I arrive at the door of the office and look for a few moments at Eric, who’s working at his computer. On the screen I can see the brochure for Blue 42, his new building. The launch party is in a few days, and he’s spending all his time preparing his presentation.
Okay, what he should do now is sense the charged sexual vibe in the room, turn around, and see me. But he doesn’t.
“Eric,” I say in my most husky, sensual voice-but still he doesn’t move. Suddenly I realize he’s wearing earphones. “Eric!” I yell, and at last he turns around. He pulls out his earphones and smiles.
“Hi. Good day?”
“Eric…take me.” I push a hand through my hair. “Let’s do it. Blow my mind.”
He peers at me for a few seconds. “Sweetheart, have you been drinking?”
“I may have had a couple of cocktails. Or three.” I nod, then hold on to the door frame for balance. “The point is, they made me realize what I want. What I need. Sex.”
“Oooo-kay.” Eric raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should sober up, have something to eat. Gianna made us a great seafood stew-”
“I don’t want seafood stew!” I feel like stamping my foot. “We have to do it! It’s the only way I’ll ever remember!”
What’s wrong with him? I was expecting him to leap on me, but instead he’s rubbing his forehead with the back of his fist.
“Lexi, I don’t want to rush you into anything. This is a big decision. The doctor at the hospital said we should only go to whatever stage you’re comfortable with…”
“Well, I’m comfortable with us doing it right now.” I undo two more buttons, exposing my La Perla underwire plunge bra. God, my boobs look great in this.
I mean, they ought to, for sixty quid.
“Come on.” I lift my chin in a challenging way. “I’m your wife.”
I can see Eric’s mind working as he stares at me.
“Well…okay!” He closes his document and turns off the computer, then walks over, puts his arms around me, and starts kissing me. And it’s…nice.
It is. It’s…pleasant.
His mouth is quite soft. I noticed that before. It’s a bit weird for a man. I mean, it’s not exactly unsexy, but-
“Are you comfortable, Lexi?” Eric’s breathy voice comes in my ear.
“Yes!” I whisper back.
“Shall we move to the bedroom?”
“Okay!”
Eric leads the way out of the office and I follow him, stumbling slightly on my heels. It all seems a bit oddly formal, like he’s showing me in to a job interview.
In the bedroom, we resume kissing. Eric seems really into it, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next. I glimpse the marriage manual on the ottoman and wonder if I could quickly nudge it open to Foreplay with my toe. Except Eric might notice.
Now he’s pulling me down onto the bed. I have to reciprocate. But with what? Eeny-meeny-miney-No. Stop it. I’m going to go with…chest. Unbutton the shirt. Sweeping strokes. Clockwise.
He does have a good chest. I’ll give him that. Firm and muscled from the hour he spends in the gym every day.
“Are you comfortable with me touching your breast?” he murmurs as he starts undoing my bra.
“I guess so,” I murmur back.
Why is he squeezing me? It’s like he’s buying fruit. He’s going to give me a bruise in a minute.
Anyway. Stop being picky. This is all great. I have a fab husband with a fab body and we’re in bed and-
Ouch. That was my nipple.
“I’m sorry,” whispers Eric. “Listen, sweetheart, are you comfortable with me touching your abdomen?”
“Er…I guess!”
Why did he ask that? Why would I be comfortable with the breast and not the abdomen? That doesn’t make sense. And to be absolutely honest, I don’t know if comfortable is the word. This is all a bit surreal. We’re moving around and panting and doing it all like in a book, but I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere.
Eric’s breath is hot on my neck. I think it’s time for me to do something else. Buttocks, maybe, or…Oh, right. From the way Eric’s hands are moving, looks like we’re jumping straight to inner thighs.
“You’re hot,” he’s saying, his voice urgent. “Jesus, you’re hot. This is so hot.”
I don’t believe this! He says hot the whole time too! He should so have sex with Debs.
Oh. No. Obviously he shouldn’t have sex with Debs. Erase that thought.
Suddenly I realize I’m about three steps behind on the whole foreplay thing, not to mention the sex talk. But Eric doesn’t even seem to have noticed.
“Lexi, sweetheart?” he murmurs breathily, right in my ear.
“Yes?” I whisper back, wondering if he’s about to say “I love you.”
“Are you comfortable with me putting my penis into your-”
Uurk!
Before I can stop myself, I’ve pushed him off me and rolled away.
Oops. I didn’t mean to shove quite so hard.
“What’s wrong?” Eric sits up in alarm. “Lexi! What happened? Are you okay? Did you have a flashback?”
“No.” I bite my lip. “I’m sorry. I just suddenly felt a bit…um…”
“I knew it. I knew we were rushing things.” Eric sighs and takes both my hands. “Lexi, talk to me. Why weren’t you comfortable? Was it because of some…traumatic memory resurfacing?”
Oh God. He looks so earnest. I have to lie.
No. I can’t lie. Marriages only work if you’re totally honest.
“It wasn’t because of a traumatic memory,” I say at last, carefully looking past him at the duvet. “It was because you said ‘penis.’”
“Penis?” Eric looks utterly stumped. “What’s wrong with ‘penis’?”
“It’s just…you know. Not very sexy. As words go.”
Eric leans back against the headboard, his brow knitted in a frown.
“I find ‘penis’ sexy,” he says at last.
“Oh, right!” I backtrack quickly. “Well, I mean, obviously it is quite sexy…”
How can he find the word “penis” sexy?
“Anyway, it wasn’t just that.” I hastily change the subject. “It was the way you kept asking me every two seconds if I was comfortable. It made things a bit…formal. Don’t you think?”
“I’m just trying to be considerate,” says Eric stiffly. “This is a pretty strange situation for both of us.” He turns away and starts pulling on his shirt with jerky gestures.
“I know!” I say quickly. “And I appreciate it, I really do.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “But maybe we can loosen up. Be more…spontaneous?”
Eric’s silent for a while, as though weighing up what I’ve said.
“So…should I sleep here tonight?” he says at last.
“Oh!” In spite of myself I recoil.
What’s wrong with me? Eric’s my husband. A moment ago I was all for having sex with him. But still, the idea of him sleeping here with me all night seems…too intimate.
“Maybe we could leave it a while. I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“Fine. I understand.” Without meeting my eye he gets up. “I think I’ll take a shower.”
“Okay.”
Left alone, I slump back on the pillows. Great. I didn’t have sex. I didn’t remember anything. My mission totally failed.
I find “penis” sexy.
I give a sudden gurgle and clap my hand over my mouth in case he can hear me. Beside the bed the phone starts ringing, but at first I don’t move-it’s bound to be for Eric. Then I realize he must be in the shower. I reach over and pick up the state-of-the-art Bang & Olufsen receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” comes a dry, familiar voice. “It’s Jon.”
“Jon?” I feel a white-hot thrill. Eric’s nowhere in sight, but even so, I dart into the adjoining bathroom with the phone, then shut the door and lock it.
“Are you crazy?” I hiss in lowered, furious tones. �
�What are you ringing here for? It’s so risky! What if Eric picked up?”
“I was expecting Eric to pick up.” Jon sounds a bit baffled. “I need to speak with him.”
“Oh.” I halt in sudden realization. I’m so stupid. “Oh…right.” Trying to remedy the situation, I put on a formal, wifely voice. “Of course, Jon. I’ll just fetch him-”
Jon cuts me off. “But I need to speak with you more. We have to meet. We have to talk.”
“We can’t! You have to stop this. This whole…talking thing. On the phone. And also not on the phone.”
“Lexi, are you drunk?” says Jon.
“No.” I survey my bloodshot reflection. “Okay…maybe a tad.”
There’s a snuffling sound at the end of the phone. Is he laughing?
“I love you,” he says.
“You don’t know me.”
“I love the girl…you were. You are.”
“You love the Cobra?” I retort sharply. “You love the bitch from hell? Well then, you must be nuts.”
“You’re not a bitch from hell.” He’s definitely laughing at me.
“Everyone else seems to think I am. Was. Whatever.”
“You were unhappy. And you made some pretty big mistakes. But you weren’t a bitch.”
Beneath my drunken haze, I’m absorbing every word. It’s like he’s rubbing salve on some raw part of me. I want to hear more.
“What…” I swallow. “What kind of mistakes?”
“I’ll tell you when we meet. We’ll talk about everything. Lexi, I’ve missed you so much…”
Suddenly his intimate, familiar tone is making me uneasy. Here I am, in my own bathroom, whispering to a guy I don’t know. What am I getting into here?
“Stop. Just…stop!” I cut across him. “I need to…think.”
I pace to the other side of the room, thrusting my hand through my hair, trying to force some rational thoughts into my giddy head. We could meet, and just talk…
No. No. I can’t start seeing someone behind Eric’s back. I want my marriage to work.
“Eric and I just had sex!” I say defiantly.
I’m not even quite sure why I said that.
There’s silence down the line and I wonder whether Jon is so offended he’s gone. Well, if he has, that’s a good thing.
“Your point would be?” His voice comes down the line.
“You know. That changes things, surely.”
“I’m not following. You think I won’t be in love with you anymore because you had sex with Eric?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Or you think having sex with Eric somehow proves you love him?” He’s relentless.
“I don’t know!” I say again, rattled. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation. I should be marching straight out of the bathroom, holding the phone aloft, calling, “Darling? It’s Jon for you.”
But something’s keeping me here, the receiver clamped to my ear.
“I thought it might trigger my memories,” I say at last, sitting on the side of the bath. “I just keep thinking, maybe my memory’s all there, all locked up, and if only I could get to it…It’s so frustrating…”
“Tell me about it,” Jon says wryly, and I suddenly imagine him standing in his gray T-shirt and jeans, scrunching his face up in that way he does, holding the phone with one hand, the other elbow bent with his hand behind his head, a glimpse of armpit-
The image is so vivid that I blink.
“So, how was it? The sex.” His tone has changed, is easier.
“It was…” I clear my throat. “You know. Sex. You know about sex.”
“I do know about sex,” he agrees. “I also know about sex with Eric. He’s adept…considerate…He has quite the imagination…”
“Stop it! You’re making all of those sound like bad qualities-”
“We have to meet,” Jon cuts in. “Seriously.”
“We can’t.” I feel a fearful quake deep inside me. Like I’m about to step over an edge. Like I have to stop myself.
“I miss you so much.” His voice is lower, softer. “Lexi, you have no idea how much I miss you, it’s tearing me up, not being with you-”
My hand is damp around the phone. I can’t listen to him anymore. It’s confusing me; it’s shaking me up. Because if it was true, if everything he was saying was really true-
“Look, I have to go,” I say in a rush. “I’ll get Eric for you.” My legs wobbly, I unlock the bathroom door and head out, holding the phone away from me like it’s contaminated.
“Lexi, wait.” I can hear his voice coming from the phone, but I ignore it.
“Eric!” I call brightly as I approach his door and he comes out, dressed in a towel. “Darling? It’s Jon for you. Jon the architect.”
Chapter 13
I’ve tried. I really have tried. I’ve done everything I can think of to show the department that I’m not a bitch.
I’ve put up a poster asking for suggestions for a fun department outing-but no one’s filled any in. I’ve put flowers on the windowsills, but no one’s even mentioned them. Today I brought in a massive basket of blueberry, vanilla, and chocolate-chip muffins and put it on the photocopier, together with a sign saying From Lexi-Help Yourself!
I took a stroll into the office a few minutes ago and not a single muffin had been taken. But never mind, it’s still early. I’ll leave it another ten minutes before I go and check again.
I turn a page in the file I’ve been reading, then click on the onscreen document. I’m working through paper files and computer files at the same time, trying to cross-reference everything. Without meaning to, I give an enormous yawn and lean my head on the desk. I’m tired. I mean, I’m knackered.
I’ve been coming in every morning at seven, just to get through some more of this mountain of paperwork. My eyes are red from all the endless reading.
I nearly didn’t come back here at all. The day after Eric and I “kind of” had sex, I woke up with a pale face, the most crashing headache, and absolutely no desire to go to work again, ever. I staggered into the kitchen, made a cup of tea with three spoonfuls of sugar, then sat down and wrote out on a sheet of paper, wincing at every movement:
OPTIONS
1. Give up.
2. Don’t give up.
I stared at it for ages. Then at last I put a line through Give up.
The thing with giving up is you never know. You never know whether you could have done the job. And I’m sick of not knowing about my life. So here I am, in my office, reading through a debate on carpet-fiber cost trends, dating from 2005. Just in case it’s important.
No. Come on. It can’t be important. I close the file, stand up, shake out my legs, then tiptoe to my door. I open it a crack and peek hopefully out at the main office. I can just glimpse the basket through the window. It’s still intact.
I feel totally squashed. What’s wrong? Why is no one taking any? Maybe I’ll just make it absolutely clear that these muffins are for everyone. I head out of my room, into the main open-plan office.
“Hi there!” I say brightly. “I just wanted to say, these muffins are from me to all of you. Fresh from the bakery this morning. So…go ahead! Help yourself!”
No one answers. No one even acknowledges my presence. Did I suddenly become invisible?
“So, anyway.” I force myself to smile. “Enjoy!” I swivel on my heel and walk out.
I’ve done my bit. If they want the muffins, they want them. If they don’t, they don’t. End of subject. I really don’t care either way. I sit back down at my desk, open a recent financial report, and start running my finger down the relevant columns. After a few moments I lean back, rubbing my eyes with my fists. These figures are just confirming what I already know: the department performance is terrible.
Sales went up in the last year by a bit, but they’re still far, far too low. We’re going to be in real trouble if we don’t turn things around. I mentioned it to Byron the other day-and he
didn’t even seem bothered. How can he be so blasé? I make a memo on a Post-it-“Discuss sales with Byron.” Then I put my pen down.
Why don’t they want my muffins?
I was really optimistic when I bought them this morning. I imagined everyone’s faces lighting up at the sight, and people saying “What a nice thought, Lexi. Thanks!” But now I’m crestfallen. They must totally hate me. I mean, you’d have to loathe someone to refuse a muffin, wouldn’t you? And these are really deluxe ones. They’re fat and fresh and the blueberry ones have even got lemon icing on them.
A tiny, sensible voice in my head is telling me to leave it. Forget about it. It’s only a basket of muffins, for God’s sake.
But I can’t. I can’t just sit here. On impulse I leap to my feet again and head into the main office. There’s the basket, still untouched. Everyone is typing away or on the phone, ignoring both me and the muffins.
“So!” I try to sound relaxed. “Nobody wants a muffin? They’re really nice ones!”
“Muffin?” Fi says at last, her brow wrinkled. “I can’t see any muffins.” She looks around the office as though baffled. “Anyone seen any muffins?”
Everyone shrugs, as though equally baffled.
“Do you mean an English muffin?” Carolyn’s brow is wrinkled. “Or a French muffin?”
“They do muffins at Starbucks. I could send out if you like,” Debs says, barely hiding her giggles.
Ha-ha. Really funny.
“Fine!” I say, trying to hide my hurt. “If you want to be childish about it, then that’s fine. Just forget it. I was only trying to be nice.”
Breathing hard, I stalk out again. I can hear the sniggers and giggles behind me, but I try to block my ears. I have to keep my dignity; I have to be calm and bosslike. I mustn’t rise. I mustn’t react.
Oh God. I can’t help it. Hurt and anger are rising through me like a volcano. How can they be so mean?
“Actually, it’s not fine.” I march back into the office, my face burning. “Look, I went to a lot of time and trouble to get these muffins, because I thought it would be nice to give you a treat, and now you’re pretending you can’t even see them…”
Remember Me? Page 20
