Remember Me?
Page 40
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“Oh dear.” I bite my lip. The truth is, now I want to laugh. “You know, this is the trouble with charity work,” she says darkly, lowering her voice. “The local bureaucrats don't want you to help.”
We've reached the sliding doors and I stare in at the crowd. Twenty faces I don't recognize are laughing and talking and exclaiming at each other. I can see jewels flashing and hear the rumble of men's laughter.
“Now, don't worry.” Rosalie's hand is on my arm. “Eric and I have a plan. Everyone's going to stand up and introduce themselves to you at dinner.” Her brow wrinkles. “Sweetie, you look freaked.” “No!” I manage a smile. “Not freaked!” This is a lie. I'm totally freaked. As I find my place at the long glass dining table, nodding and smiling as people greet me, I feel like I'm in some weird dream. These people are allegedly my friends. They all know me. And I've never even seen them before. “Lexi, darling.” A dark woman draws me aside as I'm approaching my chair. “Can I have a quick word?” She lowers her voice almost to a whisper. “I was with you all day on the fifteenth and the twenty-?first, okay?” “Were you?” I say blankly. “Yes. If Christian asks. Christian, my husband?” She gestures at the balding Mick-?Jagger-?guitar guy, who's taking his seat opposite. “Oh, right.” I digest this for a moment. “Were we really together?” “Of course!” she says after a brief pause. “Of course we were, darling!” She squeezes my hand and moves away. “Ladies and gentlemen.” Eric is standing at the other end of the gleaming table, and the chatter dies to a hush as everyone sits down. “Welcome to our home. Lexi and I are delighted you could make it.” All eyes swivel to me, and I give an embarrassed smile. “As you know, Lexi is suffering the aftereffects of her recent accident, which means her memory's not too hot.” Eric gives a rueful smile. A man opposite laughs, then is shushed by his wife. “So what I propose is that each of you reintroduce yourselves to Lexi. Stand up, give 164 your name, and maybe some memorable event that links you.”
“Do the doctors think this will trigger Lexi's memory?” asks an earnest-?looking guy to my right. “No one knows,” Eric says gravely. “But we have to try. So... who wants to start?”
“Me! I'll start!” Rosalie says, leaping to her feet. “Lexi, I'm your best friend, Rosalie, which you already know. And our memorable incident was that time we both got waxed and the girl got a bit carried away...” She breaks into a giggle. “Your face...” “What happened?” says a girl in black. “I'm not saying in public!” Rosalie looks offended. “But honestly, it was totally memorable.” She beams around the table, then sits down. “Right,” says Eric, sounding a bit taken aback. “Who's next? Charlie?” “I'm Charlie Mancroft.” A gruff man next to Rosalie stands up and nods at me. “I suppose our memorable incident would be the time we were all at Wentworth for that corporate do. Montgomerie made a birdie on the eighteenth. Stunning play.” He looks at me expectantly. “Of course!” I have no idea what he's talking about. Golf? Or snooker, maybe. “Er... thanks.” He sits down and a thin girl next to him gets to her feet. “Hi, Lexi.” She gives me a little wave. “I'm Natalie. And my most memorable event would be your wedding day.” “Really?” I say, surprised and touched. “Wow.” “It was such a happy day!” She bites her lip. “And you looked so beautiful and I thought, 'That's what I want to look like when I get married.' I actually thought Matthew would propose to me that day, but... he didn't.” Her smile tightens.
“Jesus, Natalie,” mutters a guy across the table. “Not this again.” “No! It's fine!” she exclaims brightly. “We're engaged now! It only took three years!“ She flashes her diamond at me. ”I'm having your dress! Exactly the same Vera Wang, in white“ ”Well done, Natalie!“ Eric chimes in heartily. ”I think we should move on Jon? Your turn.”
Across the table from me, Jon gets to his feet. “Hi,” he says in his dry voice. “I'm Jon. We met earlier.” He lapses into silence. “So, Jon?” prompts Eric. “What's your memorable event involving Lexi?” Jon surveys me for a moment with those dark, intense eyes, and I find myself wondering what he's going to say. He scratches his neck, frowns, and takes a slug of wine, as though thinking hard. At last he spreads his arms. “Nothing comes to mind.” “Nothing?” I'm slightly stung, despite myself. “Anything at all!” Eric says encouragingly. “Just some special moment the two of you shared...” Everyone is watching Jon. He frowns again, then shrugs, apparently stumped. “I don't recall anything,” he says at last. “Nothing I could describe.” “There must be something, Jon,” a girl opposite says eagerly. “It could trigger her memory!” “I doubt it.” He gives a brief half-?smile. “Well, all right,” says Eric, sounding a bit impatient. “It doesn't matter. Let's move on.” By the time everyone around the table has stood up and recounted their anecdote, I've forgotten who the first people were. But it's a start, I suppose. Gianna and her helper 166 serve tuna carpaccio, arugula salad, and baked pears, and I talk to someone called Ralph about his divorce settlement. And then the plates are cleared, and Gianna is making her way around the table, taking coffee orders. “I'll make the coffee,” I say, jumping up. “You've done so much tonight, Gianna. Have a break.” I've grown increasingly uncomfortable seeing her and her niece scurrying around the table with heavy plates. And the way no one even looks at them as they take their food.
We've reached the sliding doors and I stare in at the crowd. Twenty faces I don't recognize are laughing and talking and exclaiming at each other. I can see jewels flashing and hear the rumble of men's laughter.
“Now, don't worry.” Rosalie's hand is on my arm. “Eric and I have a plan. Everyone's going to stand up and introduce themselves to you at dinner.” Her brow wrinkles. “Sweetie, you look freaked.” “No!” I manage a smile. “Not freaked!” This is a lie. I'm totally freaked. As I find my place at the long glass dining table, nodding and smiling as people greet me, I feel like I'm in some weird dream. These people are allegedly my friends. They all know me. And I've never even seen them before. “Lexi, darling.” A dark woman draws me aside as I'm approaching my chair. “Can I have a quick word?” She lowers her voice almost to a whisper. “I was with you all day on the fifteenth and the twenty-?first, okay?” “Were you?” I say blankly. “Yes. If Christian asks. Christian, my husband?” She gestures at the balding Mick-?Jagger-?guitar guy, who's taking his seat opposite. “Oh, right.” I digest this for a moment. “Were we really together?” “Of course!” she says after a brief pause. “Of course we were, darling!” She squeezes my hand and moves away. “Ladies and gentlemen.” Eric is standing at the other end of the gleaming table, and the chatter dies to a hush as everyone sits down. “Welcome to our home. Lexi and I are delighted you could make it.” All eyes swivel to me, and I give an embarrassed smile. “As you know, Lexi is suffering the aftereffects of her recent accident, which means her memory's not too hot.” Eric gives a rueful smile. A man opposite laughs, then is shushed by his wife. “So what I propose is that each of you reintroduce yourselves to Lexi. Stand up, give 164 your name, and maybe some memorable event that links you.”
“Do the doctors think this will trigger Lexi's memory?” asks an earnest-?looking guy to my right. “No one knows,” Eric says gravely. “But we have to try. So... who wants to start?”
“Me! I'll start!” Rosalie says, leaping to her feet. “Lexi, I'm your best friend, Rosalie, which you already know. And our memorable incident was that time we both got waxed and the girl got a bit carried away...” She breaks into a giggle. “Your face...” “What happened?” says a girl in black. “I'm not saying in public!” Rosalie looks offended. “But honestly, it was totally memorable.” She beams around the table, then sits down. “Right,” says Eric, sounding a bit taken aback. “Who's next? Charlie?” “I'm Charlie Mancroft.” A gruff man next to Rosalie stands up and nods at me. “I suppose our memorable incident would be the time we were all at Wentworth for that corporate do. Montgomerie made a birdie on the eighteenth. Stunning play.” He looks at me expectantly. “Of course!” I have no idea what he's talking about. Golf? Or snooker, maybe. “Er... thanks.” He sits down and a thin girl next to him gets to her feet. “Hi, Lexi.” She gives me a little wave. “I'm Natalie. And my most memorable event would be your wedding day.” “Really?” I say, surprised and touched. “Wow.” “It was such a happy day!” She bites her lip. “And you looked so beautiful and I thought, 'That's what I want to look like when I get married.' I actually thought Matthew would propose to me that day, but... he didn't.” Her smile tightens.
“Jesus, Natalie,” mutters a guy across the table. “Not this again.” “No! It's fine!” she exclaims brightly. “We're engaged now! It only took three years!“ She flashes her diamond at me. ”I'm having your dress! Exactly the same Vera Wang, in white“ ”Well done, Natalie!“ Eric chimes in heartily. ”I think we should move on Jon? Your turn.”
Across the table from me, Jon gets to his feet. “Hi,” he says in his dry voice. “I'm Jon. We met earlier.” He lapses into silence. “So, Jon?” prompts Eric. “What's your memorable event involving Lexi?” Jon surveys me for a moment with those dark, intense eyes, and I find myself wondering what he's going to say. He scratches his neck, frowns, and takes a slug of wine, as though thinking hard. At last he spreads his arms. “Nothing comes to mind.” “Nothing?” I'm slightly stung, despite myself. “Anything at all!” Eric says encouragingly. “Just some special moment the two of you shared...” Everyone is watching Jon. He frowns again, then shrugs, apparently stumped. “I don't recall anything,” he says at last. “Nothing I could describe.” “There must be something, Jon,” a girl opposite says eagerly. “It could trigger her memory!” “I doubt it.” He gives a brief half-?smile. “Well, all right,” says Eric, sounding a bit impatient. “It doesn't matter. Let's move on.” By the time everyone around the table has stood up and recounted their anecdote, I've forgotten who the first people were. But it's a start, I suppose. Gianna and her helper 166 serve tuna carpaccio, arugula salad, and baked pears, and I talk to someone called Ralph about his divorce settlement. And then the plates are cleared, and Gianna is making her way around the table, taking coffee orders. “I'll make the coffee,” I say, jumping up. “You've done so much tonight, Gianna. Have a break.” I've grown increasingly uncomfortable seeing her and her niece scurrying around the table with heavy plates. And the way no one even looks at them as they take their food.
