Page 128 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
I nodded again.
‘Yeah,’ said Astrid. ‘She’s just incredibly unfit, Dad. And hungover. You could do with some make-up, Alice.’
‘Grandpa! Aunty Astrid!’ called Edwin. ‘Mummy needs help.’
Astrid went off again to help Arrie who was laying out blankets near the hay bales and after patting me gently on theback, Dad followed. Twenty metres or so away, I saw Mum reach into a bag underneath the table and pull out a bunch of envelopes which she started arranging, before moving to stir the punch. You know how mothers have lifted trucks when their babies have been trapped beneath? Well, somehow, I found the strength to get across that paddock, despite the agonising stabbing in my side.
‘Mum,’ I wheezed, grabbing her arm.
‘Christ,’ said Mum. ‘You look even worse that you did before. Where’s my phone?’
‘Mum, are these the cards?’
‘What cards?’
‘The ones from the bureau. I need them. Now!’
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘you’re gripping my arm like Granny Carver did when she was dying. It’s quite unpleasant.’
‘Mum, the cards!’
‘They’re just there, darling, next to the lemonade.’
I dragged myself along the table and with sweating, trembling hands fumbled through them. There was no envelope addressed to Matthew. No envelope.
‘Have you seen an envelope with my handwriting on it?’ I said, still catching my breath.
‘What does it say on it?’
‘Matthew.’
‘Matthew?’ said Mum. ‘Why would I bring an envelope for Matthew to Astrid and Aziz’s leaving party?’
‘You wouldn’t,’ I said, feeling a little of my panic evaporate. Then I panicked again. ‘Unless you already gave it to him?’
‘Try and make sense, darling,’ said Mum. ‘You’re sounding manic.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, the tension in my body subsiding. ‘I’m a bit all over the place.’
‘So am I. Astrid and Aziz off. Hottest day of the year. And, I haven’t paused.’ Mum stopped for a second and took a deep breath. ‘Doesn’t the old house look magnificent in the evening sun, Alice? I still miss it.’
‘Me too, Mum.’
In a rare moment, she rested her head against mine and we both looked over to the far end of the paddock where the arched wrought iron gates offered a perfect vista of the avenue beyond, which led through the gardens before giving way to the star of the show: the old house itself. Sunlight honeyed its grey stone façade and roses clambered every which way, immodest in their luxurious, heavy beauty. The house tugged something deep inside me like it always did, but even that was nothing compared to the way I was drawn towards the foreground and the old apple trees flanking the gates, where Matthew was stretching up to fix a lantern in the gnarled bough. His T-shirt was damp and sticking to the muscles of his back and the indent of his spine. His triceps were flexing as he reached above and that tattoo was snaking out the sleeve. He made the roses look chaste. If I was still lusting after the house that hadn’t been mine for over a decade, I had no chance of getting over Matthew Lloyd.
‘Darling, you’re unpleasantly clammy,’ said Mum. ‘Ironic given you’ve done nothing to help apart from get embarrassingly drunk. Probably a good job that chap of yours didn’t make it yesterday. What’s his name?’
‘Guy,’ said Arrie, coming over. ‘With the hairy back.’
‘He’s not mine,’ I said.
‘Good grief.’ Arrie took one look at me and baulked. ‘Honestly, Alice, the least you could have done after sleeping all day is make an effort. You look like you’ve been let loose on the bad orange squash.’
‘I ran here,’ I said defensively. ‘I’ll cool down.’
‘Why?’ said Arrie. ‘You never run anywhere.’
‘I thought I’d lost something.’
