Date Monday 16 January Time 3.30am #3
‘You’re welcome,’ said Matthew, opening a bottle of Petit Chablis.
About half an hour later and nearly one bottle of Petit Chablis down (really nice, by the way, a bit like those sour peach Haribos, so Astrid’s wrong, as patently I can and do appreciate fine wine), I was feeling relatively relaxed even though I was hanging out with Matthew.
Maybe it was the wine, or the background lullaby of raindrops on the roof, or the gentle undulating flame of the posh candle, but it all felt quite spiritual and womb-like.
I was barely bothered by the pins and needles from sitting on the floor for so long. Or the ache in my back.
‘Ow,’ said Matthew, suddenly standing up and stretching. ‘I’ve got cramp in my leg.’ He looked down at me, still sitting crossed-legged. ‘How come you’re so comfortable sitting on the floor?’
‘I guess I’m just naturally quite good at physical stuff,’ I said, deciding that as he’d failed first, it was fine for me to stand and move to the sofa.
But as I tried to get up, I found my foot had gone to sleep, and stumbled and banged into the coffee table, knocking the candle; I just managed to save it, before my foot went numb again and I collapsed back on the floor.
‘Gosh, yeah,’ said Matthew. ‘And so graceful. Probably the dancer in you.’
‘It’s actually recommended to lie on your back like this,’ I said casually. ‘Helps to connect with the ground.’
Matthew didn’t answer. He was still stretching his leg, but facing away from me, so I could have a quick stare unwatched. I swear, even in the dark, I could see the muscles on his back and shoulders ripple as he moved. No wonder Ebba had that irritatingly gratified look on her face.
‘Stop staring at me,’ said Matthew.
‘I’m not. I’m focusing on the candle. Like you should be.’
‘I’m not sure I should be,’ said Matthew. ‘I can see green flame imprints everywhere.’
He turned round to face me.
‘You have a green flame instead of a face.’
‘That’s probably your third eye. It just means you’re connecting well,’ I said.
‘No, it probably means I’ve given myself retinal fatigue,’ said Matthew.
I remembered that woman from YouTube who claimed to have permanent eye damage. I hoped I hadn’t burned Matthew’s retinas. I felt pretty sure Astrid would be really pissed off with me if I had. And Mum would go mental. I sat up quickly, and blew out the candle.
‘There we go then. Problem solved. Can you see properly now?’
‘No,’ said Matthew. ‘Maybe turn some lights on?’
We both blinked in the soft glow of the side lamp, our eyes adjusting. Matthew picked up the candle and looked at the label. I felt oddly disappointed that the manifesting was done.
‘Alice, why were we calling this candle Capricorn? It says Baobab on the side.’
‘Because it’s raining,’ I explained.
‘Yeah,’ said Matthew. ‘I still don’t understand. And how is the candle granting wishes? Is it like a candle on a kid’s birthday cake?’
‘The candle doesn’t grant wishes. We were meant to be using Capricorn to manifest and so the candle served as a representation.’
‘Sorry, who is Capricorn?’
‘It’s the new moon tonight – it’s called the Capricorn moon.’
‘Why didn’t we just use the moon then?’ asked Matthew.
‘Because it’s raining !’ For someone with two masters and his own successful business he seemed pretty slow to me.
‘I reckon it would feel marginally less ridiculous to speak to the actual moon,’ said Matthew. ‘As opposed to Astrid’s bathroom candle.’
‘Well, yes,’ I said authoritatively. ‘Manifesting works much better outdoors. Effectively it’s tapping into our longstanding relationship with nature, to ancient ways.
That’s why I have an affinity with nature.
Something I have in common with Romantic poets and ancient philosophers.
And, of course, you’ll find they truly understood manifesting. Aristotle, Descartes. Big fans.’
Matthew gave me a puzzled look and opened his mouth to speak, then paused. ‘Aristotle?’
‘We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then is not an act but a habit,’ I quoted from The Guide , which was proving to be educational as well as helpful. ‘Arguably he was talking about moon manifesting.’
‘Arguably.’ Matthew seemed to grapple with something for a moment. Probably how impressed he was by my philosophical awareness. He walked over to the glass doors and raked his eyes over the garden. ‘It’s a shame. So much light pollution here. You struggle to see the night sky properly.’
‘The weather’s terrible anyway,’ I sighed. ‘You wouldn’t be able to see the Capricorn moon even if we weren’t in London.’
Matthew stared at me for a second, frowning, and then pulled out his phone. ‘I like your thinking, Alice,’ he said, without looking up from his screen.
‘What?’
But he didn’t answer straightaway. I listened to the beat of the rain and waited.
‘Have you got plans later tonight?’ he asked.
I couldn’t tell if he was just making conversation or whether he was asking because he was planning to spend more time with me. I thought about lying, but then took the risk and didn’t. ‘No. None.’
‘Anything pressing early tomorrow morning… ? Work stuff that can’t wait?’
It was Sunday tomorrow. The only pressing commitment I had was to a long lie-in. ‘I know I come across as quite the career-woman, but my diary is pretty clear.’
Matthew glossed over my sarcasm. ‘And you’re still up for more manifesting with me?’
‘Er, of course I am,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘It’s more a question of your suitability and commitment.’
‘I said I was committed to trying manifesting tonight. And I am. But are you happy for us to try talking to Capricorn more directly?’
‘How directly?’ I looked nervously at the miserable weather outside. I may have overemphasised my affinity to nature. ‘I don’t want to get wet.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Matthew, picking up his phone and making a call. I could vaguely hear the sound of a female voice answering. ‘Hey. Tall order I know, but can you organise a helicopter within the hour? And a car to collect me? I’m still in Chiswick.’
What?
He looked over at me, ‘Sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I forgot to check if you were comfortable with me using my privilege and obvious status symbols to fix a meeting with Capricorn… ? I don’t want you to have to sacrifice any principles, so we can use public transport if you prefer?’
I stared at him, momentarily lost for words. ‘No, no,’ I said at last. ‘I could probably manage to push through. Helicopter’s fine.’
A couple of hours later, and as we hurtled round bendy single-track lanes that did not seem road-worthy, narrowly avoiding the dense overhanging woodland on all sides, I was starting to think Matthew’s ideas of privilege and status were not the same as mine; or at least, he certainly used his differently to how I would.
Not only was I now sober and feeling car sick, but I was frankly freaked out by the direction this journey had taken.
It had all started incredibly promisingly: as Matthew made brief arrangements, I’d tried to contain my excitement whilst planning what to wear.
But as soon as he’d finished on the phone, Matthew told me I didn’t have time to change and that what I was wearing was fine, all I needed was a thick coat, and handed me another glass of wine.
And then the car arrived (big step up from your average Uber) and we drove the short distance to Ham Polo Club where our own private helicopter was waiting, and someone gave me a glass of champagne and welcomed me on board, and then within minutes, we were in the air, flying over London.
It was even better than I imagined it would be.
Matthew said he needed to do a bit of work, so I looked out the window, through the raindrops, and watched the city pass by below, and took some selfies that will beat the shit out of anyone else’s, even if my hair was a bit damp.
And then it started to get darker and even though it was no longer raining outside, I couldn’t really see anything below apart from uninteresting shapes, and I’d finished my champagne a while back, and then the helicopter started to slow.
It took me a while to realise we were descending in the middle of this uninteresting nowhere, and for the first time I fully apprehended that our Saturday night out was going to be more than just a helicopter ride, so I said, ‘Are we meant to be landing here? Or are we having an accident?’
Matthew looked up briefly from his phone. ‘Yeah. There’s a car coming. Don’t worry.’
So I relaxed and hoped this car was as luxurious as the last one, which had had cream leather seats and Fiji water (free). But it really wasn’t. It was one of those old-fashioned Land Rovers, which was:
Hard to get into, unless you’re of Astrid / Matthew / Ebba unreasonably tall stature, or capable of doing the splits.
Hard on the hips / thighs / arms / head when you’re repeatedly flung against its sides.
The uncomfortable car was driven by a surly-looking chap who was clearly not going to serve any refreshments, and there was zero conversation because of the overriding sound of a vehicle attempting to navigate terrain that did not want to be navigated.
I was becoming increasingly concerned when the car slowed down and then turned left, into even thicker trees, and onto what can only be described as hostile territory.
The branches were cracking against the windows in a distinctly aggressive manner, and at one point the car pretty much drove vertically and I cast a sideways glance at Matthew who was still glued to his phone screen and I had the horrible thought that he may have planned something awful for me. Deliberately.
Suddenly we came to a stop.
‘You’re taking it from here?’ said the man.
Matthew put his phone in his pocket and nodded at the man. ‘Yeah.’
‘All the arrangements have been made. Any problems, you know how to contact us.’
What arrangements? This whole trip was becoming decidedly sinister.