know that.”
“Oh right.” I pause. “The thing is…I don’t remember. I have amnesia.”
Rosalie is gazing at me, politely blank. Doesn’t she know? Didn’t Eric tell her?
“I don’t remember anything about the last three years,” I try again. “I hit my head and it’s all been wiped from my memory.”
“
Oh
my God.” Rosalie’s hand goes to her mouth. “Eric kept saying things about amnesia and you wouldn’t know me. I thought he was joking!”
I want to giggle at her horrified expression. “No, he wasn’t joking. To me you’re…a stranger.”
“I’m a stranger?” She sounds hurt.
“Eric was a stranger too,” I add hastily. “I woke up and I didn’t know who he was. I still don’t, really.”
There’s a short silence during which I can see Rosalie processing this information. Her eyes widen and her cheeks puff out and she chews her lip.
“
Oh
my God,” she says at last. “
Night
mare.”
“I don’t know this place.” I spread my arms around. “I don’t know my own home. I don’t know what my life is like. If you could help me out, or…tell me a few things…”
“Absolutely! Let’s sit down…” She leads the way into the kitchen area. She dumps the Jo Malone bag on the counter and sits down at the trendy steel breakfast table—and I follow suit, wondering if I chose this table, or Eric chose it, or we both chose it together.
I look up to see Rosalie staring at me. At once she smiles—but I can see she’s freaked out.
“I know,” I say. “It’s a weird situation.”
“So, is it
permanent
?”
“Apparently my memory could come back, but no one knows if it will. Or when it will, or how much.”
“And apart from that, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, except one of my hands is a bit slow.” I lift up my left hand to show her. “I’ve got physio exercises to do.” I flex my hand like the physiotherapist taught me, and Rosalie watches in fascinated horror.
“
Night
mare,” she breathes.
“But the real problem is…I don’t know anything about my life since 2004. It’s just a big black hole. The doctors said I should try and talk to my friends and build up a picture, and maybe that’ll trigger something.”
“Of
course
.” Rosalie nods. “Let me fill you in. What do you want to know?” She leans forward expectantly.
“Well…” I think for a moment. “How did we two meet?”
“It was about two and a half years ago.” Rosalie nods firmly. “I was at a drinks party, and Eric said, ‘This is Lexi.’ And I said, ‘Hi!’ And that’s how we met!” She beams.
“Right.” I shrug apologetically. “I don’t remember.”
“We were at Trudy Swinson’s? You know, who used to be an air hostess, but she met Adrian on a flight to New York, and everyone says she zeroed in on him as soon as she spotted his black Amex…” She trails off, as if the enormity of the situation is hitting her for the first time. “So you don’t remember any
gossip
?”
“Well…no.”
“
Oh
my God.” She blows out sharply. “I have so much to fill you in on. Where shall I start? Okay, so there’s me.” She pulls a pen out of her bag and starts writing. “And my husband, Clive, and his evil bitch ex, Davina.
Wait
till you hear about her. And there’s Jenna and Petey—”
“Do we ever hang out with my other friends?” I interrupt her. “Like Fi and Carolyn? Or Debs? Do you know them?”
“Carolyn. Carolyn.” Rosalie taps the pen against her teeth, frowning thoughtfully. “Is she that lovely French girl at the gym?”
“No, Carolyn my friend from work. And Fi. I must have talked about them, surely. I’ve been friends with Fi forever…we go out every Friday night…”
Rosalie looks blank.
“Sweetie, to be honest, I’ve never heard you mention them. As far as I know, you never socialize with colleagues from work.”
“What?” I stare at her. “But…it’s our thing! We go clubbing and we dress up and we have cocktails…”
Rosalie
“Oh right.” I pause. “The thing is…I don’t remember. I have amnesia.”
Rosalie is gazing at me, politely blank. Doesn’t she know? Didn’t Eric tell her?
“I don’t remember anything about the last three years,” I try again. “I hit my head and it’s all been wiped from my memory.”
“
Oh
my God.” Rosalie’s hand goes to her mouth. “Eric kept saying things about amnesia and you wouldn’t know me. I thought he was joking!”
I want to giggle at her horrified expression. “No, he wasn’t joking. To me you’re…a stranger.”
“I’m a stranger?” She sounds hurt.
“Eric was a stranger too,” I add hastily. “I woke up and I didn’t know who he was. I still don’t, really.”
There’s a short silence during which I can see Rosalie processing this information. Her eyes widen and her cheeks puff out and she chews her lip.
“
Oh
my God,” she says at last. “
Night
mare.”
“I don’t know this place.” I spread my arms around. “I don’t know my own home. I don’t know what my life is like. If you could help me out, or…tell me a few things…”
“Absolutely! Let’s sit down…” She leads the way into the kitchen area. She dumps the Jo Malone bag on the counter and sits down at the trendy steel breakfast table—and I follow suit, wondering if I chose this table, or Eric chose it, or we both chose it together.
I look up to see Rosalie staring at me. At once she smiles—but I can see she’s freaked out.
“I know,” I say. “It’s a weird situation.”
“So, is it
permanent
?”
“Apparently my memory could come back, but no one knows if it will. Or when it will, or how much.”
“And apart from that, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, except one of my hands is a bit slow.” I lift up my left hand to show her. “I’ve got physio exercises to do.” I flex my hand like the physiotherapist taught me, and Rosalie watches in fascinated horror.
“
Night
mare,” she breathes.
“But the real problem is…I don’t know anything about my life since 2004. It’s just a big black hole. The doctors said I should try and talk to my friends and build up a picture, and maybe that’ll trigger something.”
“Of
course
.” Rosalie nods. “Let me fill you in. What do you want to know?” She leans forward expectantly.
“Well…” I think for a moment. “How did we two meet?”
“It was about two and a half years ago.” Rosalie nods firmly. “I was at a drinks party, and Eric said, ‘This is Lexi.’ And I said, ‘Hi!’ And that’s how we met!” She beams.
“Right.” I shrug apologetically. “I don’t remember.”
“We were at Trudy Swinson’s? You know, who used to be an air hostess, but she met Adrian on a flight to New York, and everyone says she zeroed in on him as soon as she spotted his black Amex…” She trails off, as if the enormity of the situation is hitting her for the first time. “So you don’t remember any
gossip
?”
“Well…no.”
“
Oh
my God.” She blows out sharply. “I have so much to fill you in on. Where shall I start? Okay, so there’s me.” She pulls a pen out of her bag and starts writing. “And my husband, Clive, and his evil bitch ex, Davina.
Wait
till you hear about her. And there’s Jenna and Petey—”
“Do we ever hang out with my other friends?” I interrupt her. “Like Fi and Carolyn? Or Debs? Do you know them?”
“Carolyn. Carolyn.” Rosalie taps the pen against her teeth, frowning thoughtfully. “Is she that lovely French girl at the gym?”
“No, Carolyn my friend from work. And Fi. I must have talked about them, surely. I’ve been friends with Fi forever…we go out every Friday night…”
Rosalie looks blank.
“Sweetie, to be honest, I’ve never heard you mention them. As far as I know, you never socialize with colleagues from work.”
“What?” I stare at her. “But…it’s our thing! We go clubbing and we dress up and we have cocktails…”
Rosalie
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