Page 16 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
Roger’s right eyelid twitched. ‘Hadn’t you boys better check if there are any presents under the Christmas tree?’
I cast a quick look at Roger. His forehead was quite shiny. I reckoned it was getting to him too: Mum and Dad’s openadmiration of Matthew. If I wasn’t finishing this last bit of bacon that Maud was eyeing up, I’d be tempted to follow the twins and escape the Matthew fan club in here.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Mum, moving aside to let the twins out. ‘How can a hotel be a sideline?’
Astrid looked up from her newspaper. ‘Leave Matthew alone, Mum. It’s an investment for him. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Of course I understand investments,’ insisted Mum. ‘But surely Matthew isn’t in the position where he can pop his pocket money in hotels? Are you, Matthew?’
‘Umm… ’ Matthew looked slightly uncomfortable.
Astrid put down her paper and raised her eyebrows at Mum. ‘So rude. You can’t ask someone about their bank balance!’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking Matthew about his bank balance!’ said Mum. ‘I care about him, that’s all, and I want to check he’s not going to end up in trouble and lose property. It happens you know. Shares go down as well as up.’ She sounded both defensive and dispirited.
‘You can ask anything you like, Nell,’ said Matthew, smiling fondly. ‘And thank you for caring. But you don’t need to worry about me. Financially, anyway.’
Smug twat.
‘Oh Matthew.’ Mum tearfully patted his arm. ‘You’ve come so far – your degrees, the business and now… sidelines too!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Dad. ‘Remarkable achievements.’
‘All on your own, too, Matthew,’ said Mum. ‘No handouts.’ She looked meaningfully at me. Little bit hypocritical seeing as Mum got a lot of handouts from her family.
‘Humbling,’ said Dad. ‘Reminds me of Oprah. You knowshe grew up wearing potato sacks? And look at her now. That’s perseverance. Something you’ve got, Matthew.’
‘Yes. It’s the work ethic. I wish you’d take a leaf out of his book, Alice,’ said Mum.
Classic smooth transition on my parents’ part: every commendation for Matthew Lloyd is a vehicle for finding fault with me. I should have seen this coming.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked, handing Dad my empty plate. ‘I’ve always been a really hard worker!’
Astrid and Arrie and Mum all scoffed.
‘How’s that funny? Idowork hard. I’m a self-starter. And I get stuff done. Everyone knows it. In fact, people have said, if a job needs doing, then Alice is the person to ask.’
Everyone seemed to find this hilarious, even Roger and Aziz, which was pretty insulting.
‘Wow,’ said Astrid. ‘Which people?’
Well, technically me. On my CV. But this wasn’t the time to get technical. ‘I pull my weight,’ I said breezily, casually getting out a tea towel from the drawer to help Dad dry, and to illustrate my point.
They all stared at me for a moment. Matthew folded his arms and leant back against the Aga like he was watching a show. I didn’t know why everyone was making a fuss about my top – Matthew’s looked pretty tight around the shoulders and chest to me – if he wasn’t trying to get people to notice the fact he’s all buff, then my name’s not Alice Carver.
Gosh. It was a big tea towel. I quite struggled with it to be honest. Especially with Matthew watching me like that.
‘Is anyone going to tell her it’s a tablecloth?’ said Astrid.
I knew there was something wrong with this tea towel.
‘No,’ said Matthew.
That arsehat actually enjoys watching me suffer. ‘Some of us just see cloths,’ I said loftily. ‘We don’t need to categorise them. I think this says more about your need to put labels on things. I’m sure Aziz, in his esteemed capacity, would agree?’
‘No,’ said Astrid firmly. ‘It’s a marker of just how infrequently you’ve ever dried up. You don’t need to be a psychologist to know that.’
‘There you go again: labelling. Poor Aziz is more than a psychologist. You’re very reductionist, Astrid.’ I could tell the family were impressed by my wise words.
