Page 74 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
On the way back, and after a couple of samples at the wine shop, I told him about Lazy Veronica who does shit-all work, and how stressed Cara is, and amused him with stories about Drunk Stephen and Charlotte and Yaz, and Matthew wanted a detailed description of Gareth’s arms and why Guy took against them.
In fact, it was all like some alternate universe, where Astrid and Aziz were happy again, and where Matthew and I got on. Right up until we were about to sit down to eat. Aziz was cooking at the stove, and Matthew and I were sitting next to each other at the table. He was on his laptop and I was scrolling through my phone when Astrid pushed something over to me.
‘What’s this?’ I asked.
‘Your work security card. You put it through the washing machine. Again.’
‘Sorry, Astrid,’ I said meekly, taking the card. She’s a real pain about that machine.
‘It’s ruined. Not only has the security code been washed off, but your photo’s practically invisible.’
‘Well, at least you can still see Carsons on it,’ I said, trying to be positive. ‘Just about.’
‘Also,’ continued Astrid, ‘I happened to catch up with an old friend when we were out last night, and that boss of yours you’re planning to shag… ’
‘Yes… ’ I said, checking to see if Matthew was listening. He wasn’t. He was now absent-mindedly playing with my security card.
‘You know he’s very much still married.’
‘Only in name. They’re separated.’
‘Separated or separating? Don’t be gullible, Alice,’ countered Astrid. ‘You’re not going to hear the real story whilst you’re working there. Remember all the stuff you heard after you left Bloomsbury?’
Matthew looked up from his computer. ‘You left Bloomsbury?’
‘Er, yes,’ I said. ‘A couple of years ago.’
‘Did you seriously think Alice had kept the same job for five years, Matthew?’ said Astrid. ‘How would that work for her? She’d be complete— Matthew?’
But Matthew had abruptly walked off.
‘Matthew?’ she called after him. ‘It’s nearly supper.’
‘Sorry, Astrid,’ he said, without a backwards glance. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to join you.’
And then hedidn’tjoin us for the rest of the evening. At all.
This morning, when I came down to the kitchen, Astrid was scowling over a cup of coffee and practically bit my head off when I asked about Matthew. ‘He’s gone to stay in a hotel,’ she said.
‘Gone?’ I repeated. I put down my full cup of coffee.
‘Gone,’ she said.
‘What? Why? I thought he was staying here?’
‘Well, now he’s not. So you’ve got what you wanted.’
It certainly didn’t feel like I had. It felt like the opposite. ‘Is he coming back… ?’
‘No. He’s taken all his stuff. And now I’m stuck here. On my own.’
When I automatically pointed out she wasn’t on herown, because I was there, and so was Aziz, her husband, she said that was as good as being on her own. That Matthew had let her down. And suddenly, I felt dangerously close to tears, so I left without having a coffee or anything.
The tube was so full I didn’t even have to hold on because I was buttressed on either side, and thus shoved right into the armpit of a very tall teenager with a penchant for Lynx Africa, which I found oddly comforting. And as we lurched from side to side and I stared unseeingly at the reflections in the windows, it felt almost impossible that only twenty-four hours ago I’d been in a helicopter with Matthew Lloyd.
In my mind’s eye, I could see his face bathed in the silvery light of Capricorn as clearly as midnight. But then when I tried to look closer, it drifted away from me, dissolved, and was gone – like rain on a window.
Icouldn’t settle to anything at work, and it was only when Yaz asked me if I knew whether Guy Carmichael was coming back this afternoon that I registered he wasn’t in his glass office. But what’s really weird is that I didn’t tell Drunk Stephen anything about my weekend. Normally I’d be desperate to give him a blow-by-blow account of everything, and that’s just your average weekend, not one where I’ve gone in a helicopter to Dartmoor. Not today, though. When Drunk Stephen suggested lunch, I said I couldn’t and later I told Cara I had a headache and was going to work from home for the rest of the day, because I knew I wanted to escape and write in this journal.
