I grab the bits of glass leopard and head into the kitchen, which is all glossy gray-?lacquer cupboards and rubber floor. I locate a roll of kitchen paper, wrap up the leopard, manage to track down the trash behind a streamlined unit door, and chuck the bits in. Okay. That's it. I am not wrecking anything else. A buzzer sounds through the apartment and I look up my spirits lifting. This must be Rosalie, my new best friend. I can't wait to meet her. Rosalie turns out to be even skinnier than she looked on the wedding DVD. She's dressed in black capri pants, a pink cashmere V neck, and huge Chanel sunglasses pushing her blond hair back. As I open the door she gives a small shriek and drops the Jo Malone gift bag she's holding. “Oh my God, Lexi. Look at your poor face.” “It's fine!'' I say reassuringly. ”Honestly, you should have seen me six days ago. I had a plastic staple in my head.“ ”You poor thing. What a nightmare.“ She retrieves her gift bag, then kisses me on each cheek. ”I would have come around earlier, only you know how long I waited to get that slot at Cheriton Spa.“ ”Come in.“ I gesture to the kitchen. ”Would you like a cup of coffee?“ ”Sweetie...“ She looks puzzled. ”I don't drink coffee. Dr. Andre banned me. You know that.“ ”Oh right.“ I pause. ”The thing i s . . . 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. 96 “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. “Nightmare.” “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, o r . . . 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 smilesbut 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. “Nightmare” she breathes. “But the real problem i s . . . 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...” 98 Rosalie laughs. “Lexi, I've never even seen you with a cocktail! You and Eric are both so serious about wine.” Wine? That can't be right. All I know about wine is that it comes from Oddbins. “You look confused,” Rosalie says anxiously. “I'm bombarding you with too much information. Forget the gossip.” She pushes aside her sheet of paper, on which I can see she's written a list of names with “bitch” and “sweetheart” next to them. “What would you like to do?” “Maybe we could just do whatever we normally do together?” “Absolutely!” Rosalie ponders for a moment, then her brow clears. “We should go to the gym.”