Page 56 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
‘But don’t tell her. Okay?’
Aziz looked dejected. And tired. Kind of like Astrid.
‘Aren’t you going to have pizza with us?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve transferred you £100. That should cover it.’
My phone pinged with the notification that my account had received £100. Normally that would bring me unprecedented joy.
‘Are you at least going to hang out with us?’ I asked Aziz. ‘Watch a bit ofBelow Deck? It’s amazing seeing them vacuum, and cock-up drink orders… ’
Aziz gave me one of his trademark grins. Sweet and very loveable. ‘Nah. I’m going to get an early one, Alice. You can fill me in tomorrow.’
I am letting go of:
Asking Aziz if I can borrow his glasses – the man needs a break.
Guide Post™
Manifesting through visioning
A visioning board is a great reminder of your intentions and a manifestation of your manifestations! It’s a tangible, visible projection of your perfect life.
Use photos, images, drawings, key words, text and anything else that visions your future.
Put your visioning board somewhere you will see it frequently.
Place your most desired manifestation at the centre of the board.
Date: Friday 13 JanuaryTime: 11.30pm
My thoughts and reflections:
Friday the thirteenth: an inauspicious day for some, but not for me. I’ve just spent the entire night on my own, visioning. (Astrid’s been working in the office and has made it clear that tonight she is not having wine, or TV, or anything fun, and that she is slightly annoyed with me for having derailed her from her mission of misery last night. Aziz has gone to see his family in Coventry. Astrid said he was staying the night but I swear I just heard the front door and a male voice, so he must have come back early.) And not only has it turned out to be a cheap evening, it has also been entertaining. I love my board. I’ve cut out loads of amazing designer outfits fromVogueand put them round the edges, alongside a few celebrities and influencers I’d be happy to be compared to.
I’ve downloaded a picture of Guy from the publishing awards last year, cut off the other people and stuck him in the Blue Bar along with me! I’ve also stuck us over the words ‘The Mandrake Hotel’ because it’s one of my fantasies – ever since Charlotte posted a photo of the public bathrooms there on Instagram and told me it is even more super atmospheric in reality and she’d actually had one of the best sexual encounters of her life in there with the lesser-known fifth Jonas brother,I’ve thought about me and Guy doing the same. And I’ve even found my ideal wedding dress, which I’ve put next to some photos of the old school crowd from various weddings I’ve endured over the last decade, and the part I enjoyed most was adding little speech bubbles of them saying things like,fuck me, Alice is stunninganddid you hear she’s practically running Carsonsandgolly, don’t you wish you could garner just half as much admiration and respect as Alice does.
And then I’ve found an old family photo from a few Christmases ago and I’ve made them all saythank you, Alicebecause they’ve borrowed money from me because I’m rich and I’ve added a few tears of joy and pride to Mum’s face as a nice little touch.
And then right in the middle of the board is our old house – I downloaded a photo from the Savills website and I nearly cried because it was taken in spring and the wisteria is on the cusp of exploding and smothering the stones with purple blooms, but right now, it’s no idea of just how beautiful it’s about to be. And then next to the house, I’ve cut out the face of Matthew Lloyd. Well, quite a few faces of Matthew actually. I ended up taking my time trawling through old photos and looking online, and it’s weird how many photos there are. He keeps cropping up. And in almost every one, there he is smiling that stupid self-satisfied smirk, like he knew even when he was a gawky sixteen-year-old with too much wax in his hair that he’d end up being rich and successful. I was desperate to find just one photo where he wasn’t smiling so I could focus properly on visioning his face when I wipe that smile off it.
I did manage to find one in the end. I knew instantly when it was taken; it was at the end of that summer in LittleMinchcombe, late August, maybe early September, at the party we decided needed to happen because Matthew’s then best friend from Cambridge, Ollie, was visiting – we used any excuse for impromptu parties.
That summer had felt like everything and nothing. In one way, it was like being in the centre of the Universe, coming home to Little Minchcombe after three years of travelling around, back to my family and friends. For once, Arrie, Astrid, Matthew and I had aligned, and for the first time in years, we were all together for two whole months, and took every opportunity to hang out. Arrie was doing some advisory work for a nearby farm, Astrid was on rotation at a relatively local law firm, and I got a job behind the bar at the Lamb. And Matthew, who was midway through his second MA, also ended up working for the summer at the Lamb, which meant that he and I spent practically every minute together. There was a heatwave and the sun shone the entire time. I’d spent time in some amazing places but that summer in Little Minchcombe was a slice of privileged paradise. We didn’t even argue much. Just enjoyed cricket and boating on the river and lying in the sun, talking, drinking, laughing.
In another way though, it felt like a bubble that would inevitably burst. And indeed, not long after that summer, everything changed. I started university, Mum and Dad sold the house, Arrie met Roger, and Matthew left for America. And that party was the start of it.
You can see from the photo that we’re all on the paddock behind our old house and next to the village green. The apple trees are heavy with fruit and the long grass verges are stooped and thick and yellowed, the occasional late bloomingwildflower a minority splash of colour on parchment. You can tell it’d been a scorcher, and not just from the patches of parched grass. Although the shadows are long and the sun is about to give way, shirtsleeves are still rolled, feet are bare, and hands are raised to shade eyes. You can see the wrought iron gates leading to our garden and, in the distance, roses climbing up the pergola. Shafts of sunlight are coming through the canopy of the apple tree, the sky is paint strokes of lilac and peach, and our friends are everywhere – mine, Astrid’s and Arrie’s.
Loads of the boys are in cricket whites, including Matthew, but he clearly didn’t know he was being photographed. Everyone else is laughing or smiling – Astrid’s whole face is screwed up with mirth – but Matthew isn’t. He’s standing there amidst his friends and he isn’t smiling, he looks… thoughtful, and sort of wistful, his eyes elsewhere.
It feels a bit weird looking at him, like I was intruding on something private that he wouldn’t want me to see. If he’d known that camera was capturing him, I think there would have been the usual smile in place.
Still. You’ve got to be ruthless if you want results, and I do. Plus I can still remember exactly what Matthew said that night. So I cut out the photo of him without his smile, reminding myselfthiswas precisely what I was aiming for, and no less than Matthew deserved, and added it right next to the house which is in the centre of my visioning board – because it’s the thing I want most.
The annoying thing is, now I’ve hung the board up on the wall, I can see I was slightly skewed in my sticking – had to go for farewell drinks with Charlotte after work and felt a bit ickysobering up on the journey home so I bought a dented can of Desperado at half price from the twenty-four-hour food and wine shop near Highbury and Islington station (broke after shopping and farewell drinks) which may have affected my hand-eye coordination.
It’s ended up with Matthew Lloyd’s face smack bang in the middle of my visioning board.
