Date Monday 16 January Time 3.30am #2
‘Quite private is it then, manifesting?’ said Matthew conversationally. ‘Just seems like it crops up a lot on social media.’
‘Why don’t you piss off back to your hotel and go arrange face towels or something,’ I hissed at him.
‘No need.’ Matthew took a large crunch of an apple. He had very even white teeth. Like the devil. ‘I’ve got people who do that kind of work for me. How’s your job going by the way? Secure? Pay rise? People know your name?’
I gasped in horror. Matthew Lloyd was insufferable. I looked at his smug, grinning face, his messy damp hair and his horrible tatty torn jeans and his wrist as he took another bite of apple. Hang on—
‘Is that a Rolex?’ I asked him, eyeing his wrist.
‘Well… yes. An old one.’
‘You are such a hypocrite!’ I exploded. After briefly dating Smarmy Sebastian the auctioneer a few years ago (he barked ‘going, going, GONE!’ before he came so that had to end), I happen to know that vintage Rolexes are exclusive and expensive, usually more so than new ones, and should not be worn by people who have holes in their jeans.
‘You’re all sanctimonious and dismissive and you’ve got a Rolex , a model girlfriend, your own hotel, and you travel in helicopters – how much more obvious can you get in terms of status symbols?
How dare you mock me for trying to get somewhere myself when you’re so privileged?
Has it crossed your mind that some of us need manifesting? ’
Matthew drummed his fingers on the island for a second. ‘I told you, Ebba isn’t my girlfriend. And yes, I may have a hotel, but I earned it. Nothing I’ve got has been handed to me on a plate, Alice.’
I couldn’t tell if he emphasised the ‘me’ when he said that.
Was this him making a point again? ‘How come it bothers you that I grew up well off and yet you’re happy to be besties with Astrid and hang out with my family?
It’s not my fault that I grew up like that any more than it’s yours you didn’t. What is your problem with me?’
‘I never said I had a problem with you, Alice.’
‘Not directly to me. But what was it you said about me? Hmm. Let me remember. I think your precise words were, Alice is the quintessential spoilt, lazy youngest child who’ll probably read English because her mother went to school with the Head of Faculty so can get her in. She’s frivolous. ’
‘When did I say that?’ asked Matthew, looking confused.
‘That summer you were doing your master’s. You were telling Ollie all the reasons why you found me unappealing.’
I waited for Matthew to call me out on the fact that this was all more than a decade ago and he didn’t remember any of it. But he just nodded once, then leant back on the counter and folded his arms. ‘Okay. So what else did you hear?’
‘Nothing,’ I lied.
‘I wasn’t telling Ollie why I found you unappealing. I was telling him why he shouldn’t hit on you.’
‘Same difference,’ I said, ignoring the way his biceps flexed.
‘It’s not,’ said Matthew. ‘If you actually think about it.’
Was that another insult about my intelligence?
‘And if I remember correctly,’ he continued, ‘that was on the same evening you kept telling other people that my presence was a classic example of one of your parents’ pet-charity projects, rather like the lame incontinent donkey your dad rescued, that you’d all lived to regret.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ I said. I remembered it perfectly well.
And it wasn’t ‘people’, it was only Monotonous Margot because she was standing near enough to Matthew that I knew he’d overhear.
And it was right after I’d heard Ollie say to Matthew, Come on, mate, be fair, Alice is fit as fuck, and I reckon she’s giving me the eye , and Matthew had shrugged and said, Yeah.
She gives everyone the eye. Don’t go there.
You should go for Astrid. Seriously, Ollie.
If you make a move, I’ll lose all respect.
It had stung so much, I still remember it now.
Plus Monotonous Margot had ruined my efforts to pay Matthew back by saying she’d take him as a pet project in a heartbeat and then she’d droned on for ages as usual.
Actually, on reflection I might have also slagged Matthew off to Crispin, but he’s always doing charity work, so another bad choice.
And German Gunther, but he didn’t even have a British passport so it hardly counted.
‘Well, I remember it,’ said Matthew shortly.
‘I was drunk. People say things when they’re drunk that they don’t mean. All the time.’
‘Then I must have been drunk too.’
‘No, you weren’t, because you were driving really early next morning to see your granny. So stop lying.’
Matthew gave me a curious look. ‘You remember that, and you don’t remember what you said about me?’
‘I remember that you were right. I have turned out unsuccessful. But I’d rather be unsuccessful than end up like you.’
‘How have I ended up?’
‘Rich and prejudiced.’
‘I’m not prejudiced.’ Matthew frowned. ‘You’re the one who judges others instantly. You even give people adjectives – you literally label them.’
I needed to overlook the criticism (accurate if I’m fair) in favour of finding a way to win this argument. ‘Yes, but you are rich and privileged.’
‘Says Alice Carver.’
‘Fine. I’m privileged too. But I am female.’
‘Clutching at straws here, Alice.’
‘No I’m not!’ I said. ‘Because, actually, if you think about it, manifesting is predominantly a female market. And maybe, Matthew Lloyd, that is your problem. Maybe you are a misogynist.’
Matthew stared at me for a moment, and then said, ‘Very good, Alice. Fine. You win. Let’s get on with it.’
‘What?’
‘Manifesting. I’ll join in with you.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘I kind of have to. Can’t have you besmirching me with accusations of misogyny.’
‘But you think manifesting is bullshit.’
‘I do. But I haven’t tried it, so I’ll give it a go. What do we do? Sounded like I have to address Capricorn directly?’
‘No way. You’ll ruin it for me. I’m not doing anything with you.’
‘Come on,’ said Matthew, raising his eyebrows. ‘You can’t hate me that much. I promise I’ll do whatever you tell me to.’ He scratched his jaw, revealing the edge of his tattoo again.
‘Do whatever I tell you to?’
He gave me a slow smile.
Bloody great. Now he thought I fancied him and was thinking about him servicing me sexually. Which I wasn’t. And now I also wasn’t thinking about whether he smiled like that when he was— Fuck. No.
‘Not like that!’ I said, crossly.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ he replied, grinning. ‘Your face did though.’
Self-satisfied, overly confident, unfairly good-looking prick.
I was starting to feel uncomfortably hot and a little bit on the brink, like I did at my eighth birthday party, right before I cried because I came second in musical chairs.
I busied myself by getting a glass of water from the fridge, brushing past Matthew crossly, and then making sure my back was towards him and he couldn’t see my face.
But clearly my back is communicative too because I could tell from his voice that Matthew had stopped grinning. ‘Alice?’ he said, coming closer to me.
‘Piss off. I wasn’t thinking about you like that. I’m seeing someone actually. Someone really eligible, FYI.’
‘Yeah, Astrid mentioned,’ said Matthew. ‘Your boss with hairy knuckles that was shagging your friend?’
‘Well, I’m glad Astrid filled you in,’ I said quietly, wondering just how much more humiliation one person could take. Plainly I was just a joke to my entire family.
‘Alice?’ he said.
I didn’t answer.
‘Don’t go all silent on me.’
I still didn’t answer. I just stared ahead and listened to the raindrops drumming on the roof light and the ticking of the refrigerator and tried not to focus on his physical proximity.
He waited a second and then gently jostled me.
‘Alice. Can we just get on? Even if only for tonight? Look, if you’ve got something else on, I’ll back off.
But if we’re both here, we could hang out together.
I genuinely want to hear about manifesting if it’s important to you. ’
Oh golly. Was Matthew Lloyd trying to be nice? Now I really felt on the brink. I gulped my glass of water and tried to regain some self-control.
‘Fine.’ I set my glass on the island, putting some distance between me and Matthew. ‘But I’m not spending any time with you unless you give me wine and tell Astrid you took it. And you’ll have to take the blame for burning the sage.’
‘Okay,’ said Matthew, going over to the wine fridge and selecting a bottle. It was the shit one without the label I’d picked up from the bargain bin at the Tesco Metro. ‘How about this?’
‘Er, maybe not that one?’
‘Why not?’
‘I bought it as a thank-you gift for Astrid. It’s, erm, special. Why don’t we try one of those Petit Chablis?’ I’ve been desperate to try those but Astrid said they were a corporate gift and they were to be appreciated, not necked by someone like me.
‘Oh no. I think you deserve something special yourself. That Petit Chablis is decent, but you’ve certainly pushed the boat out here. It looks like a really wonderful vintage. Can’t I unscrew it and serve you a lovely glass?’
‘No, seriously, Matthew,’ I said, panicking he was going to make me drink the shit I’d bought. ‘I’d rather have the Petit Chablis.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Matthew grinned at me. ‘Astrid warned me it would be paint stripper and not to open it because she was saving it to make you drink as payback. Do you want me to pour it down the sink?’
Sneaky Astrid. She acted like she was really pleased when I gave it to her.
‘Er no,’ I said, taking the bottle from him.
‘No need to waste wine. Might need it sometime.’ Clearly Matthew, with his hotel bar, had forgotten how normal people are obliged to keep shit wine, cooking sherry and gross holiday spirits on hand for emergencies.
Matthew looked quizzical then turned back to the wine fridge.
‘But thanks for the heads-up,’ I said.