Remember Me?

Remember Me? Page 91

“I want to,” I say stubbornly. “I really believe in Deller Carpets. But I need it soon, for my deal.” I can see the directors exchanging glances. “She had a bump to the head in a car crash,” Simon murmurs to the guy I don't recognize. “She hasn't been right since. You have to feel sorry for her, really.” “Let's just sort it out.” Sir David Allbright waves an impatient hand. “I agree.” Simon heads to his desk, lifts his phone, and punches in a number. “Ken? Simon Johnson here. One of our employees will be coming to see you about the copyright of some old Deller Carpets design. We're closing down the department, as you know, but she's got some idea of licensing it.” He listens for a moment. “Yes, I know. No, she's not a company, just a single operator. Work out a nominal fee and the paperwork, could you? Thanks, Ken.” He puts the phone down, then scribbles a name and number on a piece of paper. “Ken Allison. Our company lawyer. Call him to make an appointment.” “Thanks.” I nod and pocket the paper. “And Lexi.” Simon pauses. “I know we talked about a three-?month leave. But I think that by mutual agreement your employment here should be terminated.“ ”Fine.“ I nod. ” I . . . understand. Good-?bye. And thanks.“ I turn on my heel and walk out. As I open the door I can hear Simon saying, ”It's a terrific shame. That girl had such potential...”

Somehow I get out of the room without skipping. Fi is waiting for me as I step out of the lift at the third floor, and raises her eyebrows. “Well?” 362 “Didn't work,” I murmur as we head to the main Flooring office. “But it's not all over.” “There she is.” Byron heads out of his office as I pass by. “The miracle recovery girl.” “Shut up,” I say over my shoulder. “So, are we really supposed to believe that you've recovered your memory?” His sarcastic drawl follows me. “You're really going to snap back into it?” I turn and regard him with a blank, perplexed gaze. “Who's he?” I say at last to Fi, who snorts with laughter. “Very funny,” snaps Byron, whose cheeks have colored. “But if you think” “Oh, leave it out, Byron!” I say wearily. “You can have my fucking job.” I've arrived at the door to the main office, and clap my hands to get everyone's attention. “Hi,” I say, as everyone looks up. “I just wanted to let you know, I'm not cured. I haven't got my memory back, that was a lie. I tried to pull off a massive bluff, to try to save this department. But... I failed. I'm really sorry.” As everyone watches, agog, I take a few steps into the office, looking around at the desks, the wall charts, the computers. They'll all be pulled down and disposed of. Sold, or chucked into skips. This whole little world will be over. “I did everything I could, but...” I exhale sharply. “Anyway. The other news is, I've been fired. So Byron, over to you.” I register the jolt of shock on Byron's face and can't help a half-?smile. “And to all of you who hated me or thought I was a total hard-?as-?nails bitch...” I swivel around, taking in all the silent faces. “I'm sorry. I know I didn't get it right. But I did my best. Cheers, and good luck, everyone.“ I lift a hand. ”Thanks, Lexi,“ says Melanie awkwardly. ”Thanks for trying, anyway.”

“Yeah... thanks,” chimes in Clare, whose eyes have been like saucers through my speech. To my astonishment someone starts clapping. And suddenly the whole room is applauding. “Stop it.” My eyes start stinging and I blink hard. “You idiots. I didn't do anything. I failed.” I glance at Fi and she's clapping hardest of all. “Anyway.” I try to keep my composure. “As I say, I've been fired, so I'll be going to the pub immediately to get pissed.” There's a laugh around the room. “I know it's only eleven o'clock... but anyone care to join me?” By three o'clock, my bar bill is over three hundred quid. Most of the Flooring employees have drifted back to the office, including a fractious Byron, who has been in and out of the pub, demanding that everyone return, for the last four hours. It was one of the best parties I've ever been to. When I produced my platinum AmEx, the pub people whacked up the music for us and provided hot nibbles, and Fi gave a speech. Amy did a karaoke version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” then got chucked out by the bar staff, who suddenly realized she was underage. (I told her to go back to the office and I'd see her there, but I think she's gone to TopShop.) And then two girls I barely know did a fantastic sketch of Simon Johnson and Sir David Allbright meeting on a blind date. Which apparently they did at Christmas, only of course I don't remember it. Everyone had a great time; in fact, the only one who didn't get totally pissed was me. I couldn't, because I have a meeting with Ken Allison at four-?thirty. “So.” Fi lifts her drink. “To us.” She clinks glasses with 364 me, Debs, and Carolyn. It's just the four of us sitting around a table now. Like the old days.