Page 133 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
‘You can probably work it out,’ Matthew said, his eyes enigmatic.
I shook my head, and stared at him obstinately, trying to keep calm. What was this about? Some other way of making me look stupid? This was awful – waiting for public rejection. All I needed now was for Ebba to turn up too. ‘I don’t want it,’ I said.
‘No returns I’m afraid.’ Matthew folded his arms. ‘A win is a win.’
‘Well, I jolly well want to know what it is,’ said Astrid, ‘and I’d also like to know why you two are being so peculiar.’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘Open the parcel, Alice. It’s rude to look a gift horse in the mouth.’
‘If you don’t want it, I’ll have it,’ said Astrid.
‘Fine, you open it then,’ I retorted. ‘But I want to see what it is before I give it to you.’
‘At last,’ said Astrid, grabbing a pair of scissors from the trestle table.
Matthew moved pretty swiftly. ‘No scissors,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll open it, seeing as Alice won’t.’ He gave me an annoyed glance.
Carefully he peeled off the bubble wrap. The muscles in Matthew’s arms were further contoured by the sunlight as he worked.
‘Looks like a painting,’ said Mum.
Slowly, Matthew flipped the rectangular object around till it was facing us.
‘That’s a lot of red,’ said Mum.
‘Gracious,’ breathed Astrid.
‘Wow,’ said Aziz.
Drunk Stephen just covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Is that, is that anactualYayoi Kusama?’
‘Who?’ I said.
‘Your favourite artist, Alice,’ said Matthew wryly. ‘Remember? We had a bet. Outside your old house. On Boxing Day?’
I thought back to the scene I’d replayed many times. Me, Aziz, Astrid and Matthew. Arguing about my new copy ofThe Guide. Matthew telling me I was vulnerable and stupid. And I told him he was closed-minded. His arrogant, certain, beautiful smile. I swallowed. ‘You mean the bet where if I could prove to you that manifesting really worked… ’
‘. . . I’d not only admit that I was wrong, but also give you my Yayoi Kusama painting,’ said Matthew.
I stared at Matthew, open-mouthed, and then at the painting again.
‘Because he’s my favourite artist,’ I finished for him.
‘She, Alice.’ Matthew shook his head. ‘Sheis supposedly your favourite artist. Which we both know is total bollocks. Anyway. A bet is a bet. And now the painting is yours to do with as you wish.’
Drunk Stephen looked up from where he’d been searching on his mobile phone, his face a cartoon of shock. ‘Oh my god, Alice, do you know how much that painting is worth? You’re rich.’
‘Where would you put it, Alice?’ Mum looked dubious. ‘It’s very red indeed.’
Astrid put her hands up. ‘Hang on. Back up here a minute, Matthew. Are you trying to say that Alice has “proved” to you manifesting works?’
Matthew nodded. ‘She has.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I would like to publicly admit, I was wrong. Manifesting works.’
I looked at him dazed. ‘Did you just admit you were wrong?’
‘Come on,’ scoffed Astrid. ‘No way. As you said yourself, manifesting is simple nonsense for simple minds.’
Matthew smiled.
