Page 129 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
‘What? Besides a sense of pride in your appearance.’
‘She’s looking for an envelope,’ said Mum.
‘I’m not,’ I replied.
‘For Matthew,’ said Mum.
‘What’s that?’ said Dad, joining us.
‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘Is it time for that toast yet?’
‘Alice has lost an envelope addressed to Matthew,’ said Arrie. ‘Have you seen it?’
‘No,’ said Dad, ‘maybe Aziz has. Aziz?’ he called. ‘Aziz, have you—’
‘Dad! Dad!’ I grabbed his arm, my heart racing with panic. ‘It’s fine. I haven’t lost it. It’s fine. Please.’
‘What?’ shouted Aziz.
‘So you haven’t lost it?’ said Arrie.
‘But you kept asking me where it was,’ said Mum. ‘You’re making no sense today, Alice.’
‘Yes,’ said Dad, looking puzzled, ‘why are you writing to Matthew? He’s just over there if you want to speak to him. I can call him if you want. Matthew?’ he shouted.
‘Dad!’ I nearly cried. ‘Please! Leave it.’
‘No problem, darling. They’re coming over now,’ said Dad, looking pleased. ‘We can have that toast to Astrid and Aziz before the other guests arrive.’
I looked over and there they were, Aziz, Drunk Stephen and Matthew Lloyd, coming across the grass towards us.
‘I’ve got to say,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve only ever been attracted to women myself, primarily your mother of course, but Matthew really is an extraordinarily attractive young man. Remarkable. I mean it almost jolts to look at him really.’
If I thought I was sweating before, that was nothing compared to now. Obviously part of it was the treacherous bodily response to Matthew that most other humans clearly shared, including Dad. But the bulk of it was down to the fact that I potentially had about ten seconds of life remaining. I mean, it didn’t seem like Mum or Dad had given Matthew the letter, but the fact remained that it hadn’t been in the bureau, where I left it, and until that letter was back in my possession, I was in danger.
Dad pressed a bottle of champagne into my hands and busied himself getting glasses.
‘Jesus, Alice,’ said Astrid, who’d just wandered over, settling herself on a hay bale. ‘You still look rough. Is something wrong?’
Eight seconds.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, removing the foil and untwisting the metal.
Seven.
‘You don’t look fine,’ said Edwin, running up.
Six.
‘You look like Mrs Hutchinson did after she told Verity to piss off. Did you know teachers aren’t allowed to tell children to piss off?’
Five.
‘She’s fretting because she lost an envelope,’ said Dad. ‘Open the bottle, please, Alice. You’re the expert.’
Four.
‘What envelope?’ said Roger, lugging over a final crate of beer.
