Remember Me? (27 page)

“Fine,” I say, and shoot a murderous look at Amy. “Whatever.”

“Piss off!” Not-Gwyneth is rounding on a young geeky guy who is tagging along behind her hopefully, holding out a CD. “No, I can’t get that to Chris Martin! I don’t even
like
bloody Coldplay!”

Amy is sucking in her cheeks as though she’s trying not to laugh.

Yeah. This is so funny. We’re all having a great time. I don’t have to be somewhere else really important, or anything.

I fill in all the forms as quickly as I can, stamping a furious full stop after my signature.

“Can we go now?”

“All right. Try and keep tabs on her,” the policeman adds, handing me back a duplicate form and leaflet entitled “Your Guide to a Police Reprimand.”

Keep tabs on her? Why should
I
have to keep tabs on her?

“Sure.” I give a tight smile and stuff the documents into my bag. “I’ll do my best. Come on, Amy.” I glance at my watch and feel a spasm of panic. It’s already ten to twelve. “Quick. We need to find a taxi.”

“But I want to go to Portobello—”

“We need to find a fucking taxi!”
I yell. “I need to get to my meeting!” Her eyes widen and she obediently starts scanning the road. At last I flag one down and bundle Amy into it.

“Victoria Palace Road, please. Quick as you can.”

There’s no way I’ll make it for the start. But I can still get there. I can still say my piece. I can still do it.

“Lexi…thanks,” says Amy in a small voice.

“It’s fine.” As the taxi heads back down Ladbroke Grove my eyes are glued to the road, desperately willing lights to change, willing traffic to move over. But everything’s suddenly solid. I’m
never
going to get there for midday.

Abruptly I pull out my phone, dial Simon Johnson’s office number, and wait for his PA, Natasha, to answer.

“Hi, Natasha?” I say, trying to sound calm and professional. “It’s Lexi. I’m having a slight holdup, but it’s really vital that I speak at the meeting. Could you tell them to wait for me? I’m on my way in a taxi.”

“Sure,” Natasha says pleasantly. “I’ll tell them. See you later.”

“Thanks!”

I ring off and lean back in my seat, a tiny bit more relaxed.

“Sorry,” Amy says suddenly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“No, really, I am.”

I sigh, and look at Amy properly for the first time since we got in the cab. “
Why,
Amy?”

“To make money.” She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll get in serious trouble! If you need money, can’t you get a job? Or ask Mum?”

“Ask Mum,” she echoes scornfully. “Mum doesn’t have any money.”

“Okay, maybe she doesn’t have loads of money—”

“She doesn’t have
any.
Why d’you think the house is falling down? Why d’you think the heating’s never on? I spent half of last winter at my friend Rachel’s house. At least they put on the radiators. We’re skint.”

“But that’s weird,” I say, puzzled. “How come? Didn’t Dad leave Mum anything?”

I know some of Dad’s businesses were a bit dodgy. But there were quite a few of them, and I know she was expecting a windfall when he died. Not that she ever would have admitted it.

“Dunno. Not much, anyway.”

“Well, whatever, you can’t carry on like this. Seriously, you’ll end up in jail or something.”

“Bring it on.” Amy tosses back her blue-streaked hair. “Prison’s cool.”

“Prison’s not
cool
!” I stare at her. “Where d’you get that idea? It’s gross! It’s manky! Everyone has bad hair, and you can’t shave your legs or use cleanser.”

I’m making all this up. Probably these days they have in-prison spas and blow dryers.

“And there aren’t any boys,” I add for good measure. “And you’re not allowed an iPod, or any chocolate or DVDs. You just have to march around a yard.” That bit I’m sure isn’t true. But I’m on a roll now. “With chains around your legs.”

“They don’t have
leg chains
anymore,” Amy says scornfully.

“They brought them back,” I lie without missing a beat. “Especially for teenagers. It was a new experimental government initiative. Jeez, Amy, don’t you read the papers?”

Amy looks slightly freaked. Ha. That pays her back for Moo-mah.

“Well, it’s in my genes.” She regains some of her defiance. “To be on the wrong side of the law.”

“It’s not in your genes—”

“Dad was in prison,” she shoots back triumphantly.

“Dad?”
I stare at her. “What do you mean, Dad?” The idea’s so preposterous, I want to laugh.

“He was. I heard some men talking about it at the funeral. So it’s, like, my fate.” She shrugs and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

“Stop it!” I grab the cigarettes and throw them out the window. “Dad didn’t go to prison. You’re not going to prison. And it’s not cool; it’s lame.” I break off and think for a moment. “Look, Amy…come and be an intern at my office. It’ll be fun. You can get some experience, and earn some money.”

“How much?” she shoots back.

God,
she’s annoying sometimes.

“Enough! And maybe I won’t tell Mum about this.” I flick the yellow leaflet. “Deal?”

There’s a long silence in the taxi. Amy is peeling at the chipped blue varnish on her thumbnail, as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Okay,” she says at last, shrugging.

The taxi pulls up at a red light and I feel a spasm as I consult my watch for the millionth time. It’s twenty past. I just hope they started late. My gaze drifts to the yellow leaflet again and a grin reluctantly creeps over my face. It was a pretty ingenious scheme.

“So, who were your other celebrities?” I can’t help asking. “You didn’t
really
have Madonna.”

“I did!” Amy’s eyes light up. “This woman in Kensington looked just like Madonna, only fatter. Everyone totally fell for it, especially when I said that proved how much air-brushing they did. And I had a Sting, and a Judi Dench, and this really nice milkman in Highgate who looked the spitting image of Elton John.”

“Elton John? A milkman?” I can’t help laughing.

“I said he was doing community service on the quiet.”

“And how on earth did you find them?”

“Just went looking. Gwyneth was my first—she gave me the idea.” Amy grins. “She
really
hates me.”

“I’m not surprised! She probably gets more hassle than the real Gwyneth Paltrow.”

The taxi moves off again. We’re nearing Victoria Palace Road now. I open my presentation folder and scan my notes, just to make sure all the important points are fresh in my mind.

“You know, they
did
say Dad had been in prison.” Amy’s quiet voice takes me by surprise. “I didn’t make it up.”

I don’t know what to say. I can’t get my head around this. Our dad? In prison? It seems…impossible.

“Did you ask Mum about it?” I venture at last.

“No.” She shrugs.

“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been for anything—” I flounder, feeling out of my depth—“you know, bad.”

“D’you remember how he used to call us the girls?” All trace of bolshiness has vanished from Amy’s face. “His three girls. You, Mum, and me.”

I smile reminiscently. “And he used to dance with each us.”

“Yeah.” Amy nods. “And he always bought those massive boxes of chocolates—”

“And you used to get sick…”

“Deller Carpets, ladies.” The taxi has drawn up in front of the Deller Building. I hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” I root in my bag for some money. “Amy, I have to rush. I’m sorry, but this is really, really important.”

“What’s up?” To my surprise she actually looks interested.

“I have to save my department.” I wrench open the handle and scramble out of the cab. “I have to talk eleven directors into doing something they’ve already decided not to do. And I’m late. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Wow.” Amy makes a dubious face. “Well…good luck with that.”

“Thanks. And…we’ll talk more.” I give her a brief hug, then skitter up the steps and crash into the lobby. I’m only half an hour late. It could be worse.

“Hi!” I call to Jenny the receptionist as I run past the desk. “I’m here! Can you let them know?”

“Lexi—” Jenny starts to call something out to me, but I haven’t got time to stop. I hurry to a waiting lift, jab the button for the eighth floor, and wait the agonizing thirty or so seconds it takes to get to the top. We need express lifts in this place. We need emergency, late-for-a-meeting instant lifts…

At last. I burst out, run toward the boardroom…and stop.

Simon Johnson is standing in the corridor outside the boardroom, talking cheerfully to three other guys in suits. A man in a blue suit is shrugging on his raincoat. Natasha is milling around, pouring cups of coffee. There’s a hubbub of chatter.

“What’s…” My chest is bursting with adrenaline. I can barely speak. “What’s going on?”

All the faces turn toward me in surprise.

“Don’t panic, Lexi.” Simon shoots me the same disapproving frown he had before. “We’re having a break. We’ve finished the crucial part of the meeting and Angus has to leave.” He gestures toward the guy in the raincoat.

“Finished?”
I feel an almighty lurch of horror. “Do you mean—”

“We’ve voted. In favor of the reorganization.”

“But you can’t!” I hurry toward him in panic. “I’ve found a way to save the department! We just have to trim a few costs; and I had some ideas about marketing—”

Simon cuts me off firmly. “Lexi, we’ve made our decision.”

“But it’s the
wrong
decision!” I cry desperately. “There’s value in the brand—I know there is! Please.” I appeal directly to Angus. “Don’t leave. Hear me out. Then you can vote again…”

“Simon.” Angus turns away from me, looking embarrassed. “Good to see you. I have to run.”

“Absolutely.”

They aren’t even acknowledging me. No one wants to know. I watch, my legs watery, as the directors file back into the boardroom.

“Lexi.” Simon is in front of me. “I admire your loyalty to your department. But you
cannot
behave like this at directors’ meetings.”

There’s steel beneath his pleasant voice; I can tell he’s furious.

“Simon, I’m sorry…” I swallow.

“Now, I know things have been tricky for you since your accident.” He pauses. “So what I suggest is you take three months’ paid leave. And when you return, we’ll find you a more…suitable role within the company. All right?”

All the blood drains from my face. He’s demoting me.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I don’t need any leave—”

“I think you do.” He sighs. “Lexi, I’m truly sorry about how things have gone. If you recovered your memory, then things would be different, but Byron’s been filling me in on your situation. You’re not up to a senior position right now.”

There’s an absolute finality in his voice.

“Fine,” I manage at last. “I understand.”

“Now, you might want to go down to your department. Since you weren’t here”—he pauses meaningfully—“I gave Byron the task of breaking the unfortunate news to them.”

Byron?

With a final curt nod, Simon disappears into the boardroom. I watch the door as though pinioned to the floor, then with a sudden burst of panic, run to the lift. I can’t let Byron tell them the bad news. I have to do that myself, at least.

In the lift, I punch Byron’s direct line into my cell phone and get his voice mail.

“Byron!” I say, my voice quivering with urgency. “Don’t tell the department about the redundancies yet, okay? I want to do it myself. Repeat, do
not
tell them.”

Without looking right or left I pelt out of the lift, into my office, and close the door. I’m shaking all over. I’ve never been so petrified in my life. How am I going to break the news? What am I going to say? How do you tell all your friends they’re losing their jobs?

I pace around my office, twisting my hands, feeling like I might throw up. This is worse than any exam, any test, anything I’ve ever done….

And then a sound alerts me. A voice outside the door. “Is she in there?”

“Where’s Lexi?” chimes in another voice.

“Is she
hiding
? Bitch.”

For an instant I consider diving under the sofa and never coming out.

“Is she still upstairs?” The voices are getting louder outside my door.

“No, I saw her! She’s in there! Lexi! Come out here!” Someone bangs on the door, making me flinch. Somehow I force myself to move forward across the carpet. Gingerly I stretch out a hand and open the door.

They know.

They’re all standing there. All fifteen members of the Flooring department, silent and reproachful. Fi is at the front, her eyes like stone.

“It…it wasn’t me,” I stammer desperately. “Please listen, everyone. Please understand. It wasn’t my decision. I tried to…I was going to…” I trail off.

I’m the boss. The bottom line is, it was down to me to save the department. And I failed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes, looking from face to unrelenting face. “I’m so, so sorry…”

There’s silence. I think I might melt under the hatred of their gazes. Then, as though at a signal, they all turn and silently walk away. My legs like jelly, I back toward my desk and sink into my chair. How did Byron break it to everybody? What did he
say
?

And then suddenly I spot it in my inbox. A round-robin e-mail under the heading:
COLLEAGUES—SOME BAD NEWS
.

With trepidation I click on the e-mail, and as I read the words, I give a whimper of despair. This went out? Under
my
name?

To all colleagues in Flooring,

As you may have noticed, the performance of Flooring has been appalling of late. It has been decided by senior management to disband the department.

You will all therefore be made redundant in June. In the meantime, Lexi and I would be grateful if you would work with improved efficiency and standards. Remember, we’ll be giving your references, so no slacking or taking the piss.

Yours,
Byron and Lexi

OK. Now I want to shoot myself.

When I arrive home Eric is sitting on the terrace in the evening sun. He’s reading the
Evening Standard
and sipping a gin and tonic. He looks up from the paper. “Good day?”