Now what? I survey the controls hopefully for inspiration, but none comes. I have no idea how to work this thing, is the truth. I have no memory of driving a car in my life.
But the point i s . . . I have done it. It's like walking in heelsit's a skill locked away inside me. What I need is to let my body take over. If I can just distract myself enough, then maybe I'll find myself driving automatically. I place my hands firmly on the steering wheel. Here we go. Think about other things. La la la. Don't think about driving. Just let your body do what comes naturally. Maybe I should sing a songthat worked before. “ 'Land of hope and gloree,'” I begin tunelessly, “ 'mother of the freeee.. .” Oh my God. It's working. My hands and feet are moving in synch. I don't dare look at them; I don't dare register what they're doing. All I know is I've switched on the engine and pushed down on one of the pedals and there's a kind of rumbling and... I did it! I switched on the car! I can hear the engine throbbing, as if it wants to get going. Okay, keep calm. I take a deep breathbut deep inside I'm already a bit panicky. I'm sitting at the controls of a Mercedes and the engine's running and I'm not even sure how that happened. Right. Collect yourself, Lexi. Hand brake. I know what that is. And the gear stick. Cautiously I release bothand at once the car moves forward.
Hastily I press my foot down on one of the pedals, to stop it, and the car bucks with an ominous grinding noise. Shit. That didn't sound good. I release my footand the car creeps forward again. I'm not sure I want it doing that. Trying to stay calm, I press my foot down again, hard. But this time it doesn't even stop, it just keeps going inexorably forward. I thrust againand it revs up like a racing car. “Shit!” I say, almost gibbering in fear. "Okay, just...
stop. Stay!“ I'm pulling back on the wheel, but it's making no difference. I don't know how to control this thing. We're slowly heading toward an expensive-?looking sports car parked opposite and I don't know how to stop. In desperation I thrust both feet down again, hitting two pedals at once with a shrieking, engine-?breaking sound. Oh God, Oh God... My face is hot; my hands are sweating. I never should have gotten into this car. If I crash it, Eric will divorce me and I won't blame him “Stop!” I cry again. “Please!” Suddenly I notice a dark-?haired man in jeans coming in at the gates. He sees me gliding forward toward the sports car and his whole face jolts. “Stop!” he yells, his voice faint through the window. “I can't stop!” I yell back desperately. “Steer!” He mimes steering. The steering wheel. Of course. I'm a moron. I wrench it around to the right, nearly dragging my arms out of my sockets, and manage to turn the car off course. Only now I'm heading straight toward a brick wall. “Brake!” The guy is running alongside me. “Brake, Lexi!” “But I don't” “For God's sake, brake!” he yells. The hand brake, I suddenly remember. Quick. I yank it 126 back with both hands and the car stops with a judder. The engine is still running, but at least the car is stationary. And at least I haven't hit anything. My breath is coming fast and hoarse; my hands are still clenched around the hand brake. I'm never driving again. Never. “Are you okay?” The guy is at my window. After a few moments I manage to unclench one of my hands from the hand brake. I jab randomly at the buttons on the car door until the window winds down. “What happened?” he says. “ I . . . panicked. I can't actually drive a car. I thought I'd remember how to, but I had a bit of a panic attack.” Suddenly, with no warning, I feel a tear running down my face. “I'm sorry,” I gulp. ”I'm a bit freaked out. I've had amnesia, you see...“ I look up to see the guy just staring at me as if I'm talking a foreign language. He's got a pretty striking face, now that I come to notice it. High cheekbones, dark gray eyes, and slanted eyebrows gathered in a frown, with dark brown untidy hair. He's wearing a plain gray T-?shirt over his jeans, and he looks a bit older than me, maybe early thirties. He also seems totally dumbfounded. Which I guess is not surprising, bearing in mind he's just come into a car park, minding his own business, to find a girl crashing a car and saying she has amnesia. Maybe he doesn't believe me, I think, suddenly alarmed. Maybe he thinks I'm drunk-?driving and this is all some invented excuse. ”I was in a car crash a few days ago,“ I explain hurriedly. ”I really was. I hit my head. Look.“ I point to the remaining cuts on my face. ”I know you were in a car crash,“ he says at last. He has a very distinctive voice, dry and kind of intense. As though every word he speaks really, really matters. “I heard about it.” “Wait a minute!” I click my tongue, suddenly realizing. “You called out my name. Do we know each other?” A jolt of shock passes over the guy's face. I can see his eyes studying me almost as though he doesn't believe me; as though he's searching for something. “You don't remember me?” he says at last. “Um, no,” I say with an apologetic shrug. “I'm sorry, I'm not being rude; I don't remember anyone I've met in the last three years. My friends... my husband, even. He was a total stranger to me! My own husband! Can you believe it?” I smilebut the guy doesn't smile back or express sympathy. In fact, his expression almost makes me nervous. “Do you want me to park that for you?” he says abruptly. “Oh. Yes, please.” I glance anxiously at my left hand, still clutching the hand brake. “Can I let go of this? Will the car roll away?” A tiny smile flickers over his face. ”No. It won't roll away. You can let go.“ Cautiously I unfurl my hand, which had practically seized up, and shake out the stiffness. ”Thanks so much,“ I say, getting out. ”This is my brandnew car. If I'd crashed it, I can't even think...“ I wince at the idea. ”My husband got it for me, to replace the other one. Do you know him? Eric Gardiner?“ ”Yes,“ he says after a pause. ”I know him.“ He gets into the car, shuts the door, and signals to me to get out of the way. The next moment he's expertly reversed the car safely back into its parking spot. ”Thanks,“ I say fervently as he gets out. ”I really appreciate it.“ 128 I wait for the guy to say ”It's no trouble“ or ”Any time,“ but he seems lost in thought. ”What did they say about the amnesia?“ he says, suddenly looking up. ”Have your memories gone forever?“ ”They might come back anytime,“ I explain. ”Or they might not. No one knows. I'm just trying to learn about my life again. Eric's being really helpful and teaching me all about our marriage and everything. He's the most perfect husband!“ I smile again, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. ”So... where do you fit into the picture?“ There's no response at all from the dark-?haired guy. He's shoved his hands in his pockets and is staring up at the sky. I really don't know what his problem is. At last he lowers his head and surveys me again, his face all screwed up, as though he's in pain. Maybe he is. Maybe he has a headache or something. ”I have to go,“ he says. ”Oh, right. Well, thanks again,“ I say politely. ”And very nice to meet you. I mean, I know we've met before in my previous life, but... you know what I mean!“ I hold out a hand to shake hisbut he just looks at it as though it makes no sense to him at all. ”Bye, Lexi.“ He turns on his heel. ”Bye..." I call after him, then trail off. What a weird guy. He never even told me his name.