“Come on.” Jon pulls the menu down so he can see my face. “You can’t hide. What happened?”
He thinks this is funny. I can tell it from his voice. With a jag of wounded pride, I slap the menu down on the table.
“If you must know,” I say tightly, “I spoke to Rosalie at the party, and she told me about your…predilections. I know it was all bullshit. And I don’t appreciate being bull-shitted, thanks.”
“Lexi-”
“Don’t try and pretend, okay? I know you tried it on with her and Margo.” An edge of bitterness has crept into my voice. “You’re just some smooth operator who tells married women what they want to hear. What you think they want to hear.”
Jon’s expression doesn’t flicker.
“I did try it on with Rosalie and Margo. And I might have gone”-he hesitates-“a tad too far. But you and I agreed I should. That was our cover.”
Well, of course he’d bloody well say that.
I glare at him in impotent fury. He can say anything he likes, and there’s no way for me to know whether he’s speaking the truth or not.
“You have to understand.” He leans across the table. “It was all fake. We cooked up a story that would fool everyone, so if we were ever spotted together, that could be the explanation. Rosalie fell for it, just like we wanted her to.”
“You wanted to be portrayed as a womanizer?” I retort, rolling my eyes.
“Of course not!” There’s a sudden heat to his voice. “But we had a couple of…near misses. Rosalie, in particular-she’s sharp. She would have cottoned on.”
“So you chat her up.” I can’t help the sarcasm. “Nice. Really classy.”
Jon meets my look steadfastly. “You’re right. This hasn’t all been pretty. It’s not a perfect situation and we’ve made mistakes.” He reaches a hand toward mine. “But you have to trust me, Lexi. Please. You have to let me explain everything.”
“Stop it!” I whip my hands away. “Just…stop! We’re not here to talk about that, anyway, it’s irrelevant. Let’s stick to the subject.” A waitress approaches the table and I look up. “A cappuccino, please.” As soon as the waitress moves away, I say briskly, “So, this deal. It doesn’t exist. I’ve looked everywhere. I went into the office and searched every tiny corner, every computer file. I’ve looked at home, nothing. The only thing I’ve found is this.” I reach into the briefcase and produce the piece of paper with the coded scribbles on it. “There was an empty drawer in my desk. This was in there.”
I’m half-hoping Jon’s eyes will light up and he’ll say, “Aha! The key!” like we’re in The Da Vinci Code. Instead he glances at it and shrugs. “That’s your handwriting.”
“I know it’s my handwriting.” I try to keep my patience. “But I don’t know what it means!” In frustration I throw the paper down. “Why on earth didn’t I keep my notes on the computer?”
“There’s a guy at work, Byron?”
“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 café 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.
“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 Victoria-there’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.
I open my mouth to speak-but I’m too confused. My head is teeming with thoughts.
“Okay,”
I say at last. “Okay. Thanks.”
***
We have our story totally worked out. At least I do. If anyone asks, Jon is giving me a driving lesson. He just happened to drop by when I was getting into the car, and just happened to offer.
But no one does ask.
It’s a sunny day, and as Jon reverses the car out of its parking space, he retracts the roof. Then he reaches in his pocket and hands me a black hair elastic. “You’ll need this. It’s windy.”
I take the hair elastic in surprise. “How come you have this in your pocket?”
“I have them everywhere. They’re all yours.” He rolls his eyes, signaling left. “I don’t know what you do, shed them?”
Silently, I put my hair up into a ponytail before it can get windswept. Jon turns onto the road and heads to the first junction. “It’s in Kent,” I say as we pull up at the lights. “You have to head out of London on the-”
“I know where it is.”
“You know where my mother’s house is?” I say a touch incredulously.
“I’ve been there.”
The lights turn green and we move on. I stare out at the grand white houses passing by, barely noticing them. He’s been to Mum’s house. He knows about Fi. He has my hair elastic in his pocket. He was right about the blue folder. Either he’s really, really done his research, or…
“So…hypothetically,” I say at last. “If we were once lovers…”
“Hypothetically.” Jon nods without turning his head.
“What exactly happened? How did we…”
“Like I told you, we met at a launch party. We kept bumping into each other through the company. I came over to your place more and more. I’d arrive early, while Eric was still tied up. We’d chat, hang out on the terrace… It was innocuous.” He pauses, negotiating a tricky lane-change. “Then Eric went away one weekend. And I came over. And after that…it wasn’t so innocuous.”
I’m starting to believe. It’s like the world is sliding-a screen is going back. Colors are becoming sharper and clearer.
“So what else happened?” I say.
“We saw each other as often as we could.”
“I know that.” I cast around. “I mean…what was it like? What did we say, what did we do? Just…tell me stuff.”
“You crack me up.” Jon shakes his head, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “That’s what you always said to me in bed. ‘Tell me stuff.’”
“I like hearing stuff.” I shrug defensively. “Any old stuff.”
“I know you do. Okay. Any old stuff.” He drives silently for a while and I can see a smile pushing at his mouth as he thinks. “Everywhere we’ve been together, we’ve ended up buying you socks. Same thing every time, you rip off your shoes to be barefoot on the sand or the grass or whatever, and then you get cold and we need to find you socks.” He pulls up at a crosswalk. “What else? You’ve got me into putting mustard on fries.”
“French mustard?”
“Exactly. When I first saw you, I thought it was an evil perversion. Now I’m addicted.” He pulls away from the crossing and turns onto a big dual carriageway. The car is speeding up; he’s harder to hear over traffic noise. “One weekend it rained. Eric was away playing golf and we watched every single episode of Doctor Who, back to back.” He glances at me. “Should I keep going?”
Everything he’s saying is resonating. My brain is tuning up. I don’t remember what he’s talking about, but I’m feeling stirrings of recognition. It feels like me. This feels like my life.
“Keep going.” I nod.
“Okay. So…we play table tennis. It’s pretty brutal. You’re two games ahead, but I think you’re about to crack.”
“I am so not about to crack,” I retort automatically.
“Oh, you are.”
“Never!” I can’t help grinning.
“You met my mum. She instantly guessed. She knows me too well to kid her. But that’s okay. She’s cool, she’d never say anything.” Jon pulls into another lane. “You always sleep on the left. We’ve had five whole nights together in eight months.” He’s silent for a moment. “Eric’s had two hundred and thirty-five.”
I don’t know how to reply to that. Jon’s gaze is focused ahead; his face is intent. “Should I keep going?” he says at last.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat huskily. “Keep going.”
***
As we drive through the Kent countryside, Jon has exhausted all the details he can give me about our relationship. Obviously I can’t supply any of my own, so we’re sitting in silence as the hop fields and oast houses pass by. Not that I’m looking at them. I grew up in Kent, so I don’t even notice the picturesque, garden-of-England scenery. Instead I’m watching the GPS screen in a trance; following the arrow with my gaze.
Suddenly it reminds me of my conversation with Loser Dave, and I heave a sigh.
“What’s up?” Jon glances over.
“Oh, nothing. I just still keep wondering, how did I get to where I am? What made me go after my career, get my teeth done, turn into this…other person?” I gesture at myself.
“Well,” says Jon, squinting up at a sign. “I suppose it started with what happened at the funeral.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. The thing with your dad.”
“What about my dad?” I say, puzzled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a screech of brakes, Jon stops the Mercedes right next to a field full of cows, and turns to face me. “Didn’t your mother tell you about the funeral?”
“Of course she did!” I say. “It happened. Dad was…cremated or whatever.”
“That’s it?”
I rack my brain. I’m sure Mum didn’t say anything else about the funeral. She changed the subject when I brought it up, I suddenly recall. But, I mean, that’s normal for Mum. She changes every subject.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Jon puts the car back into gear. “This is unreal. Do you know anything about your life?”
“Apparently not,” I say, a bit rattled. “Well, tell me! If it’s so important.”
“Uh-uh.” Jon shakes his head as the car moves off again. “Not my call. Your mum has to tell you this one.” He turns off the road and pulls into a gravel drive. “We’re here.”
So we are. I hadn’t even noticed. The house is looking pretty much as I remember it: a redbrick house dating from the 1900s, with a conservatory on one side and Mum’s ancient Volvo parked in front. The truth is, the place hasn’t changed since we moved in twenty years ago; it’s just got more crumbly. A length of gutter is hanging off the roof and ivy has crept even farther up the walls. Under a moldy tarpaulin at the side of the drive is a pile of paving stones that Dad once dumped there. He was going to sell them and start a business, I think. That was…eight years ago? Ten?
Through the gate I can just glimpse the garden, which used to be quite pretty, with raised flower beds and a herb patch. Before we got the dogs.
“So…you’re saying Mum lied to me?”
Jon shakes his head. “Not lied. Edited.” He opens the car door. “Come on.”
***
The thing about whippets is they look quite slight, but when they stand on their hind legs they’re huge. And when about ten of them are trying to jump up on you at once, it’s like being mugged.
“Ophelia! Raphael!” I can just about hear Mum’s voice over the scrabbling and yelping. “Get down! Lexi, darling! You really did rush down here. What is all this?” She’s wearing a corduroy skirt and blue-striped shirt with fraying hems at the sleeves, and she’s holding an ancient “Charles and Diana” tea towel.
“Hi, Mum,” I say breathlessly, manhandling a dog off me. “This is Jon. My…friend.” I gesture at Jon, who is gazing a whippet straight in the eyes and saying, “Put your paws on the floor. Step away from the humans.”
“Well!” Mum seems flustered. “If I’d realized, I would have rustled up some lunch. How you expect me to cater at th
is late notice-”
“Mum, we don’t expect you to cater. All I want is that folder. Is it still there?”
“Of course.” She sounds defensive. “It’s perfectly all right.”
I hurry up the creaky green-carpeted stairs and into my bedroom, which still has the floral Laura Ashley wallpaper it always did.
Amy’s right-this place stinks. I can’t tell if it’s the dogs or the damp or the rot…but it should get sorted. I spot the folder on top of a chest of drawers and grab it-then recoil. Now I know why Mum was defensive. This is so gross. It totally smells of dog pee.
Wrinkling my nose, I gingerly extend two fingers and open it.
There’s my writing. Lines and lines of it, clear as day. Like a message from me to…me. I scan the first page, trying to glean as quickly as possible what I was doing, what I was planning, what this is all about… I can see I had written some sort of proposal, but what exactly? I turn the page, my brow wrinkled in bewilderment, then turn another page. And that’s when I see the name.
Oh. My God.
In an instant, I understand. I’ve got the whole picture. I raise my head, my heart thudding with excitement. That is such a good idea. I mean, that is such a good idea. I can already see the potential. It could be huge, it could change everything…
Filled with adrenaline, I grab the folder, not caring how it smells, and rush out of the room, taking the stairs two steps at a time.
“Got it?” Jon is waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Yes!” A smile licks across my face. “It’s brilliant! It’s a brilliant idea!”
“It was your idea.”
“Really?” I feel a glow of pride, which I try to quell. “You know, this is what we needed all along. This is what we should have been doing. If this works out, they can’t give up carpeting. They’d be mad.”
A dog jumps up and tries to chew my hair, but even that can’t dent my mood. I can’t believe I put together this deal. Me, Lexi! I can’t wait to tell everyone-
“Now!” Mum is approaching bearing a tray of coffee cups. “I can at least offer you a cup of coffee and a biscuit.”
Remember Me? Page 27
