Page 54 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
‘Well, why the fuck haven’t you said?’ exploded Guy. ‘Go and tell HR right now. I keep getting it in the fucking ear about inclusivity and diversity and look – there you are – and I bloody hired you. Get them to take a photo of you and your moustache or something, stick it on the web, and put a bloody large tick against my name.’
‘Are you serious?’ said Cool Jason.
But Guy Carmichael had already walked off.
‘Is he for real?’ Cool Jason asked me.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, watching Guy Carmichael go. Gosh he wore that bespoke suit well. I bet it was from Savile Row. He wore power well. I realised my mouth was hanging open slightly, and that Jason was looking at me with an expression of consternation.
‘Er, Alice,’ said Cool Jason, his brow furrowing. ‘It may not be my place to say this, but, you know, watch out for him.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, breezily.
‘I’m just saying, it doesn’t tend to work out well long term for the women in Guy Carmichael’s life.’
‘What!’ I laughed self-consciously. ‘I’m not a woman in his life!’
‘Okay,’ said Cool Jason. ‘Forget I said anything.’
As if I’m going to forget that compliment! Cool Jason called me a woman in Guy Carmichael’s life! Not only have I attracted the man of my dreams, but I have successfully commanded the respect of my colleague, Jason from Design, who’s frankly always intimidated me with his achingly cool ahead-of-trend trendiness, and who has barely spoken to me before. He speaks to Drunk Stephen, obviously, because everyone does, but not me usually. Times are a-changing!
I ask the Universe:
To keep me on the path towards my perfect life.
Date: Thursday 12 JanuaryTime: 10.50pm
My thoughts and reflections:
Caught a few glimpses of Guy Carmichael today, but nothing more. That’s okay. The Universe presumably has other things to take care of too. I went shopping after work and bought a beautiful limited-edition H&M scarf which looks just like the Gucci one and is worth every penny. I know Guy Carmichael has said that we’ll have to keep it under wraps when we go out, but I can imagine a photo of me, in this scarf (and ideally the silver trousers and boots the model in the campaign is wearing) at the Blue Bar (Tatlerfavourite), as my profile pic. (At the moment I’ve got a picture of me in Astrid and Aziz’s kitchen, standing at the island, looking like I’m cooking. I’m not, as Astrid, Arrie and Mum have all been quick to identify. But to non-family members who don’t know I can’t cook, it certainly gives off a smug vibe of which I’m quite proud. But the Blue Bar selfie would top that.)
I didn’t get home until late and when I let myself in, I heard raised voices from the kitchen.
‘If you keep avoiding it,’ Aziz was saying, ‘we’re going to have a problem.’
‘And if you keep pushing, it, Aziz, we’re going to have a far bigger one,’ shouted Astrid.
Aziz said something too quiet for me to hear. So interesting hearing people who aren’t Carvers argue – they don’t all get louder and louder and louder. I hung up my coat and went upstairs to put my new scarf away. Astrid keeps mentioning contributions to the electricity and gas and I’ve said I don’t have any money until I’m paid, which is true, but she would be bitchy about my buying the scarf if she knew. By the time I’d been to the loo, it sounded a lot calmer downstairs and safe to venture into the main living area so I thought it would be a good time to chat to Aziz about borrowing a pair of his glasses for work tomorrow. I feel like Guy Carmichael would be all over that look – sort of a classic hot-secretary Chanel thing. But when I got into the kitchen, it was only Astrid, her back turned to me, rummaging in their behemoth of a fridge which they keep really quite disappointing food in. Still, it’s all been useful in the Paleo diet – look at me instantly turning obstacles into opportunities!
‘Hey, Astrid,’ I said. ‘Where’s Az?’
‘Still at work,’ she said shortly.
I was about to tell her that I’d heard him in the kitchen so he couldn’t be, but when Astrid turned round, her eyes looked a bit pink and piggy, like they do when she’s upset.
‘You okay, Astrid?’
‘Of course I’m not okay, Alice,’ snapped Astrid, aggressively peeling an edamame, and tugging up her trouser waistband, which seemed to be too loose. ‘I’ve been working all day and then volunteering at the hospital – oldest work experience they’ve had ever and no one treats me with any respect – and I’m exhausted. Plus I’ve just spent a fortune on textbooks.’
I settled myself on a bar stool and took a bean. ‘How did it go at the hospital?’ I asked. ‘Any fun stuff?’
‘Couple of broken bones, a heart attack, one DOA, and a man who’d blended his thumb.’
‘Shit,’ I said, thinking about the thumb. That had to involve blood. ‘Sounds gross. Were you sick?’
‘A couple of times,’ said Astrid grimly. ‘And fainted once.’
We both ate beans in silence.
