Remember Me?
Page 77

“There's a guy at work, Byron?” 310 “Yes,” I say guardedly. “What about him?” “You didn't trust him. You thought he actually wanted the department to be disbanded. You thought he'd try and screw things up for you. So you were going to present the whole thing to the board when it was already done.” The door to the cafe swings open and I jump in guilt, imagining it's Eric. I'm all ready with an excuse at the tip of my tongue, I was just out shopping and guess what, I bumped into Jon! By total coincidence! But of course it's not Eric, it's a cluster of teenagers who start talking in French. “So you don't know anything else.” My guilt makes me sound aggressive, almost accusing. “You can't help me.” “I didn't say that,” Jon replies calmly. “I've been thinking back, and I did remember something. Your contact was Jeremy Northam. Northwick. Something like that.” “Jeremy Northpool?” The name pops into my head. I can remember Clare thrusting a Post-?it at me with his name on it. Along with the other thirty-?five Post-?its. “Yes.” Jon nods. “That could be it. Northpool.” “I think he called while I was in hospital. Several times.” “Well.” Jon raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should call him back.” “But I can't.” I drop my hands on the table in despair. “I can't say 'Hi, this is Lexi Smart, do we have a deal, oh and by the way, what's your business?' I don't know enough! Where's all the information?” “It's there.” Jon is stirring his coffee. “It's there somewhere. You must have moved the file. Hidden it somewhere, or put it somewhere for safekeeping...” “But where?” The waitress arrives and puts a cappuccino down in front of me. I pick up the little freebie biscuit and distractedly start unwrapping it. Where would I have put a file? Where would I hide it? What was I thinking? “I remember something else.” Jon drains his cup and gestures to the waitress for another. "You went down to Kent.
You went to your mother's house.“ ”Really?“ I look up. ”When?“ ”Just before the accident. Maybe you took the file down.“ ”To my mum's house?“ I say skeptically. ”It's worth a chance.“ He shrugs. ”Call her up and ask her.“ I stir my cappuccino moodily as the waitress brings over another coffee for Jon. I don't want to ring up Mum. Ringing Mum is bad for my health. ”Come on, Lexi, you can do it.“ Jon's mouth twitches with amusement at my expression. ”What are you, woman or walrus?“ I raise my head, stunned. For a moment I wonder whether I heard that right. ”That's what Fi says,“ I say at last. ”I know. You told me about Fi.“ ”What did I tell you about Fi?“ I say suspiciously. Jon takes a sip of coffee. ”You told me you met in Mrs. Brady's class. You had your first and last cigarette with her. You went to Ibiza together three times. Losing her friendship has been really traumatic.“ He nods at my phone, sticking out of my bag. ”Which is why you should make the call.“ This is so spooky. What the hell else does he know? Sliding him wary glances, I take the phone out of my bag and key in Mum's number. 312 ”Lexi, I'm not magic.“ Jon looks even more as if he wants to laugh. ”We had a relationship. We talked.“ ”Hello?“ Mum's voice on the line tears me away from Jon. ”Oh, Mum! It's me, Lexi. Listen, did I bring some papers down any time recently? Or like... a folder?“ ”That big blue folder?“ I feel an almighty thrust of disbelief. It's true. It exists. I can feel the excitement rising inside me. And the hope. ”That's right.“ I try to stay calm. ”Do you have it? Is it still there?“ ”It's in your room, exactly where you left it." Mum sounds defensive. “One corner may be slightly damp...” I don't believe it. A dog's peed on it. “But it's still okay?” I say anxiously. “It's still legible?” “Of course!”
“Great!” I clutch the phone tighter. “Well, just hold on to it, Mum. Keep it safe and I'll come and get it today.” I flip my phone shut and turn to Jon. “You were right! It's there. Okay, I have to go down there straightaway. I have to get to Victoriathere's bound to be a train in the next hour...” “Lexi, calm down.” Jon drains his coffee. “I'll drive you if you like.“ ”What?“ ”I'm not busy today. It'll have to be in your car, though. I don't have one.“ ”You don't have a car?“ I say disbelievingly. ”I'm between cars at the moment.“ He shrugs. ”I use my bike or taxis. But I do know how to drive a swanky Mercedes open-?top.” Again he looks like he's sharing a private joke with someone. With me, it suddenly hits me. With the girl I used to be.