Page 118 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
My insides churned.
I was too late.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, pushing past them.
Easter lunch was the worst I’ve ever endured. And that includes the one where Mum cooked Easter Soups from Around the World and we had to struggle through her borscht and fanesca. But this one was torturous. Ebba sat unnecessarily close to Matthew and every time I saw her hand resting possessively on his thigh, my hands itched to slap them off, the way Arrie did Ernie’s when he tried to help himself to pudding. My stomach was a complete mess, fizzing, gurgling and wriggling like I’d eaten a bag of snakes.
Dad was making a fuss about the fact I wasn’t eating much, and as I could hardly give the real reason why, I had to blame it on the chilli and then that reminded Dad of the time I had food poisoning on the ferry over to France and he decided to regale everyone with that tale. I know Matthew had heard the story before, but I was raw, and sitting through Dad saying how Astrid had to buy me new trousers in the duty free shop but the only thing she could find were swimming trunks and everyone finding it all quite hilarious, was not fun.
‘You must have smelled as bad as Jesus, Aunty Alice,’ said Ernie, impressed.
‘Yes,’ agreed Edwin. ‘We learnt all about how Jesus farted for forty days in the wilderness.’
Ebba looked at Matthew in confusion.
‘It’s the English public school system,’ said Matthew.
Then Astrid asked if I was still seeing Guy, and Arrie interjected and said, ‘Is that the old one with the hairy back? Married?’
And Astrid said, ‘Oh yes.’
‘He doesn’t have a hairy back,’ I said, quietly.
And Arrie ignored me and shuddered and said, ‘God. I bet his ball hair is horrific.’
‘Ah,’ said Dad, ‘now there was a fascinating programme about this on Channel 4 the other night,Extreme Groomers; I learnt so much. These young people, Nell, take it all off. All of it. We’re talking every bit. Right to the anus.’
Roger coughed on his parsnips.
‘Jesus, Dad,’ I said.
‘Surely they must end up cutting themselves? And the angles?’ continued Dad. ‘Think of the angles?’
‘Ask Alice,’ said Astrid, her eyes gleaming. ‘I’m sure she manages the angles. Didn’t you say Guy liked his women clean-shaven?’
‘Ghastly idea,’ said Mum. ‘Why, Alice?’
‘Do you really take it off… everywhere… Alice?’ said Roger, sounding a bit strangled.
‘Shut up, Roger,’ said Arrie. ‘This doesn’t concern you.’
If I hadn’t already lost Matthew, maybe this would have felt fractionally more painful knowing I’d certainly lost him now, but it’s hard to imagine how it could have felt worse. I closed my eyes momentarily and tried to think about kittens and snowdrops and sunlight.
‘Your mother has always had a substantial amount of pubic hair,’ said Dad, ‘and I’m a big fan.’
No. It wasn’t working. Just humiliation followed by a whole series of awful mental images.
‘I’m very lucky to still have it,’ said Mum. ‘At my age.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Dad. ‘They had a whole thing about post-menopausal pubic hair loss onWoman’s Hourjust last week.’
‘Nice,’ said Astrid. ‘Clearly Guy Carmichael is essentially turned on by females at both ends of the age range.’
‘So, who is this Guy Carmichael?’ asked Ebba.
‘Alice’s boss,’ said Arrie.
‘Alice’s lover,’ said Astrid.
