Remember Me?
Page 37

“Hi!” I cry out almost desperately. “Wait!” I pelt toward the glass doors and at last catch up with them on the front steps of the building. “Oh, hi, Lexi.” Fi gives a tiny snort that I know means she's trying not to laugh.
I suppose I do look a bit incongruous, running along redfaced in my black suit and chignon. “I thought we were going to have lunch together!” I say, panting. “I told you I was coming!”
There's silence. No one is meeting my eyes. Debs is twiddling her long silver pendant; her blond hair is lifting in the breeze. Carolyn has taken off her glasses and is polishing them on her white shirt. “What's going on?” I try to sound relaxed, but I can hear a throb of hurt in my own voice. “Fi, why didn't you return any of my messages? Is there some kind of... problem?” None of them speaks. I can almost see the thoughtbubbles traveling between them. But I can't read the thought-?bubbles anymore; I'm out of the loop. “You guys.” I attempt a smile. “Please. You have to help me out. I have amnesia. I don't remember. Did we have a . . . a row or something?” “No.” Fi shrugs. “Well, I don't understand it.” I look around the faces entreatingly. “Last I remember, we were best mates! Going out on a Friday night. We had banana cocktails, Loser Dave stood me up, we did karaoke... remember?” Fi exhales sharply and raises her eyebrows at Carolyn. “That was a long time ago.” “So, what's happened since?” “Look.” Fi sighs. “Let's just leave it. You've had this accident, you're ill, we don't want to upset you.”
“Yes, let's just all go and get a sandwich together.” Debs glances at Fi as though to say “Humor her.” “Don't patronize me!” My voice is sharper than I meant. “Forget about the accident! I'm not an invalid. I'm fine. But I need you to tell me the truth.” I look around the group in desperation. “If we didn't have a row, what's wrong? What happened?”
“Lexi, nothing happened.” Fi sounds awkward. “It's 150 just... we don't really hang out with you anymore. We're not mates.”
“But why not?” My heart is thudding, but I'm trying to stay calm. “Is it because I'm the boss now?” “It's not because you're the boss. That wouldn't matter if you were” Fi breaks off. She shoves her hands in her pockets, not meeting my eye. “If I'm honest, it's because you're a bit of a...”
“What?” I'm looking from face to face in bewilderment. “Tell me!” Fi shrugs. “Snotty cow.” “Total bitch-?boss-?from-?hell, more like,” mutters Carolyn. The air seems to freeze solid in my lungs. Bitch-?bossfrom- hell? Me?
“ I . . . I don't understand,” I stammer at last. “Aren't I a good boss?” “Oh, you're great.” Carolyn's voice drips with sarcasm. “You penalize us if we're late. You time our lunch hours. You do spot checks on our expenses Oh, it's a bundle of fun in Flooring!”
My cheeks are throbbing as though she'd hit me. “But I would never... That's not what I'm like” Carolyn cuts me off. “Yeah. It is.” “Lexi, you asked.” Fi is rolling her eyes, like she always does when she's uncomfortable. “That's why we don't hang out anymore. You do your thing and we do ours.”
“I can't be a bitch,” I manage at last, my voice trembling. “I can't be. I'm your friend! Lexi! We have fun together, we go out dancing together, we get pissed...” Tears are pricking my eyes. I look around the faces I know so wellyet kind of don'ttrying desperately to spark a chord of recognition.
“I'm me! Lexi. Snaggletooth. Remember me?” 151 Fi and Carolyn exchange looks. “Lexi...” Fi says almost gently. “You're our boss. We do what you say. But we don't have lunch. And we don't go out.” She hefts her bag on her shoulder, then sighs. “Look, come along today if you want t o . . .” “No,” I say, stung. “It's okay, thanks.” And with shaky legs I turn and walk away.
Chapter 10
I'm numb with shock. All the way home from the office, I sat in my taxi in a kind of trance. Somehow I managed to talk to Gianna about the dinner party arrangements and listen to Mum when she called to complain about her latest run-?in with the council. And now it's early evening and I'm in the bath. But all the time my thoughts have been circulating around and around. I'm a bitch-?boss-?from-?hell. My friends all hate me. What the fuck has happened? Every time I remember Carolyn's scathing voice, I flinch. God knows what I've done to herbut she obviously has no time for me. Have I really turned into a bitch over the last three years? But how? Why? The water is growing tepid and at last I heave myself out. I rub myself briskly, trying to energize myself. I can't keep obsessing about it. It's already six, and in an hour I have to host a dinner party. At least I don't have to cook. When I arrived home, Gianna was busy in the kitchen with two of her niecesall singing along to the opera blaring out of the speakers. There were platters of sushi and canapes on every shelf in the fridge and the most amazing smell of roasting meat. I tried to join inI'm pretty good at garlic bread but they bustled me away. So I decided I'd be safest in the bath. I wrap a fresh towel around myself and pad into the bedroom then double back into the dressing room for my clothes. Jeez Louise. I know why rich people are so thin: it's from trekking around their humongous houses the whole time. In my Balham flat I could reach the wardrobe from the bed. And the TV. And the toaster. I pick out a little black dress, some little black underwear, and some minuscule black satin shoes. There's nothing in my 2007 wardrobe that's big. No cuddly sweaters, no chunky shoes. Everything's slimline and tailored, to match me. As I trail back into the bedroom I let my towel drop onto the floor. “Hi, Lexi!” “Aargh!” I jump in fright. The big screen at the base of the bed has lit up with a huge image of Eric's face. I clap my hands over my chest and duck behind a chair. I'm naked. And he can see me. He's my husband, I remind myself feverishly. He's seen it all beforeit's fine. It doesn't feel fine. “Eric, can you see me?” I say in a high-?pitched, strangled voice. “Not right now.” He laughs. “Put the setting to Camera.” “Oh! Okay!” I say in relief. “Just give me a sec...” 154 I sling on a dressing gown, then quickly start gathering the clothes I've dropped about the room. Something I've learned pretty quickly is that Eric doesn't like things lying around on the floor. Or on chairs. Or basically any kind of mess at all. I shove them all under the duvet as quickly as possible, plonk a cushion on top, and smooth it down as best I can. “Ready!” I head to the screen and swivel the dial to Camera. “Move back,” Eric instructs me, and I back away from the screen. “Now I can see you! So, I've got one more meeting, then I'll be on my way home. Is everything set up for dinner?” “I think so!” “Excellent.” His huge pixellated mouth spreads in a jerky beam. “And how was work?” “It was great!” Somehow I manage a cheerful tone. “I saw Simon Johnson and all my department, and my friends...” I trail off, suddenly feeling a burn of humiliation. Can I even describe them as friends anymore? “Marvelous.” I'm not sure Eric's even listening. “Now you really should be getting ready. I'll see you later, darling.” “Wait,” I say on impulse. “Eric.” This is my husband. I may barely know himbut he knows me. He loves me. If there's anyone I should confide in about my problems, if anyone can reassure me, it's him. “Fire away.” Eric nods, his screen movements slow and jerky. “Today, Fi said...” I can hardly bring myself to say the words. “She said I was a bitch. Is that true?” “Of course you're not a bitch.”