Page 100 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
‘More like the perfect-level-of-challenge fuckable.’
Well, there you go, Matthew Lloyd, I thought.Maybe I’m refreshing and unexpected and the perfect-level-of-challenge fuckable.Doesn’t sound like I’m off to Scotland any time soon.
I drank my margarita, and did not think about Matthew, or what Drunk Stephen would say if he knew I were having drinks here (he’s very derisive about the sort of people that listen to jazz) and then we went back to the serviced apartment and had a lot of slightly slapdash and enthusiastic sex. It had been a week since we’d last had any and you could tell. Well, it had been a week for me, at least. I ended up staying the night there.
Guy woke me up before he left and told me to wait a while before I came to work.
I did a finger and toothpaste job, ordered a coffee fromconcierge (and tried to order painkillers to no avail), squirted a bit of Guy’s Acqua di Parma cologne to cover up the smell of sex and alcohol, and then went into the office. Yaz, Cara and Drunk Stephen all commented that I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but they were too hungover themselves to care. It was only when Yaz was at my desk just now, that I got slightly nervous. She went all nose detective and kept saying that I smelt different to usual but strangely familiar. ‘Have you switched fragrance?’ she said, sniffing me. ‘I swear someone in the office wears exactly the same scent. It’s kind of woody and leathery and lemony, almost like aftershave. I know who it is, it’s on the tip of my tongue.’
‘Probably just residue of margarita from yesterday.’ I backed away from her. ‘I get a bit sloshy when I’m pissed. Have you got any decent painkillers?’
I am grateful for:
Yaz’s fibroids. (Well, obviously I don’t want her to have them but the naproxen she’s been prescribed for it really does sort out a hangover and I am grateful for that.)
Not having a parent in a nursing home. Thank you.
Date: Friday 3 MarchTime: 9.45am
My thoughts and reflections:
It’s kind of amazing how responsive the Universe is… in many ways. Just received this email:
From: [email protected]
Dear Alice,
I am contacting you because it has become apparent that you are in some way known to / have had prior involvement with a member of LL Group. In keeping with our company policy, and to preserve the impartiality of the process, I will be your point of liaison and all responsibility is devolved to me.
I would ask, at this time, that you do not share any information with me regarding your involvement with LL Group, or attempt to make contact with your known person until further notice, otherwise the process may be compromised. Please be aware that you should similarly expect no communication from LL Group, other than from me.
We thank you for your cooperation and understanding;should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to get in contact.
I look forward to meeting you next week.
Clare Atkins
Managing Director
LL Group
I emailed her straight back, asking whether I should let my colleagues know the situation or not mention it. She told me that, as she was unaware of the precise nature of my prior involvement with LL Group, it was my decision, although she suggested I carefully consider any possible ramifications of sharing information and think with regard to professionalism and ‘need to know’. She said based on the information she did have, she could tell me the connection had been deemed ‘personal and insignificant’ in terms of any potential conflict of interest.
So, manifesting works again: I don’t have to see Matthew Lloyd. Which is really good. And it sounds like it’s best if I don’t mention I know him to my colleagues, which is, again, what I wanted. Thank goodness I didn’t get a chance on Monday night! My ‘insignificant’ connection to him. I don’t quite know where he gets off deciding that though. I would say turning up at my family home every bloody Christmas is prettysignificant. I wouldn’t say that summer we spent together working at the Lamb was insignificant. I wouldn’t say that going away to Dartmoor for the night was insignificant. But, you know, whatever. Obviously I won’t attempt to make contact with the complete twat. Not now I’ve been instructed not to. I’ve gothalf a mind to tell my mum though. About the insignificant. She’d make contact. Or maybe I should just track him down myself. Tell him what he can do with his instructions.
In one word:
Rude
Date: Sunday 5 MarchTime: 5.20pm
My thoughts and reflections:
Just got off family FaceTime. Mum and Dad have booked flights to Majorca for the May bank holiday weekend to stay with Aunty Margaret in her flat. I felt extremely envious and like I should have thought of this myself, given that Aunty Margaret said I could stay there. But Mum pointed out that the flights are upwards of £350 return; I couldn’t afford that. Mum and Dad were going on about how theSunday Timeshad come to do a piece on the Lamb and how Dad was going to be quoted as saying that Matthew was ‘like a son’.
That did it; I decided to tell Mum what Matthew had said and get him into trouble. But as soon as I started, Mum cut me off.
