Remember Me? Read online

  Hey. I didn’t score, did I?

  Oh wow. Was I unfaithful to Loser Dave? Am I wearing some hot guy’s oversize T-shirt that I borrowed to sleep in after we had passionate sex all night and that’s why I feel so bruised and sore-

  No, I’ve never been unfaithful in my life. I must have stayed overnight with one of the girls or something. Maybe I’ll get up, have a shower…

  With a huge effort I wrench my eyes open and incline my head a few inches.

  Shit. What the hell-

  I’m lying in a dim room, on a metal bed. There’s a panel of buttons to my right, a bunch of flowers on the nightstand. With an inward gulp I see an IV drip in my left hand, attached to a bag of fluid.

  This is unreal. I’m in hospital.

  What’s going on? What happened?

  I mentally prod my brain, but it’s a big, stupid, empty balloon. I need a strong cup of coffee. I try peering around the room for clues-but my eyes don’t want to peer. They don’t want information, they want eyedrops and three aspirin. Feebly I flop back onto the pillows, close my eyes, and wait a few moments. Come on. I have to be able to remember what happened. I can’t have been that drunk…can I?

  I’m holding on to my one fragment of memory like it’s an island in the ocean. Banana cocktails…banana cocktails…think hard…think…

  Destiny’s Child. Yes! A few more memories are coming back to me now. Slowly, slowly, in patches. Nachos with cheese. Those crummy bar stools with the vinyl all split.

  I was out with the girls from work. At that dodgy club with the pink neon ceiling in…somewhere. I can remember nursing my cocktail, totally miserable.

  Why was I so down? What had happened-

  Bonuses. Of course. A familiar cold disappointment clenches my stomach. And Loser Dave never showed up. Double whammy. But none of that explains why I’m in hospital. I screw up my face tight, trying to focus as hard as I can. I remember dancing like a maniac to Kylie and singing “We Are Family” to the karaoke machine, all four of us, arm in arm. I can vaguely remember tottering out to get a cab.

  But beyond that…nothing. Total blanko.

  This is weird. I’ll text Fi and ask her what happened. I reach toward the nightstand-then realize there’s no phone there. Nor on the chair, or the chest of drawers.

  Where’s my phone? Where’s all my stuff gone?

  Oh God. Was I mugged? That has to be it. Some teenager in a hoodie clonked me over the head and I fell down in the street, and they must have called an ambulance and-

  An even more horrendous thought grips me. What underwear was I wearing?

  I can’t help giving a small moan. This could be seriously bad. This could be the scaggy gray knickers and bra I only put on when the hamper is full. Or that faded lemon thong with the fraying edge and cartoon of Snoopy.

  It wouldn’t have been anything posh. I mean, you wouldn’t for Loser Dave-it’d be a waste. Wincing, I swivel my head from side to side-but I can’t see any clothes or anything. The doctors must have incinerated them in the special Hospital Incinerator for Scaggy Underwear.

  And I still have no idea what I’m doing here. My throat’s feeling really scratchy and I could die for a nice cool glass of orange juice. Now that I think of it, where are all the doctors and nurses? What if I were dying?

  “Hello?” I call out feebly. My voice sounds like someone dragging a grater over a wooden floor. I wait for a response, but there’s silence. I’m sure no one can hear me through that thick door.

  Then it occurs to me to press a button on the little panel. I select the one that looks like a person, and a few moments later the door opens. It worked! A gray-haired nurse in a dark blue uniform enters and smiles at me.

  “Hello, Lexi!” she says. “Feeling all right?”

  “Um, okay, thanks. Thirsty. And my head hurts.”

  “I’ll fetch you a painkiller.” She brings me a plastic cup full of water and helps me up. “Drink this.”

  “Thanks,” I say after gulping the water. “So…I’m guessing I’m in hospital? Or, like, a really high-tech spa?”

  The nurse smiles. “Sorry. Hospital. You don’t remember how you got here?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m a bit hazy, to be honest.”

  “That’s because you had quite a bump on the head. Do you remember anything about your accident?”

  Accident…accident…And suddenly, in a rush, it all comes back. Of course. Running for the taxi, the paving stones wet with rain, slipping on my stupid cheap boots…

  Jeez Louise. I must have really bashed my head.

  “Yeah. I think so.” I nod. “Kind of. So…what’s the time?”

  “It’s eight o’clock at night.”

  Eight o’clock? Wow. I’ve been out of it for a whole day?

  “I’m Maureen.” She takes the cup from me. “You were only transferred to this room a few hours ago. You know, we’ve already had several conversations.”

  “Really?” I say, surprised. “What did I say?”

  “You were a little slurred, but you kept asking if something was ‘baggy.’” She frowns, looking perplexed. “Or ‘scaggy’?”

  Great. Not only do I wear scaggy underwear, I talk about it to strangers.

  “Scaggy?” I try to appear baffled. “I’ve no idea what I meant.”

  “Well, you seem fully coherent now.” Maureen plumps up my pillow. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “I’d love some orange juice, if there is any. And I can’t see my phone anywhere, or my bag.”

  “All your valuables will have been put somewhere safe. I’ll just check.” She heads out and I look around the silent room, still dazed. I feel like I’ve put together only a tiny corner of the jigsaw puzzle. I still don’t know which hospital I’m in…how I got here…Has anyone told my family? And there’s something else nagging at me like an undertow…

  I had been anxious to get home. Yes. That’s right. I kept saying I needed to get home, because I had an early start the next day. Because-

  Oh no. Oh fuck.

  My dad’s funeral. It was the next day, eleven o’clock. Which means…

  Did I miss it? Instinctively I try to get out of bed-but even sitting up makes my head lurch. At last, reluctantly, I lie back down. If I’ve missed it, I’ve missed it. Nothing I can do about it now.

  It’s not like I really knew my dad well. He was never around that much; in fact, he felt more like an uncle. The kind of jokey, roguish uncle who brings you sweets at Christmas and smells of drink and cigarettes.

  Nor was it a massive shock him dying. He was having some big heart bypass operation, and everyone knew there was a 50-50 risk. But still, I should have been there today, along with Mum and Amy. I mean, Amy’s only twelve-and a timid little twelve at that. I suddenly have a vision of her sitting in the crematorium next to Mum, all grave under her Shetland pony fringe, clutching her raggedy old Blue Lion. She’s not ready to see her dad’s coffin, not without her big sister to hold her hand.

  As I lie there, imagining her trying to look brave and grown up, I suddenly feel a tear rolling down my face. It’s the day of my dad’s funeral, and here I am in hospital with a headache and probably a broken leg or something.

  And my boyfriend stood me up last night. And no one’s come to visit me, I suddenly realize. Where’s all my anxious friends and family, sitting around the bed and holding my hand?

  Well, I suppose Mum’s been at the funeral with Amy. And Loser Dave can sod off. But Fi and the others-where are they? When I think how we all went to visit Debs when she had her ingrown toenail removed. We all practically camped on the floor, and brought her Starbucks and magazines, and treated her to a pedicure when it was healed. Just for a toenail.

  Whereas I’ve been unconscious, with an IV drip and everything. But obviously no one cares.

  Great. Just bloody…brilliant.

  Another fat tear trickles down my face, just as the door opens and Maureen comes in again. She’s holding a tray, and
a plastic bag with Lexi Smart written on it in thick marker.

  “Oh dear!” she says as she sees me wiping my eyes. “Is the pain very bad?” She hands me a tablet and a little cup of water. “This should help.”

  “Thanks very much.” I gulp down the pill. “But it’s not that. It’s my life.” I spread my arms hopelessly. “It’s total rubbish, from start to finish.”

  “Of course it’s not,” Maureen says reassuringly. “Things might look bad-”

  “Believe me, they are bad.”

  “I’m sure-”

  “My so-called career is going nowhere, and my boyfriend stood me up last night, and I haven’t got any money. And my sink keeps leaking rancid brown water into the flat below,” I add, remembering with a shudder. “I’ll probably get sued by my neighbors. And my dad just died.”

  There’s silence. Maureen looks flummoxed.

  “Well, that does all sound rather…tricky,” she says at last. “But I expect things will soon turn around for the better.”

  “That’s what my friend Fi said!” I suddenly have a memory of Fi’s eyes shining in the rain. “And look, I end up in hospital!” I make a despairing gesture at myself. “How is this turning around for the better?”

  “I’m…not sure, dear.” Maureen’s eyes are darting helplessly from side to side.

  “Every time I think everything’s crap…it just gets even crapper!” I blow my nose and heave a massive sigh. “Wouldn’t it be great if just once, just one time, life fell magically into place?”

  “Well, we can all hope, can’t we?” Maureen gives me a sympathetic smile and holds out her hand for the cup.

  I pass it back-and as I do so, I suddenly notice my nails. Bloody hell. What on earth-

  My nails have always been bitten-down stumps that I try to hide. But these look amazing. All neat and varnished pale pink…and long. I blink at them in astonishment, trying to work out what’s happened. Did we go for a late-night manicure last night or something and I’ve forgotten? Did I get acrylics? They must have some brilliant new technique, because I can’t see the join or anything.

  “Your handbag’s in here, by the way,” Maureen adds, putting the plastic bag on my bed. “I’ll just go and get you that juice.”

  “Thanks.” I look at the plastic bag in surprise. “And thanks for the bag. I thought it had been nicked.”

  That’s something good, anyway, to have got my bag back. With any luck my phone will still be charged up and I can send a few texts… As Maureen opens the door to leave, I reach into the shopping bag-and pull out a smart Louis Vuitton tote with calfskin handles, all glossy and expensive-looking.

  Oh, great. I sigh in disappointment. This isn’t my bag. They’ve got me mixed up with someone else. Like I, Lexi Smart, would possess a Louis Vuitton bag.

  “Excuse me, this bag isn’t mine,” I call out, but the door has already closed.

  I gaze at the Louis Vuitton wistfully for a while, wondering who it belongs to. Some rich girl down the corridor, must be. At last I drop it onto the floor, flop back on my pillows, and close my eyes.

  Chapter 2

  I wake up to find chinks of morning light edging underneath the drawn curtains. A glass of orange juice is on the nightstand and Maureen is bustling about in the corner of the room. The IV drip has magically disappeared, and I feel a lot more normal.

  “Hi, Maureen,” I say, my voice scratchy. “What time is it?” She turns around, her eyebrows raised.

  “You remember me?”

  “Of course,” I say in surprise. “We met last night. We talked.”

  “Excellent! That shows you’ve come out of post-traumatic amnesia. Don’t look alarmed!” she adds, smiling. “It’s a normal stage of confusion after a head injury.”

  Instinctively I put my hand up to my head and feel a dressing. Wow. I must really have whacked it on those steps.

  “You’re doing well.” She pats my shoulder. “I’ll get you some fresh orange juice.”

  There’s a knock at the door. It opens and a tall, slim woman in her fifties comes in. She has blue eyes, high cheekbones, and wavy, graying blond hair in straggly layers. She’s wearing a red quilted waistcoat over a long printed dress and an amber necklace, and she’s holding a paper bag.

  It’s Mum. I mean, I’m ninety-nine percent certain it is. I don’t know why I’m even hesitating.

  “The heating in this place!” she exclaims in her familiar thin, little-girl voice.

  Okay, it’s definitely Mum.

  “I feel quite faint!” She fans herself. “And I had such a stressful journey…” She glances toward the bed almost as an afterthought, and says to Maureen, “How is she?”

  Maureen smiles. “Lexi’s much better today. Far less confused than she was yesterday.”

  “Thank goodness for that!” Mum lowers her voice a fraction. “It was like talking to a lunatic yesterday, or some…retarded person.”

  “Lexi isn’t a lunatic,” says Maureen evenly, “and she can understand everything you say.”

  The truth is, I’m barely listening. I can’t help staring at Mum. What’s wrong with her? She looks different. Thinner. And kind of…older. As she comes nearer and the light from the window falls on her face, she looks even worse.

  Is she ill?

  No. I’d know about it if she was ill. But honestly, she seems to have aged overnight. I’ll buy her some Crème de la Mer for Christmas, I resolve.

  “Here you are, darling,” she says in overly loud, clear tones. “It’s me. Your mo-ther.” She hands me the paper bag, which contains a bottle of shampoo, and drops a kiss on my cheek. As I inhale her familiar smell of dogs and tea-rose perfume, it’s ridiculous, but I feel tears rising. I hadn’t realized quite how marooned I felt.

  “Hi, Mum.” I reach to hug her-but my arms hit thin air. She’s already turned away and is consulting her tiny gold watch.

  “I can’t stay more than a minute, I’m afraid,” she says with a kind of tension, as though if she lingers too long the world will explode. “I’m due to see a specialist about Roly.”

  “Roly?”

  “From Smoky’s latest litter, darling.” Mum shoots me a glance of reproach. “You remember little Roly.”

  I don’t know how Mum expects me to keep track of all her dogs’ names. There’s at least twenty of them and they’re all whippets, and every time I go home there seems to be another one. We were always an animal-free family-until the summer when I was seventeen. While on holiday in Wales, Mum bought a whippet puppy on a whim. And overnight it triggered this total mania.

  I do like dogs. Kind of. Except when six of them jump up at you every time you open the front door. And whenever you try to sit down on a sofa or a chair, there’s a dog on it. And all the biggest presents under the Christmas tree are for the dogs.

  Mum has taken a bottle of Rescue Remedy out of her bag. She squeezes three drops onto her tongue, then breathes out sharply. “The traffic coming here was terrible,” she says. “People in London are so aggressive. I had a very unpleasant altercation with a man in a van.”

  “What happened?” I say, already knowing that Mum will shake her head.

  “Let’s not talk about it, darling.” She winces, as though being asked to recall her days of terror in the concentration camp. “Let’s just forget about it.”

  Mum finds a lot of things too painful to talk about. Like how my new sandals could have got mangled last Christmas. Or the council’s continual complaints about dog mess in our street. Or, to be honest, mess in general. In life.

  “I’ve got a card for you,” she says, rooting in her bag. “Where is it, now? From Andrew and Sylvia.”

  I stare at her, bemused. “Who?”

  “Andrew and Sylvia, next door!” she says, as though it’s obvious. “My neighbors!”

  Her next-door neighbors aren’t called Andrew and Sylvia. They’re Philip and Maggie.

  “Mum-”

  “Anyway, they send their love,” she says, interrupting me.
“And Andrew wants to ask your advice on skiing.”

  Skiing? I don’t know how to ski.

  “Mum…” I put a hand to my head, forgetting about my injury, and wince. “What are you talking about?”

  “Here we are!” Maureen comes back into the room, bearing a glass of orange juice. “Dr. Harman’s just coming along to check you over.”

  “I must go, darling.” Mum gets to her feet. “I left the car on some extortionate parking meter. And the congestion charge! Eight pounds I had to pay!”

  That’s not right either. The congestion charge isn’t eight pounds. I’m sure it’s only five quid, not that I ever use a car-

  My stomach plunges. Oh my God-Mum’s getting dementia. That has to be it. She’s already going senile, at the age of fifty-four. I’ll have to speak to one of the doctors about her.

  “I’ll be back later with Amy and Eric,” she says, heading to the door.

  Eric? She really calls her dogs some odd names.

  “Okay, Mum.” I smile brightly, to humor her. “Can’t wait.”

  As I sip my juice I feel a bit shaken up. Everyone thinks their mum is a bit crazy. But that was seriously crazy. What if she has to go into a home? What will I do with all the dogs?

  My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and a youngish doctor with dark hair enters, followed by three other people in medical uniforms.

  “Hello there, Lexi,” he says in a pleasant, brisk manner. “I’m Dr. Harman, one of the resident neurologists here. These are Nicole, a specialist nurse, and Diana and Garth, our two trainee doctors. So, how are you feeling?”

  “Fine! Except my left hand feels a bit weird,” I admit. “Like I’ve been sleeping on it and it isn’t working properly.”

  As I lift up my hand to show him, I can’t help admiring my amazing manicure again. I must ask Fi where we went last night.

  “Right.” The doctor nods. “We’ll take a look at that; you may need some therapy. But first I’m going to ask you a few questions. Bear with me if some of them seem blindingly obvious.” He flashes a professional smile and I get the feeling he’s said all this a thousand times before. “Can you tell me your name?”