it, please?” I say as soon as the woman’s free. “Don’t bother wrapping it.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. As I walk out of Langridges and hail a taxi I’ve still got the green shirt, clasped to my face like a comfort blanket. My whole head is buzzing; the world is receding, like I’m getting the flu or something.

A taxi draws up and I get in, on autopilot.

“Where to?” asks the driver, but I barely hear him. I can’t stop thinking about Jon. My head’s buzzing harder; I’m clutching the shirt…

I’m humming.

I don’t know what my head is doing. I’m humming a tune I don’t know. And all I know is it’s Jon.

This tune is Jon. It means Jon. It’s a tune I know from him.

I close my eyes desperately, chasing it, trying to flag it down… And then, like a flash of light, it’s in my head.

It’s a memory.

I have a memory. Of him. Me. The two of us together. The smell of salt in the air, his chin scratchy, a gray sweater…and the tune. That’s it. A fleeting moment, nothing else.

But I have it. I have it.

“Love, where to?” The driver has turned around and opened the partition.

I stare at him as though he’s talking a foreign language. I can’t let anything else into my mind; I have to keep hold of this memory, I have to cherish it…

“For Chrissake.” He rolls his eyes. “Where-do-you-want-to-go?”

There’s only one place I can go. I have to go.

“To…to…Hammersmith.” He turns around, puts the taxi in gear, and we roar off.

As the taxi moves through London, I sit bolt upright, tensed up, clutching the straps. I feel as though my head contains a precious liquid and if it’s jolted it’ll be spilled. I can’t think about it or I’ll wear it out. I can’t talk, or look out of the window, or let anything into my brain at all. I have to keep this memory intact. I have to tell him.

As we arrive in Jon’s road I thrust some money at the driver and get out, immediately realizing I should have called first. I whip out my mobile and dial his number. If he’s not here I’ll go to wherever he is.

“Lexi?” he answers the phone.

“I’m here,” I gasp. “I remembered.”

There’s silence. The phone goes dead and I can hear swift footsteps inside. The next minute the front door swings open at the top of the steps and there he is, in a polo neck and jeans, old Converse sneakers on his feet.

“I remembered something,” I blurt out before he can say anything. “I remembered a tune. I don’t know it, but I know I heard it with you, at the beach. We must have been there one time. Listen!” I start humming the tune, avid with hope. “Do you remember?”

“Lexi…” He pushes his hands through his hair. “What are you talking about? Why are you carrying a shirt?” He focuses on it again. “Is that mine?”

“I heard it with you at the beach! I know I did.” I know I’m babbling incoherently, but I can’t help it. “I can remember the salty air and your chin was scratchy and it went like this…” I start humming again, but I know I’m getting more inaccurate, scrabbling for the right notes. At last I give up and stop expectantly. Jon’s face is screwed up, perplexed.

“I don’t remember,” he says.

“You don’t remember?” I stare at him in outraged disbelief. “You don’t remember? Come on! Think back! It was cold, but we were warm somehow, and you hadn’t shaved…you had a gray sweater on…”

Suddenly his face changes. “Oh God. The time we went to Whitstable. Is that what you’re remembering?”

“I du

“We went to Whitstable for the day.” He’s nodding. “To the beach. It was fucking freezing, so we wrapped up and we had a radio with us…hum the tune again?”

Okay, I should never have mentioned the tune. I’m such a crap singer. Mortified, I start humming it again. God knows what I’m singing now…

“Wait. Is it that song that was everywhere? ‘Bad Day.’” He starts humming and it’s like a dream coming to life.

“Yes!” I say eagerly. “That’s it! That’s the tune!”

There’s a long pause, and Jon rubs his face, looking bemused. “So that’s all you remember. A tune.”

When he says it like that it makes me feel utterly stupid for dashing across London. And all of a sudden, cold reality is crashing into my bubble. He’s not interested anymore, he’s moved on. He’s probably got a girlfriend by now.

“Yes.” I clear my throat, trying unsuccessfully to seem nonchalant. “That’s all. I just thought I’d let you know that I’d remembered something. Just out of interest. So…um…anyway. Nice to see you. Bye.”

I pick up my shopping bags with clumsy hands. My cheeks are flaming miserably as I turn to leave. This is so embarrassing. I need to get out of here, as quick as I can. I don’t know what I was thinking-

“Is it enough?”

Jon’s voice takes me by surprise. I swivel, to see he’s come halfway down the steps, his face taut with hope. And at the sight of him, all my pretense falls away. The last three months seem to fall away. It’s just us again.

“I…I don’t know,” I manage at last. “Is it?”

“It’s your call. You said you needed a memory. A thread linking us to…us.” He takes another step down toward me. “Now you have one.”

“If I do, it’s the thi

“Well then, hold on to it.” His dark eyes never leaving mine, he’s coming down the rest of the steps, breaking into a run. “Hold on, Lexi. Don’t let it snap.” He reaches me and wraps me tightly in his arms.

“I won’t,” I whisper and grab him. I don’t ever want to let him go again. Out of my arms. Out of my head.

When at last I resurface, three children are staring at me from the next-door steps.

“Ooh,” says one. “Sex-eee.”

I can’t help laughing, even though my eyes are shiny with tears.

“Yeah,” I agree, nodding at Jon. “Sexy.”

“Sexy.” He nods back at me, his hands spa

“Hey, Jon.” I clap my hand over my mouth as though in sudden inspiration. “Guess what? I suddenly remember something else.”

“What?” His face lights up. “What do you remember?”

“I remember going into your house…taking the phones off the hooks…and having the best sex of my life for twenty-four hours solid,” I say seriously. “I even remember the exact date.”

“Really?” Jon smiles, but looks a bit puzzled. “When?”

“October 16, 2007. At about…” I consult my watch. “Four fifty-seven p.m.”

“Aaah.” Jon’s face clicks in understanding. “Of course. Yes, I remember that too. It was a pretty awesome time, wasn’t it?” He runs a finger down my back and I feel a delicious shiver of anticipation. “Only I think it was forty-eight hours solid. Not twenty-four.”

“You’re right.” I click my tongue in mock reproof. “How could I have forgotten?”

“Come on.” Jon leads me up the stairs, his hand firm in mine, to the cheers and jeers of the children.

“By the way,” I say as he kicks the door shut behind us. “I haven’t had good sex since 2004. Just so you know.”

Jon laughs. He peels off his polo neck in one movement and I feel a bolt of instant lust. My body remembers this, even if I don’t.

“I’ll accept that challenge.” He comes over, takes my face in his two hands, and just surveys me for a moment, silent and purposeful until my insides are melting with want. “So remind me…what happened after the forty-eight hours were over?”