The Pollyanna Plan (10 page)

Meg paused, staring up as if gauging Emma’s true level of interest. Then her head bobbed up and down. ‘I guess. Mum, is th
at oka
y?’

‘Perfect, darling,’ her mother answered. ‘I’ll wait here for you two.’

Tentatively, Meg reached out and took Emma’s hand, leading her into the giant building. Inside, it smelled exactly like Emma’s school had: floor wax and dust. But instead of cracked linoleum and flickering fluorescents, this school had polished wooden floorboards and globe lights that cast a soft glow on ornate woodwork.

‘This is my classroom.’ Meg stopped in front of a door covered with coloured-in tracings of children’s hands.

‘Very nice,’ Emma said, wondering how on earth to converse with a seven-year-old. She pointed to the cutouts on the door. ‘Which one is yours?’

Meg placed her palm over a sparkly green one. ‘This one. I wanted to put more sparkles on it, but we ran out.’

Emma laid her hand over Meg’s. ‘My hand is twice the size o
f yo
urs!’

‘Yes, but you’re old,’ Meg said solemnly, and Emma stifled a laugh as her sister tugged her into the classroom, pointing out other artwork on the walls.

When they’d completed the rounds of the room, Meg looked up at Emma. ‘Will you come to my Christmas concert? It’s the third week of December. I’m playing the lead star! I even get to sing a solo.’

The lead star! Emma smiled, picturing her sister in a vibrant costume, her high, sweet voice lifted in song. She nodded, thinking it’d be a great start at making herself a part of Meg’s world and fitting back into the family. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

R
iding the Tube the next day to meet Alice at Bond Street for their shopping expedition, Emma felt lighter than she had in years. As the train swayed, she couldn’t help grinning at the thought of last night. She and Meg had played Snakes and
Ladders
—the old board game her mum had dragged out from God knows where—for hours. Then, Andrew had returned from work and they’d all sat down to dinner, chatting away. Her stepfather was surprisingly nice, and Emma realised she’d never really got to know him.

She’d left as night closed in, but not before promising Meg no fewer than a hundred times that yes, she’d be at the concert to see her play lead star. After years of being alone, Emma was starting to feel part of a family again. She couldn’t wait for Christmas now! Images floated into her head of waking up in her old bedroom, tearing down the stairs to the pine-scented lounge, then ripping open gifts. She’d have to pick up something extra special for Meg.

And tonight, she was seeing Will. Not just seeing him—
cooking
for him! Who would have thought? Emma’s smile grew bigger, and the man beside her shifted away like she’d escaped from the loony bin, but she didn’t care. She was
living
, as clichéd as that sounded. This time last week, she’d been in the office, blissfully unaware her life was about to come crashing down. Now, she was minus a job and a fiancé, but everything seemed full of hope and potential. Yikes, was she actually starting to become Pollyanna?

Alice waved as Emma pushed through the Tube turnstile towards the busy pavement. ‘Right, no time to waste,’ she said with a look of determination. ‘Where do you usually shop?’

‘Um
…
’ Emma strained to think. ‘Marks & Spencer,
Debenhams
—’

‘You’re only thirty-two!’ Alice exclaimed in horror. ‘Those places are great for work and more formal stuff, but what about casual, going-out clothes?’ Alice glanced at the jeans and jumper Emma was wearing, and shook her head. ‘Let me guess. That’s it, right?’

Emma shrugged. ‘You know me, Al. Until now, I didn’t go out. If George and I went anywhere, it was always after work.’ Even on the weekends, they’d hooked up after a stint in the office.

‘Well, no more. We’re going to do an Emma makeover. New attitude, new you.’

‘Not
too
different, though, right?’ Emma said cautiously. A little spruce-up wasn’t a bad thing, but she knew how carried away her friend could get. Once, Alice had auditioned for a part requiring a shaved head. To show her commitment to the role, she’d gone all out and showed up at the audition with a shiny, newly bald scalp. However, her head turned out to be strangely shaped—a fact she’d only uncovered (literally!) too late. Alice hadn’t got the part and had been forced to wear a selection of hideous wigs and scarves ti
ed aro
und her noggin until her locks had grown past the chicken-fuzz stage.

Alice shrugged, eyeing Emma’s hastily pulled-back ponytail. ‘We’ll see. We’ll start with wardrobe first, then try to get you into an emergency hair appointment somewhere. Oh, remind me to give you the recipe before I head off. I printed it out—you can grab the ingredients on the way home.’

‘Great. Thanks.’ A shot of adrenaline coursed through Emma at the thought of seeing Will tonight. Would he do more than kiss her cheek? She wouldn’t complain! God, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so anxious about an impending date. It was kind of exciting in a nerve-racking way.

‘Let’s get started.’ Taking Emma’s arm, Alice marched her into New Look, a brand Emma always thought catered more to teenagers than thirty-somethings.

Two hours and what felt like several thousand shops later, Emma was clutching a handful of carrier bags and a whole new wardrobe. Sexy skinny jeans, funky leather lace-up boots with heels she could just about manage, softly tailored jumpers that gave her some curves
…
she had to hand it to her friend. Despite her fears, Alice hadn’t gone overboard. Pivoting Gok Wan–style in her new attire, Emma had to admit she did feel more feminine.

For tonight, Alice had selected black skinny jeans and an artfully draping cashmere sweater dotted with sequins. Just enough to signal to Will she was making an effort, Alice had said, but not too much to show she was gagging for it. The deep turquoise of the top made the green of Emma’s eyes stand out.

‘Okay.’ Alice halted in front of a hair salon just off New Bond Street. ‘Let’s see if they can fit you in.’ Reaching up, she yanked the elastic from Emma’s ponytail and tousled her hair.

‘Hey! No need to blind me.’ Emma pushed curls from her face before she tripped over something. Alice didn’t mess around!

‘I’m thinking a few copper highlights to lift the colour, maybe a blow-dry to smooth it down
.…
’ Grimacing, Alice examined the strands. ‘And definitely a trim. You have enough split ends to knit a hair shirt.’

Heaving open the salon’s glass door, Alice tugged Emma inside. The frighteningly stylish cutters buzzing back and forth reminded Emma why she hadn’t been to a hair salon for months. In drab clothing with an unimaginative hairstyle, she always felt out of place amidst the fashionistas. Even worse, you had to stare at your pale reflection for however long it took the stylists to tut over your tortured locks. Anyway, she’d never seen the point in wasting time on improving her appearance. Now, though, she wanted to look nice for Will.

‘My friend needs highlights and a cut, please,’ Alice announced to the crimson-haired receptionist, who blinked like she’d been asked to design indoor plumbing on Mars.

‘We’re very busy today. Let me check the schedule.’ The receptionist clacked away on a computer as Alice rolled her eyes. ‘Well, ladies, you’re in luck,’ the woman said. ‘Jesús can do your colour and highlights right now, if you’re free.’ Her tone indicated Emma would be a fool to suggest otherwise—that’s how privileged she was.

‘Jesus?’ Alice sniggered, pronouncing the Spanish name in
English
. ‘He’d have to be, to perform a miracle on your hair.’

Emma wanted to protest, but she knew Alice was right. Her locks had been sadly neglected for years. These days, they were lucky if they even got conditioned.

‘Do you want to book Jesús, then?’ The receptionist tilted her head, looking as if she couldn’t care less.

‘We do.’ Alice glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to run. Good luck—I expect a full report later. When is Will coming over?’

‘Seven.’ Emma’s eyes widened. ‘You think there’ll be enough time? It’s already half past three.’

Alice waved a hand. ‘No worries. You should be out of here by five, there’s a Tesco Metro around the corner where you can pick up everything you need, and you’ll be back at your flat by five thirty at the latest. Plenty of time. Right, I’m off. ’Bye!’

Emma watched Alice’s slender form disappear into the crowd, then gulped and followed the receptionist into the bowels of th
e salon.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

J
esús
really
had
performed a miracle, Emma thought as she eyed her newly upgraded reflection a few hours later. Or had her perception been skewed by the large glass of wine she’d gulped earlier? She’d tried to say no—without any food in her stomach, it’d go right to her head—but the salon assistant had pressed a goblet into her hand. Probably they’d found the more sloshed the customer, the less likely she’d be to complain.

Not that Emma had anything to complain about, even if her wine glow had long since been replaced by a dull, lingering headache. Her normally dry, frazzled hair glistened under the lights, streaked with natural-looking strands of copper. Jesús had taken the blunt style and added in little layers, framing her face attractively. Okay, so she might not be able to tug it all back behind her ears anymore, but bloody hell, Emma had to admit she looked pretty good. Better, anyway.

‘Not bad, huh?’ Jesús said smugly.

Emma nodded, reaching up to stroke her new locks. Soft to the touch, they almost didn’t feel like her hair.
Wait until Alice sees this,
she thought.
No, wait until Will sees this!
Her stomach flipped as she envisioned the look in his eyes when he took in her improved appearance.

Will! Panic flooded into her. ‘What time is it?’ she asked Jesús, trying to extend an arm to check her watch from under the voluminous metallic cape.

Jesús glanced at the clock over his shoulder. ‘Half past five,’ he responded defensively. ‘Love, you needed a lot of work. This kind of thing doesn’t happen quickly.’

‘I know, I know,’ Emma said, struggling to stand. ‘It’s just, I’ve a friend coming over, and I have to go
…
ouf
!’ She fell back into the seat with a thud as the cape caught on the metal mechanisms of the chair.

‘You must see the back of your hair first.’ Languorously, Jesús pulled out a large mirror and spun Emma around. The cape tightened, and for a second Emma wondered if this hairstyle would be her last. ‘Much better. Conditioned, shiny, with natural highlights.’

‘It’s brilliant,’ Emma squeaked. She gulped in a lungful of air as Jesús mercifully snapped off the cape, and then she lunged for the receptionist, to pay.

‘Any product today?’ Jesús hurried after her. ‘We have a
t
wo-for-on
e on the spray conditioner, and—’

‘I’ll take it!’ Emma grabbed the bottles, conscious it was better to acquiesce than argue.

As she paid the eye-popping amount, Emma silently listed everything she needed to do: have a look at the recipe, run to
Tesco’s
and grab the necessary ingredients along with wine, hail a cab home—no time for the Tube—throw on her outfit and start dinner preparations
…
already, her stress levels were rising.
Think positively,
Emma reminded herself. Of course she could cook a simple meal. She could do it with one hand tied behind her back!

Even Pollyanna would have trouble buying into that one,
she thought, shaking off the receptionist’s attempts to bully her into booking another appointment. Outside, the pavements were clogged
with rush-hour commuters heading home, and Emma nearly
knocked down a few in her haste to get to Tesco’s. Right, now where had she put that recipe?

Her stomach dropped as she remembered Alice saying she’d hand it over before leaving
…
shit! With all the excitement of t
he ha
ir salon, her friend had run off without passing it on. How on earth could Emma purchase ingredients for a dish she’d never even eaten, let alone made? She strained to recall Alice’s words: chicken, coconut milk, curry
.…

In the past, Emma had avoided Thai restaurants like the plague. She’d read a report stating the chances of contracting food poisoning there were far greater than average, due to lack of proper hygiene. True or not (and since it was in Britain’s biggest tabloid, she had to concede it was more likely ‘not’), she hadn’t been up for the risk.

Heart thumping, Emma grabbed the mobile from her handbag and punched in Alice’s number. It was quarter to six now. She might be able to catch Alice before her shift started.

‘Please pick up, please pick up,’ Emma chanted, listening to the tinny ring before the phone clicked through to voice mail.

‘Alice!’ she screeched, panic making her sound like a chipmunk on speed. ‘You forgot to give me the recipe for the chicken curry. Please call—I’m in Tesco’s now.’ But if Alice had started her shift already, she wouldn’t have time to ring back until Will had come and gone.

Okay, calm down. It’s not the end of the world—just a little chicken curry.
For God’s sake, she’d reviewed multimillion-pound loan applications with ease. Emma took a deep breath, struggling to gain control of her emotions.

Chicken, curry paste and coconut milk—she could handle that. And wasn’t there something to do with veggies? Racing through the aisles, Emma grabbed almost every product from the produce
section
, threw some chicken fillets into her basket, and scoured the shop until she uncovered red Thai curry paste and coconut milk. Grabbing a bottle of Côtes du Rhône (several, in fact—maybe she’d get Will so drunk he wouldn’t even taste the curry?), she rushed through the cashier and onto the street. Lifting her arm to hail a cab, she jumped in, and twenty minutes later she was back at the flat.

‘Oh, God,’ Emma groaned as she opened the door. Although she’d organised all her purchases from the DIY centre, boxes were still stacked high against the walls. She’d meant to spend this afternoon decorating, but then Alice had proposed the shopping trip
…
ah well. Hopefully her friend was right, and Will was here for other things besides the flat.

Okay. Six thirty, and he’d arrive in half an hour. First things first. She had to get changed. Emma raced into the bedroom, ripped off her now sweaty clothes, tore open the shopping bags, and jumped into the skinny jeans—had they got skinnier since she’d last put them on?—then jammed the turquoise jumper over her head.

Hastily, she swiped under her eyes where the mascara had migrated, dusted some powder to stop her face from glistening, fluffed her gorgeous new hair, and slipped on the boots Alice had forced her to buy. Her friend had tried to persuade her into sky-high Kurt Geigers, but Emma wasn’t about to clomp around all night in lofty heels. Stilettos shortened your Achilles tendons and caused 5 percent of all ankle injuries, and although the Pollyanna Plan seemed to be working, you also had to recognise your limits. No way did she want to end tonight in some dingy Accident and Emergency department. Although it might be worth it if Will had to carry her there! Emma sighed, picturing herself being gently lifted into his strong arms.

Oh, for God’s sake. This was no time to indulge in daydreams! She needed to get a move on.
When did I last lay the table for dinner?
she wondered, unpacking the Habitat china plates (from their box, she was ashamed to admit). George had never eaten here; they’d always gone out. And her mum had never come round for a m
eal, e
ither.

Funny, it was almost as if by keeping everyone away, she could cordon off her own space and stay separate. Emma snorted at the self-analysis. Who was she trying to be—Freud?

The buzzer sounded as she set down the last gleaming knife, and her heart leaped into her throat. Could that be him? She glanced at her watch—only six fifty. Since when were men early? She hadn’t even started on the curry.

‘It’s Will,’ the deep tone boomed through the intercom.

‘Come on up!’ Emma’s voice quivered, and she gulped, examining her reflection one final time. At least she looked okay. Dinner might be poisonous, but hey, Will would know she was making an effort. See? She really was thinking positively.

There was a rap at the door, and Emma swung it open, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart.

‘Hi there,’ she said, smiling up at Will. Even with her heels, he was still a good deal taller. Much better than George, who—for all his swagger—was actually an inch shorter when she was wearing flats. She’d turned a blind eye to the fact he often wore dress shoes with heels just a
little
higher than normal in an effort to boost his height. Now that she thought about it, those shoes had been a major turn-off.

‘Hi.’ Will leaned down to kiss her cheek, and Emma caught a whiff of spicy cologne mixed with something fresh and citrusy.
Yum.
His skin brushed hers, and she could already feel the telltale heat flooding her face.

Will pulled back, his eyebrows rising. ‘You look fantastic!’

Emma’s blush deepened. ‘Thank you. Come on in. Wine?’ Words tumbled out in the haste to cover her nerves.

‘That would be great. Thanks.’ Will shrugged off his coat, laying it over the back of the sofa. Damn! She should have offered to take it. She was so out of practice with all of this.

‘Oh, I brought you a bottle.’ Will waved it in the air, and Emma tried to hide her surprise. She could see by the label it was an expensive brand, putting her Tesco-bought bottles to shame. She wouldn’t have thought a man who worked in a DIY centre could afford such extravagance. Hope rose inside as she realised he must really be interested in her to splash out like that.

‘Oh, good. Thank you.’ Emma scooted over to take the wine. ‘I’ll just crack this open.’ No way was she going to pour him a glass of her five-pound Côtes du Rhône now. ‘Have a seat.’ She waved a hand towards the sofa, watching as Will made himself comfortable. Thank goodness he didn’t cross his legs like George always had. She’d often wondered how on earth he could comfortably do that. Didn’t his bits get in the way?

‘So what are we having tonight?’ Will gazed curiously at the open-plan kitchen from where he was sitting. No doubt he was wondering about the lack of action.

‘Um, red Thai chicken curry,’ Emma said, twisting the stubborn cork from the wine. Unfortunately, she hadn’t plunged in the corkscrew deeply enough and the cork snapped, one piece remaining embedded in the corkscrew and the other in the bottle. ‘Shit!’

‘Everything okay?’ A small grin tugged the side of Will’s mouth.

‘Er, yes.’ Emma swore under her breath again as she removed the broken cork from the corkscrew and jammed the instrument into the piece still in the bottle. Gingerly, she lifted it out
…
but not before tiny flakes of cork filtered into the liquid below, bobbing on the surface. Extra nutrients, Pollyanna would say. Emma forced a smile, hoping Will wasn’t looking as she poured two large glasses, skimming off as much of the ‘extra nutrients’ as she could.

‘Here you are,’ she said, handing him the wine. ‘And here’s to tonight!’

‘Cheers.’ Will lifted the glass and met her eyes. He looked nervous, too, Emma thought, feeling a little more relaxed now that she wasn’t the only one on edge.

‘I hope you won’t mind if I get started on the cooking?’ she asked, thinking that busying her hands would help sort out the remaining butterflies flitting inside. ‘Feel free to turn on some music or the television. There are some magazines beside the coffee table. Or we can just chat as I get the food ready
…
’ Her voice trailed off as she realised she was blathering on again, and she scuttled behind the safety of the counter.

Will nodded. ‘Sure.’ Reaching over, he rifled through the stack of papers by the side of the table, where Emma had jammed old editions of the
Evening Standard
, collected from the Tube, along with the odd
Underwriter Today
. Not exactly riveting reading, but it might keep him entertained until she figured out what the hell she was doing.

She’d lay out the ingredients first, just like they did on the cookery shows. Reaching into the fridge, Emma brought out the veggies (did radishes really belong in a Thai curry, she wondered?), the chicken, the coconut milk, the curry paste
…
she was rather proud she’d managed to assemble all the critical elements without a recipe. After pouring some oil in a never-used-before frying pan, she turned on the hob. Alice
had
said to fry the vegetables, of that she was certain.

‘These are wonderful!’ Will’s exclamation made her look up, and her heart dropped. Oh, God. He was flipping through her old sketchbooks! She’d forgotten they were there.

‘Oh, those things. Yeah, I drew a lot when I was young,’ Emma mumbled. Forcing herself not to race across the room and rip the sketches from his hands, she turned on the CD player, hoping music would distract him. The Spice Girls blared through the speakers, and Emma clicked it off in horror.

But Will barely noticed. ‘These are brilliant. I knew you had talent from that drawing you showed me. Do you work in design or something along those lines?’ He leaned back on the sofa. ‘I don’t even know what you do.’

‘Nothing remotely close,’ she said. ‘Actually, I’m an
underwriter
.’

‘Wow.’ Tilting his head, Will gave her an appraising look. ‘Now that’s a surprise. I’d never have guessed.’

Emma smiled tightly, unsure how to respond. ‘Right, what about Mozart?’ She waved the CD in the air to draw his attention away from the book.

‘Can’t go wrong with Mozart,’ Will said, still gazing down at the sketches. ‘You know, I bet if you wanted, you could make a career out of designing interiors. Your stuff is really quirky and different.’

Emma shrugged, heading back to the kitchen. She had a career already—a good one, one she liked. Or did she? If she
did
like it, surely she’d be keener to scour job sites? So far, her efforts had been sporadic at best.

Now isn’t the moment to think about that,
she told herself, pushing away the thoughts. She needed all her concentration fixed firmly on the task at hand.

‘Right, time to fry some veggies!’ Emma said in a cheerful tone over the Mozart. God, Will was still flicking through the sketchbooks. It was disconcerting having someone she barely knew examine her innermost imaginings
…
strange and unnerving. It was like he had a direct line into her adolescent brain.