What Was Lost

by Jean Levy

  I clung to Matthew’s arm, in through the foyer, past a man behind a desk, and into the lift. I was terrified. The situation did not improve when I stepped into the brightly-illuminated and deserted reception of Parry & Ashdown Literary Agency.

  ‘Typical,’ complained Matthew. ‘Mandy’s probably having a fag on the fire escape.’ He pointed to the ladies’ bathroom. ‘Do you …?’

  I nodded and headed for the door, more steps away than I would have preferred. But I made it inside and came to rest against a bank of washbasins, steel bowls perched on top of a marble bench, invisible plumbing, gleaming taps reflected in the mirror that furnished the entire wall behind them, a mirror so large that I couldn’t fail to see myself, dressed up for the day, holding onto the cold marble. Cubicle doors were lined up behind me. I pulled my hands away, checked my hair, smoothed the collar of my jacket. Felt better. Felt almost able to go back outside. Then, as I was straightening my skirt, a woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, stunning, stepped out of one of the cubicles, walked over to the basin next to me and began washing her hands. I inhaled her perfume: it was expensive, intoxicating, the kind of perfume that could make a heart beat faster. And she was so tall, her brown hair so long and sleek. The heels on her black shoes were even higher than my patent impossible-to-walk-in ones, and she was dressed in a vivid red outfit that perfectly matched the colour of her lips and nails. She met my eyes in the mirror suddenly, as if she hadn’t noticed me before that moment:

  ‘Well, hello there!’

  I was horrified. ‘Hello, I’m just visiting. With Matthew Parry. I’m an author.’

  ‘Really? An author? How exciting!’

  I felt very small. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember people. Have we met before?’

  The woman laughed. ‘Once or twice!’ She walked over to dry her hands. ‘I hear that you and dear Matthew are now an item.’

  I felt very awkward.

  ‘Actually, I’m just nipping in to see him myself. We could go together. Do you remember the way?’

  ‘No. But he said he’d be waiting outside.’

  ‘Matthew? Waiting outside a ladies’ toilet? Well I never!’ She turned sideways, considered her reflection, smoothed her hair, opened her bag and took out a lipstick, touched up the crimson layer, glanced at my reflection beside hers and smiled.

  I smiled back. ‘That’s a wonderful colour.’ I looked at my own reflection, the subtle hue applied to my lips. ‘I’d be too scared to wear anything as bright as that. But it looks fantastic on you!’

  The woman laughed. ‘You really are something, aren’t you? Absolutely unreal!’

  I saw my own expression snap to confusion.

  The tall woman proffered her hand by way of invitation. ‘Come on, Sarah, sweetheart, let’s go find your man, shall we?’ She strode towards the door and pulled it open for me to step through, then followed me.

  Matthew was waiting. He froze.

  ‘Lucy, what the fuck are you doing here? I’ve signed all the papers!’

  ‘I just thought I’d pop in to drop a few things off. I see you’ve brought Holly Hobbie in with you. How sweet!’

  I hurried over to stand close to Matthew. He put his arm across my back, much to the amusement of his previous mistress. She gave him an unpleasant little smile.

  ‘How unbelievably lovely. Matthew Parry, the nice guy.’ She transferred her unpleasant smile to me. ‘Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to my most recent replacement? She doesn’t seem to have the slightest idea who I am.’

  I replied as confidently as I could. ‘You’re Lucy Ashdown.’ I glanced up at Matthew. ‘I’ll wait downstairs if you want. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Sarah. Everything’s fine.’

  Lucy Ashdown laughed out loud: ‘I can’t believe it! Matthew the Bastard has a heart.’

  ‘Will, you shut up!’ snapped Matthew.

  Lucy Ashdown stepped nearer, assessing me from top to bottom. ‘She really doesn’t remember any of it, does she? Any of the squalid truth? How it all happened?’

  I felt Matthew’s confidence fail him. When he spoke, it was with atypical resignation.

  ‘Lucy, please, don’t say anything. It’s not her fault.’

  ‘You know that do you? It’s all officially fine now, is it?’

  I had no idea what they were talking about.

  ‘No, it’s not fine! Look, Luce, I’ll give you whatever you want. Just leave her alone.’

  ‘Matthew, darling, I know this must come as a complete shock to you, but you really don’t have anything left that I’m interested in.’ She was suddenly distracted. ‘Ah, Poppy, my sweet, still loitering in doorways?’

  Matthew turned and sighed. ‘Poppy, mate, don’t get involved!’

  ‘You can’t stop me!’ With a flurry, the young man swept over to me, disconnected me from Matthew and threw his arms around me. ‘Don’t worry, gorgeous girl, I’ll protect you from the vicious cow!’

  I instantly adored him, his dark brown eyes highlighted by just a flash of taupe shadow against his olive-brown skin, his striking features, the thin line of beard outlining his jaw and bisecting his chin, his petite exuberance.

  Matthew recovered his wits. ‘Poppy, would you take Sarah through to meet the others. Please. Let me deal with this.’

  ‘I want to stay!’ I insisted over Poppy’s shoulder.

  Lucy Ashdown clapped her hands. ‘Look, Matthew, here come some more of the woodentops. Rallying to your defence.’

  A stout woman in her late thirties hurried over to stand beside Matthew; she was flanked by a lanky young man, wearing a beard and ponytail; and, beside him, Annie Dickson.

  ‘Hello, Lucy, my dear,’ said Mrs Dickson, ‘lovely to see you again.’

  ‘Hello, Annie, how’s the menopause?’

  Perhaps it was some kind of energy that I was absorbing from Poppy, or, more than likely, it was just the way I was, but I felt something rise within me. I stepped forward.

  ‘Just around the corner for you, you bitch!’ I snapped.

  There was silence. Then once again Lucy Ashdown laughed.

  ‘Well, done Sarah, oh writer of books for the young and innocent! That’s a response that even I would have been proud of. Anything else to say?’

  ‘Yes, I have got something else to say. Whether you’re interested or not, I’m sure Matthew hopes that you’ll find proper happiness one day. And I think the best way you can do that is to go and find someone not interested in a meaningful relationship.’ I stopped speaking and waited to die.

  Lucy Ashdown continued to smile as her manicured fingers flicked open her bag.

  ‘Actually, Sarah, I anticipated your good advice and have done exactly that. I’ve just called in to return these.’ She pulled out a set of keys and tossed them at Matthew. ‘House, car, garden shed, summerhouse. You’ll need to change the bed. And there haven’t been any dishwasher tablets for a few weeks. Oh yes, and the cleaner walked out in a huff, so everything’s a bit of a mess. Perhaps you have a spare week, Annie. So, it’s cheerio, everyone. Thank you for the generous settlement, Matthew. And best of luck in the economic downturn.’

  Poppy hurried to call the lift.

  Lucy followed him over. ‘Thank you, Poppy darling!’ The lift doors opened. She stepped inside and took a last look at Matthew. ‘You two deserve each other,’ she said. Then the doors closed.

  Matthew sighed. ‘I presume my office isn’t empty. So I can’t go in there and cry?’

  The stout woman clasped her hands together. ‘Shall I tell them to get out?’

  ‘No, Mandy. Why weren’t you on the desk to warn me she was here?’

  ‘We were using your phone, so she wouldn’t hear us. We were trying to warn you she was in her old office. We weren’t expecting you as early as this. You said after eleven.’

  ‘Of all the days she could have chosen to come in!’ Matthew put his arm around me. ‘Are you all right?’

  I took a deep breath, probably my fi
rst for several minutes. ‘I’m fine,’ I said, not at all sure that I was.

  ‘You were fantastic,’ said the lanky young man. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Ed … IT. We know each other.’

  I shook hands and tried to sound calm. ‘Ed, Mandy, Poppy, Annie. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Poppy. ‘But you like me best.’ He patted Matthew’s arm. ‘I’ll go tell the others they can come out from under your desk. And, cheer up, soldier, you’ve got your house back. And your car. And Sarah.’

  Episode Twenty-nine

  The offices were crammed with desks, filing cabinets, books and papers, computers, printers, gym bags, bicycles and apprehensive, reintroduced people. All of the latter were gathered in Matthew’s office, chatting nervously and watching me eat one of Annie’s flapjacks. Their interest in my every move was making me uncomfortable and I worried that if I choked one of them might suffer a heart attack. ‘I’m fine,’ I said to no one in particular. There was instant silence, which made things worse.

  Annie came to the rescue. ‘Good gracious, she’s only lost her memory! It’s still the same old Sarah, writing her stories to help pay your rent.’

  ‘Thank you, Annie,’ said Matthew.

  ‘We’re all shell-shocked after the harridan,’ explained a pixie-ish woman, who might have been Jenny or Kate, I couldn’t remember which.

  Poppy pointed an accusing finger. ‘You were hiding in here.’

  ‘Well, she’s always hated me the most.’

  Ed interrupted the bickering. ‘We’re a bit worried about saying the wrong things. And we’re all worried about you, Matt. You look exhausted.’

  There were mumbles of agreement. I turned to look at Matthew, in the chair beside me. He was being unusually quiet. What things had he told them not to say? What exactly were the wrong things to say? I observed the earnest faces around me.

  ‘It’s all right if we talk about now,’ I said, ‘because now is the same for all of us.’ There was silence. More crushing than the previous silence. I tried again. ‘Matthew said you liked my apple story.’

  ‘Hillier loved it!’ said Poppy.

  Matthew perked up instantly. ‘Have they got back to you?’

  ‘I showed them the text. They wanted to know how many there will be. So I said at least six. I would have said ten but I didn’t know if there were that many kinds of apple.’

  ‘There are loads more than that,’ laughed Debbie the redhead.

  ‘True,’ said Matthew. ‘But Poppy’s world is a very simple one. Look, guys, I’ll buy lunch. Mandy, order some takeaway. But do you think you could give me and Sarah a while on our own? And somebody needs to give me a rundown on the rest of the week. I’ll need someone to fill in for me Thursday and Friday.’

  I’d asked him not to tell them about the clinic.

  ‘Have you remembered Charlie Baxter tomorrow afternoon?’ said Poppy.

  ‘I should be back but you’d better stand by just in case. Do the tour. Now, why don’t you all go and pretend to do something?’

  I watched them file out, apart from Poppy, who lingered until the others had gone then hurried to stand beside me. ‘We did try and warn you. Anyway, she was a hag beside you, sweetie.’

  ‘A very glamorous hag,’ I said, with a familiarity that was unfamiliar.

  He leaned over and kissed my cheek. That’s because she’s had the stumps of her horns filed down again. Would you prefer Chinese or Thai?’

  *

  As soon as we were alone, Matthew seemed to deflate. ‘Sarah, I’m so sorry. I assumed she’d never set foot in here again.’

  I stroked his hand. ‘Is she always that nasty? Was it because of me?’

  ‘No, she’s always like that. I used to find it attractive.’

  ‘I could practice being a bitch. If you think it’s attractive.’

  He smiled. ‘Actually, you didn’t do too badly just then.’

  ‘She called me Holly Hobbie! I had a Holly Hobbie lunchbox. She had a big head and stubby feet.’

  ‘Not at all like you, then?’

  ‘You can live in your house now.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s trashed it.’

  ‘I’ll help you mend it. What did she mean by “the squalid truth”?’

  ‘She was just being a cow. It didn’t mean anything.’

  ‘What have you told them not to say?’

  ‘Just things you have to remember yourself.’

  I searched his eyes and saw far too many secrets. Too many half-truths. ‘Lucy’s older than me, right?’

  ‘She’s forty-five. So the menopause comment probably struck home.’

  ‘God, she didn’t look as old as that! She is stunning!’

  He heaved a sigh. ‘You know, right now, I could do with being unconscious.’

  ‘Matthew, it doesn’t help.

  *

  Over lunch, Matthew gradually relaxed. I listened to him taking part in the banter. He was clearly well-liked by everyone, easy-going with their eccentricities, but there was also respect towards him. I felt excited to have been chosen by him, above that glamorous older woman with her expensive perfume and her practised sophistication. I had felt like a schoolgirl beside her: naïve, clumsy, about as sophisticated as Holly Hobbie. Poppy leaned across to touch my hand.

  ‘Would you like my last prawn cracker? Only very small animals have died in its manufacture.’

  I shook my head and laughed. ‘You know, I didn’t even know I was a veggie until Matthew told me.’

  People stopped eating. The previous awkward silence resurfaced. Poppy closed his hand around mine. ‘We’re so sorry about what happened to you.’

  ‘Poppy!’ snapped Matthew. ‘We don’t know what happened to Sarah!’

  Poppy held on to my hand. ‘We just want her to know we care.’

  ‘She knows. So please, just be as normal as possible. She’s OK! She can’t remember a single horrible thing I said to her.’

  I looked at him. ‘Did you say horrible things to me?’

  ‘I said you couldn’t cook.’

  ‘I can’t cook.’

  ‘See, you haven’t forgotten how not to do that.’

  ‘And another thing you’ve remembered is how not to spell properly,’ said Poppy. ‘So I still feel needed.’

  Matthew got to his feet. ‘Why don’t you guys clear up while I show Sarah the library?’

  ‘Is that part of the tour?’ I asked.

  ‘It is the tour,’ said Poppy.

  *

  ‘Vampires, wizards, broken homes, bullies, fairies and princes in disguise.’ Matthew demonstrated the many books that the agency had been in some way involved with bringing before the public. ‘Pet dragons, anthropomorphic rodents, pubescent angst, the promise of underage sex. It’s all here, waiting to fill young heads with expectations. That lot over there are non-fiction and school texts: usual stuff: dinosaurs, Romans, kings and queens, saving the planet. Some schools can still afford to buy books. Ed handles the electronic stuff.’ He pointed across the room. ‘And that’s your section.’

  I walked over to investigate: there were many copies of each of my LOST books, arranged across several shelves.

  ‘Why are there so many?’

  ‘Different translations. Signed copies. How’s your signature?’

  ‘OK. If I don’t think about it.’ I read along the spines, running my finger from book to book until it came to a premature halt just before the end of a row. ‘The Lost Christmas Tree? I haven’t got a copy of this.’

  ‘We launched it last December. It was a sell-out.’

  ‘How the hell can you lose a Christmas tree?’

  ‘Read it and find out.’

  I eased out a copy and as I did so my attention was drawn to a large framed photograph set in the recess next to my shelves. I recognised Matthew straightaway, smiling, his green eyes free of the secrets that currently discoloured them. He was standing beside a woman, attractive, also smiling. She was holding a book up to the ca
mera: The Lost Tabby Cat. It was one of my books. And I was holding it. ‘That’s me!’

  ‘It was your book launch. At the London Review Bookshop.’

  ‘But I look fantastic!’ I scrutinised my previous self. ‘I’m wearing nail varnish!’

  ‘Poppy did it. You spent the rest of the week picking it off!’

  I looked down at myself in disgust. ‘How can you still want me? I’m too thin!’

  ‘Well, that’s easily remedied!’ Annie Dickson was standing in the doorway. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt …’

  ‘What is it, Annie?’ Matthew put his arm around me.

  Annie stepped inside and closed the door behind her. ‘I’m just off now, but I was wondering whether, what with everything, you might like me and Mr Dickson to go over to Hampstead and check your house for you. Make sure she’s turned the taps off, not left anything on the stove. It’d be nice trip out for Mr Dickson.’