Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life

Date Saturday 24 December Time 7.20pm

Sometimes we need to take a step back in order to take two steps forward. Nudges can feel bad but that’s okay: that’s the Universe giving you the motivation to change. Pick one of the above nudges that you found particularly difficult – ideally one that resulted in strongly negative feelings.

Matthew Fucking Lloyd

Now take a few moments to relive it and record it as it happened .

It’s a tableau of the library in a fine country house that would grace any am-dram flyer for an Agatha Christie play: we’re temporarily immobilised in situ, our faces illuminated by the amber sconces; the plush, worn comfort of the armchairs and rugs at odds with the garish scene unfolding.

I’m by the fire, Monty’s gripping me with one arm, although he’s backed off slightly, and I know I’m still alive because I can feel the heat from the flames hazing and licking, the dampness of sweat on my lower back, and the pressure of Monty’s fingertips on my upper arm, but I feel like I’m watching it happen from a distance.

Of all the people I’d least like to have overheard that conversation, I’d say Matthew Lloyd is probably top of the list. I mean, obviously I wouldn’t want Monty’s mother to have heard but let’s face it – after this wedding it’s not like we’re going to spend much time together.

Minty would have been awful – but mainly for Monty.

Astrid hearing – well, that’s annoying but it’s happened and I’ll cope.

She was cross with me before this and she’ll be even crosser now.

But I’m used to that. My sisters don’t know how to have fun, that’s half the reason they’re permanently pissed off with me.

Besides, she’ll get over this. She has to. She’s my sister.

But Matthew Lloyd…

There are so many people at this bloody wedding.

Everybody from school is here. Everybody from Little Minchcombe.

Practically everybody from the whole bloody county.

Why, oh why, out of everyone here, did it have to be Matthew Lloyd?

He wasn’t even meant to be coming. I checked with Mum.

Twice. And then I checked once with Astrid.

Actually, come to think of it – he shouldn’t be here!

I feel my vertebrae click back together in indignation and I break the silence.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I demand.

Matthew doesn’t blink, although Astrid shakes her head in despair, and Monty sort of whinnies slightly, like a horse, and applies more pressure to my arm.

God. The Matthew Lloyd effect already. Everyone falling over themselves to ingratiate.

Well, it doesn’t work on me. Yes, he won all the prizes in the nature lottery and is objectively, provokingly good-looking (and he knows it) but he’s scruffy and cocky and for people like me, who aren’t shallow, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

Which, in his case, is an arrogant know-it-all who acts like he’s your friend only to stab you in the back.

‘Seriously. Were you even invited? I’m surprised they let you in here looking like that!’

‘Alice!’ reprimands Monty, pulling away from me like he’s been scalded and walking over to Matthew. ‘Of course he was invited. And thank you by the way, Matthew. Really. Thank you.’

Monty’s not attractive when he’s simpering. What’s he thanking Matthew for anyway? Eavesdropping?

‘You’d better get back to your wife, Monty,’ says Matthew.

His voice has got gravelly. I bet he puts it on.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ mutters Monty, making to go through the doorway. But of course he can’t. Because Matthew Lloyd deliberately doesn’t move. He just stands there, in his silly trainers, which I imagine are a total no-no nowadays in this place, taking up the space. So Monty has to wait.

‘For goodness sake,’ I say at last, patience deserting me. ‘Matthew, just let Monty out, would you. And Julian too, whilst you’re at it.’

Matthew turns slightly, so that Monty can technically access the door handle if he makes himself small, but Monty falters and looks back towards me. ‘Please just tell me, if I weren’t with Minty, would there have been any chance of you reconsidering us?’

‘Oh come on, Monty!’ Astrid says. ‘Absolutely ridiculous.’

I give Astrid a sharp look. That stung. Especially in front of Matthew. ‘Why do you have to be so mean? It’s not ridiculous that someone might want me, you know.’

‘He just got married!’ says Astrid.

She has a point.

‘Alice?’ says Monty hopefully, breaking the silence.

I can hear the faint whistling of heightened emotion through his nostril hairs.

I shake my head. ‘Sorry, Monts.’ I feel pretty horrible watching his shoulders slump. ‘You know we don’t really work… ’

‘Well, Alice,’ says Joyless Julian, ‘you made me very happy during the dinner earlier when we had a very pleasant exchange about the beef, but after this little show, I’m certainly going to rethink the email I was planning to send you asking if we could rekindle.’

‘Er, okay,’ I say.

‘Look, Monty,’ says Julian, sounding uncharacteristically firm. ‘You just need to stay away from Alice. She toys with one’s feelings. Frankly, and I’m sorry to be blunt, Alice, but she’s flighty. You’re better off with Minty. You really are.’

He takes Monty’s arm and steers him out of the library.

‘Yes,’ says Astrid. ‘So much better off.’ She flips me the finger as she follows them out the room, the oak and glass door shutting the chatter and laughter and music of the wedding party softly behind them.

And then it’s just me and Matthew and the sound of the flames crackling and hissing.

So, Astrid’s slated me and Joyless Julian has spoken his mind. Matthew’s certainly not going to hold back. I brace myself for what he’s going to say about me this time.

But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at me.

I stand there waiting, carefully not looking at him either.

His face is slightly in shadow and he’s leaning against the stone door jamb.

He’s definitely filled out in the last few years.

He always had that lean footballer strength thing, but now his shoulders and chest have got bigger, he looks more like a threat.

And then, after a while, he walks over to the sofa and flops down on it, occupying the space. He scratches his already messy hair, then yawns widely, not bothering to cover his mouth, and I notice his faded sweater’s got a hole in the elbow.

Christ, he’s rude. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ I ask.

‘Nope.’

‘Really? Don’t you want to have a go at me for leading Monty on?’

‘Not at all,’ he says mildly, looking at the fire. ‘Monty was clearly the one hitting on you. It’s not your fault he can’t keep away. Besides – he’s the one who’s married.’

For a moment, I’m quiet. Is Matthew Lloyd being nice?

Then he says, ‘Although I would question what you were ever doing dating someone like Monty in the first place. He’s a total idiot.’

‘What?’

Matthew lazily gets off the sofa and wanders over to the fire, picking up the brass poker hanging in the mammoth stone hearth and stoking the fire. He keeps his back to me.

‘I’ve always wondered… ’ says Matthew, and then tails off.

‘What… ?’ I say impatiently.

Matthew turns to face me. ‘Does Monty breathe through his mouth like that when he’s shagging? Or does the nose whistle turn you on? I wonder what first attracted you to him? The title? The castle? His love of cheese maybe? Yes, probably it was the cheese… ’

He smiles at me.

‘Fuck OFF, Matthew!’ I say, going to kick him hard on the shin, but he moves to the side right at the last moment so I end up kicking the stupid log basket instead: a shooting pain sears up my foot as the basket tips, scattering logs over the hearth. ‘Ow!’ My eyes water. ‘I think my toe’s broken.’

Matthew just laughs, which makes me even crosser.

‘Are you going to leave me in agony? At least Monty’s a gentleman,’ I say. ‘Unlike you.’

‘Every inch,’ agrees Matthew. ‘Minty’s got herself a real catch.’

He grins, then turns away from me, bends down, rights the basket and retrieves the rolling logs. The pain is subsiding slightly, but he doesn’t know that, which makes me hate him even more. Why’s he messing around with the logs when I potentially have a fracture?

‘Just leave the logs,’ I snap. ‘They have people to do that sort of thing here!’

He pauses, but doesn’t turn round. ‘People who will hold your drink for you, pick up for you, that sort of thing?’ he says. ‘Clear up your mess? I guess that’s what staff are for.’

I feel my face getting hotter. Wanker. I don’t get what his problem is. He knows I worked here just like he did: we were both bar staff that summer. Although I suppose he had to do more hours. And every holiday. But that was hardly my fault. ‘Well, we’re all suited to certain roles in life,’ I say.

‘Absolutely,’ agrees Matthew, standing up. ‘And you certainly seem to be sticking to the same old thing, don’t you?’

What does that mean? I’m pretty sure he just insulted me.

But now he’s just staring at that painting above the fire, silhouetted against the flickering topaz light, like I’m not even there.

I mean, I know it’s art, and I’d never admit it in public, but I’m kind of with Monty here: it’s not that interesting.

But Matthew is seemingly fascinated. He moves closer to the painting, and then adjusts it.

Who the fuck adjusts a painting in a hotel?

‘Careful,’ I say. ‘That’s a Banksy print, and I happen to know it’s exceedingly expensive.’

‘It’s not a print. It’s an original.’

‘Whatever.’ I aim below the belt, but I don’t care. He deserves it. ‘If I were you, Matthew Lloyd, I’d keep my hands off things I couldn’t afford.’

But he just chuckles.

‘God, you’re an arsehole,’ I finally snap.

At that precise moment, I feel the faint coldness of air from the door swishing shut, and hear the noise of the wedding, as someone politely clears their throat behind us.

I swing round. It’s one of the hotel managers who intimidated me earlier on reception; frankly she looks like she should be modelling, not working in a hotel.

It’s a clear power move from whichever cool fucker has taken over the Lamb.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she says smoothly.

‘Not at all,’ I say sweetly and politely. I may not be six feet tall like her, but I can play nice.

She gives me an appreciative smile: good manners cost nothing and I hope Matthew Lloyd has taken note.

Then she looks past me.

‘That call’s come through… ?’ she says.

‘Thanks, Rachel,’ says Matthew, checking his watch and walking briskly towards the door. ‘I’ll take it in the office.’

What?

I think my mouth is still hanging open as the library door shuts slowly. I turn to Rachel, who is following Matthew out. ‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘Does he work here again or something?’

‘Matthew?’ she checks, pausing.

‘Yes. Matthew.’ I nod.

‘Barely.’ She tosses her glossy mane and smiles at me. ‘Only when he’s in the country. Now he’s got this place where he wants it, he more or less leaves us to get on with it.’

‘Got this place where he wants it?’ I repeat inanely.

‘It’s even better than he told us it would be,’ she says.

‘But it’s not surprising. I mean it was his vision.

Apparently he’s always imagined it since he was a boy – he grew up in the village, you know?

I’ve worked in some amazing hotels but none of them were like this.

And he doesn’t pay me to say that by the way. ’ Rachel laughs prettily.

‘Sorry: are you saying Matthew Lloyd has become a hotel manager?’

‘No.’ Rachel laughs again. ‘He’s the owner.’

Just as I realise that there’s a small bit of saliva actually coming out of the corner of my mouth, the library door opens a fraction, a scuffed trainer toe appears and a deep voice says, ‘Rachel?’

‘Yes?’ She swings to attention.

‘I forgot to mention: this guest may well need assistance to dial 999 on account of her horribly broken toe, and if you could send Troy or Kate through to hold her drink as well, that would be super.’

Rachel frowns.

‘She’s a code 44,’ says Matthew. ‘Standard princess treatment.’

Rachel stifles a snigger.

‘Plus you may want to check the attire of the other guests,’ says Matthew, ‘in case it offends Alice. We wouldn’t want that.’

Then he raises his eyebrows at me, flashes that smug smile and disappears.

I fucking HATE Matthew Lloyd.