Remember Me?
Page 35

“Fi!” I exclaim in excitement, almost dropping my bag. “Oh my God! It's me, Lexi! Hi! I'm back!” Fi visibly starts. She turns, and for a few seconds she just gapes at me as if I'm a lunatic. I suppose I did sound a bit overexcited. But I'm just so thrilled to see her.
“Hi, Lexi,” she says at last, eyeing my face. “How're you doing?” “I'm fine!” I say, my words tumbling out eagerly. “How are you? You look great! I love your new hair!” Everyone's staring at me now.
“Anyway”I force myself to sound more composed “maybe we can catch up properly later? With the others?” “Uhyeah.” Fi nods without looking me in the eye. Why is she being so off? What's wrong? Coldness clenches me around the chest. Maybe that's why she never replied to any of my messages. We've had some huge row. And the others took her side. And I just don't remember.... “After you, Lexi!” Dana ushers me into the main, openplan office. Fifteen faces look up at us and I try not to gasp. This is so weird.
I can see Carolyn, and Debs, and Melanie, and several others I know. They all look familiar... but three years on. Their hair and makeup and clothes all look different. Debs has super-?toned arms and is tanned as though she's just got back from some exotic holiday; Carolyn's wearing new rimless glasses and her hair's cropped even shorter than before . .. There's my desk. A girl with bleached hair in braids is sitting at it, looking totally at home. “You all know that Lexi has been ill following her accident,” Dana is announcing to the room. “We're delighted that she's back with us today for a visit. She's suffered a few side effects from her injuries, in particular amnesia. But I'm sure you'll all help her to remember her way around and give her a big welcome back.“ She turns to me and murmurs, ”Lexi, do you want to say a few motivational words to the department?“ ”Motivational words?” I echo uncertainly.
“Just something inspiring.” Dana beams. “Rally the troops.” Her phone chirrups again. “I'm sorry. Excuse me!” She hurries out to the corridor and I'm left alone, facing my department. Come on. Simon Johnson says I'm a natural leader. I can do this. “Um... hi, everyone!” I give a small wave around the office, which no one returns. “I just wanted to say that I'll be back soon, and...um...keep up the good work ” I flounder for something motivational. “Who's the best department in the company? We are! Who rocks? Flooring!” I give the air a little punch, like a cheerleader. “F! L! O! R!” “There should be another O,” interrupts a girl I don't recognize. She's standing with her arms folded, looking totally unimpressed. “Sorry?” I stop, breathless. “There's a double O in flooring.” She rolls her eyes. Two 142 girls next to her are giggling into their hands, while Carolyn and Debs are just gaping at me. “Right,” I say, flustered. “Anyway... well done, everybody . . . you've all done a great job...” “So are you back now, Lexi?” demands a girl in red. “Not exactly” “Only I need my expenses form signed, urgently.” “Me too!” say about six people. “Have you spoken to Simon about our targets?” Melanie is coming forward, frowning. “Only they're totally unworkable as they are...” “What's happening about the new computers?” “Did you read my e-?mail?” “Have we sorted the Thorne Group order?” Suddenly everyone in the room seems to be swarming toward me, asking questions. I can hardly follow any of them, let alone know what they mean. “I don't know!” I'm saying desperately. “I'm sorry, I can't remember... I'll see you later!“ Breathing hard, I back out across the corridor and into my own office and slam the door. Shit. What was all that about? There's a knock at the door. ”Hello?“ I call out, my voice sounding strangled. ”Hi!“ says Clare, coming in under a vast pile of letters and documents. ”Sorry to bother you, Lexi, but while you're here, could you just have a quick run-?through of these? You need to get back to Tony Dukes from Biltons and authorize the payment to Sixpack and sign these waivers, and some guy called Jeremy Northpool has rung several times, says he hopes you can resume discussions...” She's holding out a pen. She's expecting me to spring into action.
“I can't authorize anything,” I say in panic. “I can't sign anything. I've never heard of Tony Dukes. I don't remember any of this stuff!” “Oh.” Clare's pile of papers drops slightly as she surveys me, wide-?eyed. “Well... who's going to run the department? Byron?” “No! I mean... me. It's my job. I'll do it. I just need a bit of time... Look, leave all that with me.” I try to pull myself together. “I'll have a read-?through. Maybe it'll come back to me.” “Okay,” Clare says, clearly relieved. She dumps the pile of papers on the desk. “I'll just bring your coffee through.” My head spinning, I sit down at the desk and pick up the first letter. It's all about some ongoing complaint. “As you will be aware... expect your immediate response...” I turn to the next document. It's a monthly budget forecast for all the departments in the company. There are six graphs and a Post-?it on which someone has scribbled: “Could I get your views, Lexi?” “Your coffee...” Clare taps on the door. “Ah yes,” I say, summoning a bosslike tone. “Thank you, Clare.” As she puts down the cup I nod at the graphs. “Very interesting. I'll... formulate my response to them later.“ The minute she's gone I drop my head down on the desk in despair. What am I going to do? This job is really hard. I mean... it's really, really hard. How on earth do I do it? How do I know what to say and what decisions to make? There's yet another knocking at the door and I hastily sit bolt upright, grabbing a bit of paper at random. ”Everything all right, Lexi?“ It's Byron, holding a bottle 144 of water and a sheaf of papers. He leans against the door frame, his bony wrists protruding from his white shirt. Around one of them is an outsize high-?tech watch, which I'm sure cost a lot, but it looks ridiculous. ”Fine! Great! I thought you were in the budget meeting.“ ”We've broken for lunch.“ He has this sarcastic, drawling way of speaking, as though you're a total moron. Truth be told, I never got on with Byron. Now his eye is running over the pile of papers on my desk. ”Back at it already, I see.“ ”Not really.“ I smile, but he doesn't return it. ”Have you decided what to do about Tony Dukes? Because Accounts were on to me yesterday.“ ”Well...“ I hesitate. ”Actually, I don't quite...I'm not...“ I swallow, feeling color sweep through my face. ”The thing is, I've had amnesia since my accident, and...“ I trail off, twisting my fingers into knots. Byron's face suddenly snaps in comprehension. ”Jesus,“ he says after surveying me for a moment. ”You don't know who Tony Dukes is, do you?“ Tony Dukes. Tony Dukes. I rack my brain frantically but nothing. ” I . . . um... well... no. But if you could just remind me...“ Byron ignores me. He comes farther into the room, tapping his water bottle against his palm, his forehead creased in an appraising frown. ”Let me get this straight,“ he says slowly. ”You remember absolutely nothing?” All my instincts are prickling. He's like a cat prodding a mouse, working out exactly how weak its prey i s . . .