The Pollyanna Plan (11 page)

Hmm, that’s funny, Emma thought as she placed bean sprouts in the frying pan. The pan was stone cold. Maybe she’d forgotten to switch on the hob? No, the dial was turned to the highest
setting
. Frantically, she twisted the knobs on the other elements, telling herself to be patient as she held out a hand, awaiting heat. But
nothing came.

Emma shook her head incredulously. Out of all the things she’d thought might go wrong with this dinner, she’d never imagined the bloody stovetop wouldn’t work! To be fair, it could have been out of commission for ages—who knew when she’d last used it? The microwave, on the other hand
…
Emma eyed the faithful white box atop her counter. Was it possible to do a Thai curry in there? Her stomach turned at the thought of limp microwaved veggies and rubbery chicken swimming in a seared coconut sauce. Ugh.

‘Everything okay?’ Will eyed her inquisitively.

Might as well come out with it. Emma sighed. He’d soon figure out something was wrong when she served up KFC’s finest.

‘The hob’s decided not to work tonight,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Let me take a look.’ Will got up off the sofa and came towards her. Once again, Emma caught a whiff of his lovely scent. She watched his hands as he fiddled with the dials, praying he’d get them to work.

Finally Will shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea what’s wrong. Not that I had much of a clue to begin with.’

Emma laughed, thinking it was nice he was confident enough to admit that—some men (George) would have pretended the oven was at fault, neglecting to mention he’d never used an appliance before in his life. Staring at the mountain of ingredients on the counter, Emma’s mind spun with what to do next. Takeaway? Chowing down on greasy kebabs wasn’t exactly the romantic mood she wanted to set. And despite her lack of culinary talents, it seemed a shame to waste all these ingredients.

What would Alice do? More to the point, what would
Pollyanna
do? Make a Thai salad? Whip up coconut ices? Emma pulled a face. She could be as Pollyanna as she liked, but her cooking skills only extended so far.

Wait—hadn’t Will said he lived nearby? Maybe they could decamp to his flat. An image of the two of them, cooking side by side in his kitchen, floated into her head. He’d have to help her if they cooked there, wouldn’t he? It would be cool to see his place, too. Alice always said you could tell a man’s emotional maturity by how many video games he owned. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a total disaster.

‘Maybe we could take all this over to yours?’ Emma asked. ‘You said it’s close, right?’

‘Well
…
’ Will looked uncertain, and Emma winced inside. Had she gone too far? She could understand wanting to keep your own space private—she’d been thinking that earlier herself.

‘Yeah, I guess we could,’ Will responded finally. ‘I’m about a ten-minute walk from here, if that. I have to warn you, though, my kitchen is very small.’

‘No worries, that’s fine.’ Emma waved a hand as if she could deal with any cooking challenge. But hell, if she didn’t know how to make the dish anyway, the size of the kitchen was hardly a factor. ‘Right, guess we should get started packing this up.’ She got out the plastic carrier bags she’d tidied away under the counter.

Will scooped up an armload of veggies. ‘You’re putting all this in the curry?’

Emma glanced at him. Was she not supposed to? ‘Yes?’ she answered hesitantly.

‘Interesting. Don’t think I’ve ever eaten Thai curry with
tomatoes
or, um, radishes.’

Oh, shit. Maybe she’d gone overboard on the vegetables. Still, at least it’d be healthy. She could claim it was a vegan curry! Except for the chicken, of course.
It’ll be okay,
she told herself, shoving the plastic-wrapped chicken pieces, coconut milk and curry paste int
o a bag.

‘I’ll just grab the rest of the wine’—Emma jammed half the torn cork into the bottle before Will could get to it, then grabbed her subpar Tesco selection—‘and I think we’re good to go.’ She shrugged on her coat and followed Will into the stairwell, locking the door behind them.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing your place,’ Emma said as they clattered down the stairs. ‘Thank you for saving the day.’ She rolled her eyes internally. God, she sounded like Lois Lane.

‘My pleasure,’ Will replied, but there was a slight edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. He pulled his coat tighter around him and started off down the street. ‘It’s just this way.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

O
f all the directions the evening might have taken, the last thing Will expected was ending up on his boat. Maybe he should have said no? But that would be churlish, especially since Emma had gone through the trouble of buying half the veggie department. Still, something about her presence in the close confines of his home made him nervous—even more nervous than he’d been already. And bloody hell, she looked good tonight. The way that jumper clung and how her jeans hugged the right places
.…

Not to mention how talented she was, he thought, tearing his mind from her neat little body. He’d been blown away when he’d first seen her sketch back at the DIY centre, but flipping through her earlier drawings had been mind-blowing. All in all, she was the perfect package.

Except he wasn’t looking, Will reminded himself under his breath.

‘Sorry?’ Emma’s green eyes met his.

‘Oh, nothing. Just saying it’s cold out here tonight.’ He gave her a lame grin, thankful she couldn’t see just how lame in the dark.

What would Emma think of his boat? He remembered Cherie’s reaction, back when she’d come to pick up a few bits and bobs she’d left in the old flat. The look of abject horror as she’d glanced around the sparse space was something he’d never forget. But Cherie was a woman who liked creature comforts, someone who’d think nothing of buying a thousand-pound phone from Bang & Olufson, for example, just because it was top of the range. Given the surprising state of Emma’s flat and how she’d managed to live for so many years in conditions that would rival Siberia, Will didn’t think she’d mind his boat too much.

‘Where are we going? Thought you were taking me to your flat?’ Emma asked as they navigated down the stairs to the canal towpath. The basin of water gleamed darkly, willow branches on a small island framing the clear night sky. Thankfully, the moon shone brightly, lighting the pathway. Emma’s voice sounded with trepidation, and Will realised it might seem slightly dodgy, taking a woman he didn’t know very well through the depths of the canal.

‘Well, actually,’ he said, turning to face her, ‘I am. My flat just happens to be a boat.’

Emma stopped. ‘A
boat
?’ Her tone was incredulous, and Will’s heart dropped. Here we go—another woman who’d look at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe Emma wasn’t so different from Cherie, after all. But her next words stopped his thoughts from progressing further down that track.

‘That’s brilliant!’ Emma continued, a note of childlike glee creep
ing into her voice. ‘Wow, like one of these boats here?’
She gesture
d to the working narrow boats lining the canal. They were covered in chains, with rusty machinery perched on their peeling decks. Will was surprised she hadn’t run off in horror.

He nodded. ‘Yes. Well, no, not exactly. It’s a similar size—all narrow boats are made to the same dimensions to fit through the network of canals—but I’m in the process of renovating mine to become a miniature flat. It’s kind of a mess at the moment, but the basics are in place. You won’t be making your curry over a cam
p stove.’

Emma grinned back at him. ‘Good thing, because I have enough trouble with a normal oven!’

They walked companionably along the path, listening to the water lapping against the side of the canal.

‘So why did you decide to live on a boat?’ Emma asked, her voice echoing off the high walls that surrounded them.

Will shrugged, contemplating how much to tell her. No way did he want to talk about MS and the decision to leave behind his father’s company—he liked having someone who took him at face value, even if it was only for tonight. And he wasn’t going to dive into the sordid details of how his ex had left him
…
pathetic.

‘Fancied a change, I guess,’ he responded finally, keeping his voice devoid of any emotion. ‘When I was a kid, my family went on a narrow boat holiday for three weeks, chugging up and down all the canals, pulling over at pubs whenever we got hungry and mooring where we liked at night. There was a kind of freedom about that, taking everything with you and moving on when yo
u wanted.’

Emma nodded. ‘I can definitely understand the appeal. I’ve always thought it’s nice to have your own defined space, something separate from everyone else.’

‘Exactly.’ Will raised an eyebrow in the dark, surprised she’d got it spot on. What he’d really wanted from the boat wasn’t exactly freedom
…
he’d accepted that would never happen, now that he had the disease. He’d craved isolation, a place where he could live with no intrusions.

So why the hell was he letting Emma on board?

Too late now. Will shrugged, kicking a loose pebble with the toe of his shoe and watching it scurry across the stones into the water. Anyway, it was only dinner. She couldn’t be interested in him, could she? By the looks of things, she was some hotshot insurance exec in the City, and all she knew was that he sold paint for a living at a DIY centre. He pushed aside the swirl of attraction that surrounded them when they were together, telling himself she was only saying thanks for his help painting.

The thought comforted him as they approached his boat, the dark green hull glistening as it floated on the silent water. ‘Here we are.’

Emma grinned as she took in the vessel. ‘Fantastic! I love the colour.’

A flash of pride went through Will as he climbed carefully onto the deck. ‘Let me help you.’

Emma placed her palm in his, the warmth of her fingers heating his stiff hands as she stepped aboard.

‘Welcome,’ Will said, returning her smile of delight. He was about to usher her down the steep staircase when he heard a rustle on the next boat over.

‘Yoo-hoo!’ Lou’s voice rang like a clarion through the clear night air.

‘Oh no,’ Will muttered. Lou poking her nose into his life every once in a while was bad enough, but meeting Emma, too? He’d never hear the end of it.

‘Is that your neighbour?’ Emma’s eyes widened as Lou emerged onto the deck. Tonight, her bulky form was wrapped in a Navajo blanket, her orange hair plaited into multiple braids, adorned with what appeared to be twigs and leaves. She looked like she’d been rolling around in the trees that lined the towpath further down, and for all Will knew, she had.

‘I see you have company, Will,’ Lou said before Will could answer. ‘Who is this delightful young lady?’ Her cut-glass accent was a sharp contrast to her dishevelled appearance.

‘Emma, meet Lou. Lou, this is Emma.’ Will realised too late he didn’t even know Emma’s surname.
Better to keep it that way,
he thought to himself. Have a bit of distance.

Lou took a few doddering steps towards the edge of her boat, and Emma shot Will a look of alarm. The way the older woman was moving, it seemed she could very easily tumble from the vessel, a repeat performance of her antics last year. Then, Lou had performed her Native rituals under the influence of natural herbs, and she’d splashed right into the canal’s slimy waters. It had taken a whole group of men to pull her back to dry land. Clearly, she’d been
smoking
her ‘medicine’ again.

‘Nice to meet you.’ Emma quickly crossed the deck to close t
he distance.

‘I’m glad our William has finally found some female company,’ Lou said. ‘Celibacy does the soul no favours at any age, you know. In fact, the Native Americans—’

‘Okay, great, thanks Lou.’ Will cut in before Lou uttered anything else. Good God, she’d already said way too much! Emma would think he’d dragged her back here for a quick shag or something. ‘We’d best get inside before we freeze. Take care of yourself, okay?’ He grabbed Emma’s hand and motioned her down the steep ladder stairs leading to the boat’s interior, trying to ignore the knowing smirk on Lou’s face.

Emma glanced around the narrow space, keen to take it all in. When Will had said he lived on a boat, she’d pictured something like the grease-scented ferry her father had once taken her on to the Isle of Wight. This wasn’t exactly luxurious—in fact, it was downright basic—but oh, the potential! Already her mind was spinning with ideas. You could do it up in soft shades of grey, maybe with a patterned carpet to add some depth. Long stripy sofas lining the wall on one side, built-in bookcases and shelving on the other
.

‘Emma?’ She met Will’s inquisitive gaze, conscious he was waiting for her to say something.

‘Sorry!’ She laughed. ‘My creative mind is going into overdrive. It’s such a great space.’ Even with the worn sofa, beat-up wooden flooring, tiny galley kitchen, and the double bed shoved into the bow, it was still a fabulous home. Emma could just imagine curling up on the couch as the boat glided through England’s canals. What a fantastic way to live.

But how could Will afford this, Emma wondered, running her eyes over the interior again? It must be costing a fortune to refurbish. He’d have to pay for mooring on the canal, too, and in this desirable part of London, she couldn’t imagine that came cheaply.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Will switched on a few more lights, and Emma’s eyes bulged as she caught sight of a stack of canvases shoved next to the sofa. She stepped closer to one, admiring the intricate swirls and patterns.

‘These are wonderful.’ She squinted at the signature in the corner, but she couldn’t make it out. ‘Who are they by?’

Will dropped his head. ‘Me, actually.’

Emma spun in surprise, jerking back when she realised his face was only inches away. God, this boat was close quarters—not that she minded. All evening, it felt like layer after layer of Will was being revealed, and they were more alike than she’d realised. The knowledge drew her to him even more.

‘You did these?’ She flipped through the paintings, loving the bold colours and sweeping lines, then turned to meet his gaze again. ‘They’re wonderful.’

A faint blush tinted Will’s cheeks, and Emma longed to reach up and stroke his dark stubble. Will cleared his throat and stepped back from her, like a skittish animal sensing attack.

‘Should we get started on making the meal?’ he asked, moving towards the safety of the kitchen. ‘Did you bring the wine? I’ll pour us a couple glasses.’

‘Yes.’ Emma’s face reddened now as she produced the half-full bottle, complete with an added layer of cork floating on top.

Will laughed. ‘Well that’s certainly been through the wars, hasn’t it? Not to worry. I’ll just crack open a fresh bottle.’

‘I brought this
.…
’ Her voice faded when she noticed Will opening a cupboard door, revealing row after row of wine bottles nestled inside.

‘Here,’ he said, placing one on the counter. Emma was no wine connoisseur, but she could tell from the label it was another expensive bottle. What was with this man? Skilfully, Will removed the cork and poured two glasses full of crimson liquid.

‘Cheers.’ He lifted the wineglass in the air, and Emma followed suit. ‘Here’s to dinner.’

‘If I ever get it made!’ she joked, taking a sip of the smooth, oaky wine.

Will rolled up his sleeves. ‘Come on, let’s start. I’m starving.’

He switched on some jazzy piano music and the two of them organised ingredients on the counter, Will laughing when he realised Emma had no recipe and only the vaguest idea what to do. Abandoning the tomatoes and radishes, he put her in charge of slicing onions and peppers as he fried the chicken in the curry paste. After pouring in coconut milk, splashing lime juice from a jar in his miniature fridge, and adding the veggies, the concoction smelled delicious. Much better than the noxious fumes she’d have produced on her own.

‘We’ll leave it to simmer for a bit,’ Will said, pouring the remainder of the wine bottle into Emma’s empty glass. She eyed it in astonishment—had she drunk all that already? She
was
feeling
surprisingly relaxed. The smooth wine, soothing music, and the gentle ease at which they’d worked together in the kitchen combined to reduce any lingering nerves. Will seemed less tense, too.

‘So do you cook very much?’ he asked playfully as they settled onto the sofa.

Emma laughed. Given her lack of domestic prowess—more than evident when she failed to cut the ends off the onions before slicing them up—it was blindingly obvious she and a recipe hadn’t come within miles of each other recently.

‘I can’t even remember the last time, to be honest. But’—she twisted to face him—‘I really enjoyed tonight! I might have to cook more often. With a recipe,’ she added with a grin. ‘So, tell me more about your artwork.’ Maybe now he might open up a little bit. ‘Have you painted for long?’

Will sipped his drink, and for a second, Emma thought he might not answer. He was such an odd mix of open and laughing one minute, closed and distant the next.

‘I can’t remember
not
painting,’ he said quietly, rolling the wine around in his glass. ‘I’ve always been surrounded by colours, and I guess it made sense I’d want to use them to create something of my own. I’ve never trained formally, although I did get accepted to an art college after leaving secondary school.’ He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t practical, so I decided to go into business.’ Will’s face closed up as if he’d said too much.