Page 43 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
I manifest the perfect man falling in love with me: it was easy to conjure up Guy Carmichael because I’ve spent so much time watching him in various meetings, many of which I haven’t even been part of, but the glass office means I can see him most of the time. He was an officer in the army and you can tell because not only does he have strong forearms but he is always immaculately presented with perfectly pressed pastel shirts and freshly trimmed hair. And it was just as easy to visualise Guy Carmichael pushing me up against the floor-to-ceiling windows in his glass office, a look of raw hunger in his eyes, and kissing me with overwhelming sexual desire and love, etc.; it’s something I’ve imagined loads of times. (Annoyingly, I then got a sudden flashback to yesterday evening when I stumbled into Matthew in Astrid’s hallway, the solidity of his chest against my palms, the heat of his hand as he steadied me. Bloody Matthew Lloyd. Always turning up when I didn’t want him to.)
I manifest having a gorgeous flat to live in from 4 January: goodness this one was urgent. Given the tenants were arriving in twenty-four hours, I had to sort out two flats. I started by trying to replace the mental image of the rats and the mess in Aunty Margaret’s flat with the way it had looked when I first moved in – fresh, clean, rat-free – and imagined the new tenants wheeling their suitcases in and being pleasantly surprised. And then I tried to imagine a nice new, comfortable flat for me. It wasn’t easy to create out here in the chill, damp January air. I ended up borrowing Astrid’s house instead, which I can see as clearly as a photograph. Her house is like the ideal home – you could find it in a magazine spread. Every little detail has been thought through (that’s Astrid for you)and it totally works and I’m totally envious. Plus it’s got those luxuries I dream of having: I could almost feel the warmth of the underfloor heating beneath my chilled feet, instead of patchy grass and mud.
I manifest not getting fired:hard to imagine an absence of something. So decided to visualise placing a symbol of permanence – a pot plant – on my desk, and focus on the next manifestation which can only happen if I don’t get fired.
I manifest getting a better job:this one was easy as pie because, like Guy Carmichael, it’s a daily fantasy, or indeed several fantasies. My favourite one is me saying something fabulous in a meeting, outlining one of my ideas that Harry Piles has steamrollered over, and everyone else sits up and notices, including Guy, and then he says in front of everyone –Great work, Alice(getting my name right) andThis is what I’m looking for, people, could someone get her a coffee right now?And then as I’m about to leave the room, he clears his throat and asks if he couldpossibly borrow a minute of my time? (In this particular fantasy we’re not shagging yet but this is the moment he’s realising that he finds me incredibly attractive.) So I just thought about that.
I manifest respect and admiration from friends, colleagues and family: for this one I kept vacillating between Charlotte watching me (I’m wearing a Balenciaga dress that she couldn’t pull off) as I walk past with Guy and Cara who are both captivated as I talk knowledgably about a wonderful new series I’ve pitched at work which is why they are taking me out to lunch. To chat as fellow professionals. (And as we wait for the lift, she notices Guy’s hand resting proprietarily on my bum… ) OR a family supper where Arrie’s whingeing onabout getting up early for the crappy twins and Astrid’s boring everyone with talk of being a lawyer or a doctor or whatever, and Mum bangs her fist on the table and says,I’m sick of it, girls. It’s all so tiresome. Why can’t you be more like Alice who now makes more money than any of you due to her new important role at work, and yet remains fun?
I manifest a perfect wedding: another easy one because I knew exactly what I want. All the same old crowd that I have had to endure time and time again at everyone else’s weddings, all seated in Little Minchcombe church, facing forwards, overcome with emotion – love, but mainly jealousy – because I look so beautiful and their wedding dresses look a little bit shit now in comparison and they wish they could be me. I could easily imagine me walking down the aisle, seeing their faces react, hear the comments. Except I couldn’t really imagine Guy Carmichael in a morning suit in Little Minchcombe church. I think it’s because I always picture him in the office.
I manifest having our old house and spending next Christmas in it:in some ways so simple – I could call on numerous Christmases past and practically still taste them – the memories are crystal clear. But then, Matthew Lloyd kept cropping up, uninvited into every memory; walking in the orchard; sitting in the day room. And I heard him saying, ‘I always win, Alice,’ like he was next to me.
I manifest wiping that smug smile off Matthew Lloyd’s face: this one was incredibly hard. Probably the hardest of all. I knew Matthew Lloyd’s face so well. But I couldn’t scrub off that smile. I kept thinking about how he looked, standing outside our old house, daring me to manifest it, and smirking. But I could imagine me, opening our old front gate, walkingdown the path, turning the handle and going through the front door. I could imagine it so well I could hear the creak of the second-from-bottom step, run my finger along the ledge above the oak panelling in the drawing room, see the shaft of sunlight that comes through the top pane of the sash window in the upstairs landing. And yet, Matthew Lloyd was still smiling.
I read the last part of the mindful exercise, then closed my eyes as instructed, and waited to feel the Universe holding me. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes and squinted against the watery red sun bleeding into morning.
‘Please?’ I said.
Nothing.
I exhaled slowly. Right, well. Clearly this exercise hadn’t worked. Nothing had happened. My life was still shit.
‘Alice? What on earth are you doing?’
I turned round, nearly slipping over on the mud. Drunk Stephen was standing at the back door, looking at me bleary eyed.
‘Just putting some rubbish out,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
‘Good. Because you look like a day release out there. Make sure you shut the door properly,’ he said. ‘It’s bloody freezing.’
Once he’d gone back to bed, I looked atThe Guidein my hands and felt a moment of pure rage towards it. What a total load of utter bollocks. It had no business promising people better lives. Time to say goodbye toThe Guide. I heaved the wheelie bin back into place, leaving muddy footprints all over the concrete path and opened the lid.
But just then, a pigeon flapped right next to my face, startling me so much, I dropped the journal on the ground. As I bent to pick it up, I noticed a tiny green shoot with a whitebud pushing up through the patch of earth. It was a snowdrop. For a moment, sunlight fell right on it, pooling on its leaves and closed petals, illuminating it as if it were lit from within.
Then my phone pinged with a message. It was Astrid.So, I was thinking about Aunty Margaret kicking you out of her flat. Do you want to stay here for a bit?
What? Was she for real?
I messaged back immediately to check if she was serious. She told me a room was mine if I wanted it and that I could come round later and we’d sort out details. I told her I loved her and that I wanted it very, very much and that I’d see her soon.
And then I looked atThe Guidein my hand, and back up at the sky. Somewhere a blackbird began the opening bars of a song that was major in key; perhaps the background track of cars and buses and trucks and people was still there but all I heard was the blackbird’s mellow whistle, pure, amplified, suspended. The sun briefly disappeared behind a cloud before reappearing, like it was winking at me.
I closed the wheelie bin lid, tucked my journal under my arm and went to open the back door. Just before going in, I turned back to face eastwards (well, approximately).
Thank you, I mouthed.Thank you, Universe.
In one word:
Believe
Guide Post™
Descartes once said, ‘I manifest,*therefore I am.’ If it was good enough for Descartes…
*Translated words slightly adapted from the original in consensus with popular agreement.
Date: Tuesday 3 JanuaryTime: 9.20pm
