The Pollyanna Plan (13 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

D
espite Emma’s strict reminders to herself that she was only satisfying curiosity, over the next few days the thought of setting up her own design business took root in her head, sprouting like a bamboo shoot. As she decorated the flat, her mind burst with ideas for everything from Will’s boat to Alice’s cramped abode. She couldn’t resist reading the course information again and again, picturing herself fawning over fabrics.

Maybe
…
maybe it was possible to embark on a whole new career? Didn’t
Metro
always run stories on lawyers who opened
cupcake
cafés, or bankers who moved to France to start a B&B? People
did
change their lives, and Emma had to admit, the thought was tantalising.

She stood back and wiped her sweaty brow, gazing at the sketch she’d first shown to Will. Yes, the room in front of her was almost exactly like the drawing—Will had been a genius at finding things to recreate the look. Her heart dropped when she thought how she’d yet to hear from him, especially after the night they’d spent together. She could excuse him running off because he was late for work, but justifying two days of silence was slightly more difficult. Still, Emma vowed that this time negativity wouldn’t get in the way. Only one month remained until Christmas, and Will was probably swamped with shifts at the centre. He’d ring when he could.

Thank goodness, Alice would come by tonight once she finished at the restaurant. She’d be a welcome distraction, and Emma couldn’t wait to show off the flat’s makeover and have a quick catch-up. By her friend’s frenzied voice mail earlier today, Alice was obviously desperate to talk about something.
She and Chaz probably had a tiff,
Emma thought. They’d been spending so much time together lately, it was inevitable.

Emma grimaced as she caught a reflection of herself in the windowpane. Dust smeared her cheeks, and damp circles ringed her armpits. She’d better have a quick shower before Alice arrived.

Half an hour later—sporting a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt—Emma buzzed in her friend.

‘Welcome!’ she said, eyes sparkling as she threw open the door.

‘Oh my God!’ Alice’s jaw dropped as she took in the room. ‘You haven’t just redecorated the place; you’ve transformed it.’ She wandered around the lounge, taking in the gauzy white curtains, the leafy tree in the corner that looked as if it was growing into the sky blue of the walls, and vibrant cushions dotting the sofa like drops of colour. ‘This is incredible.’

‘Thanks.’ Emma grinned. ‘Take a seat. Wine?’

‘Do you need to ask?’ Alice flopped onto the sofa, her eyes still roaming around the space. ‘I’ve been dying to talk to you.’

Emma cracked open a bottle (twist top, thank God), then sloshed wine into two glasses. Carrying them over to the sofa, she handed one to Alice and sank down beside her. ‘What’s up?’

‘Well
…
’ Alice’s face went serious, and Emma puzzled at the sudden change in her friend’s upbeat demeanour. ‘I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.’ The words were heavy and weighted.

‘I’m great,’ Emma responded slowly, wondering if Alice knew something she didn’t. Had Will been talking to Chaz? Maybe Will had said he wasn’t interested in her, and Chaz had passed that on to Alice? But no, Will
was
interested; she was going with her gut on this one.

Alice reached out and touched Emma’s arm. ‘I’m so impressed with you, Ems, I have to say. You’ve really changed. The old you would have run off in a heartbeat.’

Emma shook her head. Had Alice been taking hallucinogenics? ‘Okay, what on earth are you talking about?’

Alice’s brow furrowed. ‘Will’s condition.’

Emma jerked towards her friend, the wine sloshing in her glass. ‘Condition?’ He seemed perfectly healthy to her—and she should know. She’d seen every inch of him.

‘Oh my God.’ Alice’s mouth fell open. ‘You mean he didn’t tell you? I just assumed he had, given how close you guys have got
.…
’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Tell me
what
, for God’s sake?’ Emma asked, impatience making her words abrupt. Inside, her heart beat so loudly, she could almost hear its thump echo around the room. Images of her d
ad sittin
g her down and breaking the news about his illness rushed through her head. She pushed them away, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

‘Okay.’ Alice brushed back her fringe, eyes darting nervously. ‘The thing is, Will isn’t well.’

‘Isn’t well?’ Emma parroted. ‘What do you mean?’ Her mind’s eye flashed to the row of bottles she’d dismissed in the bathroom on the boat. Had they been for something serious, after all?

‘He’s got multiple sclerosis,’ Alice said. ‘Chaz had no idea, but he ran into Will’s father last night at a university alumni event. Apparently, Will was diagnosed about eight months ago. His dad told Chaz that Will takes medication to control the symptoms and halt the progress.’

Emma stared as her mind whirled. Will had multiple sclerosis? The strong, solid man who’d helped paint her flat and who’d made love to her twice in one night? Who
…
she swallowed hard against the rising emotion
…
who she’d been starting to dream of a fut
ure with?

‘Ems?’ Alice asked softly. ‘You okay?’ She was silent for a
minute
, then cleared her throat and put on a bright expression. ‘The good news is that apparently MS can take years to kick in. And with the new medications, Chaz said people can live most of their lives without developing any serious symptoms. So it’s not going to affect your relationship.’

Emma stared at her friend, trying to get a grip on the emotions swirling inside. Will might be fine now, but what about the future? What if the medication couldn’t control the illness any longer? Could the two of them live with that threat hanging over their heads?

A feeling of loss and defeat flooded in, and tears pushed at her eyes. She couldn’t bear to watch someone she loved suffer again; she just
couldn’t
. Memories she’d long buried—her dad’s sunken face; how his flesh had stretched across sharp cheekbones when he’d tried to smile despite the pain she could see in his eyes; how he’d only just managed to squeeze her hand—paraded across her mind, and the familiar ache made her gasp with its intensity.

All the Pollyanna in the world couldn’t encourage her to go through something like that again. She knew her limits, and maybe Will knew his, too. Given how he’d rushed off the other morning, his distant behaviour of the past, and the fact he hadn’t called, he obviously didn’t want a relationship, either. If only she’d read the signs correctly instead of brushing them off in a haze of positivity, she could have nipped this thing in the bud and protected herself from these feelings of hurt and pain, feelings she’d done everything possible in the past to avoid.

‘Will and I don’t have a relationship,’ Emma said finally. ‘It’s for the best we part ways now. Anyway, it’s not like he’s chasing after me.’ Understatement of the year. The way Will had fled, it was like she’d been chasing
him
. Her face flushed as she recalled inviting herself over to his place to cook dinner, then practically forcing herself onto him. God, what an idiot she’d been.

‘But, Ems
…
’ Alice shifted on the sofa. ‘But Ems, remember the Pollyanna Plan: you’re supposed to see the good in everything. I’m sure he’ll get in touch—Will doesn’t seem the type for one-night stands. And it’s not as if he needs nursing or something. He’s perfectly fine!’

‘Yeah, for now.’ Of all people, Alice should realise even the
Pollyanna
Plan couldn’t carry Emma through something like this. But one look at her friend’s hopeful face showed Alice still thought it possible.

‘You can’t cut Will off because he has an illness that
might
mean he needs some extra care in the future. Isn’t he—isn’t
love
—worth the risk?’ Alice squeezed Emma’s arm, and Emma slowly shook her head, a rush of anger mixing with the deep hole of hurt and loss that had reopened inside. Of course Alice couldn’t understand. No one could, except someone who’d been through it already.

‘No. It’s not.’ Why would Emma voluntarily put herself in pain’s way when she had the chance to avoid it? How Emma felt now was nothing compared to how hard it’d be when Will’s health failed. ‘Listen, I know you were trying to help me, but I can’t carry on with the Plan any longer. Sticking your head in the sand and thinking all will be fine doesn’t change anything. In fact, it only makes things worse.’

Emma sighed as the cotton-candy world she’d been living in lately melted away. Will’s illness was a harsh reminder that bad things happened, regardless of how you looked at it. Life remai
ned lif
e, without any sugar coating. Changing your outlook changed nothing, only adding a level of delusion that made reality’s
intrusion
more painful.

‘But you haven’t really tried!’ Alice cried. ‘It’s not even been two weeks yet. Come on, Emma. You can’t give up on something th
at easily.’

‘I’m sorry, Al. I did try, but I can’t be like you.’ Continuing with this experiment was out of the question.

Silence fell, and Alice gulped the last of her wine. Frustration flashed across her face as she got to her feet. ‘I’ve had more fun with you these past few days than in ten years. You’ve been alive—open to trying new things, not hiding behind your prickly shield.’ She looked down at Emma for a second, then set her glass on the counter with a clang. ‘And if I’m being honest, you weren’t exactly a ray of sunshine to be around before.’

Emma stared into her friend’s eyes, recalling Alice’s flatmate’s words about Debbie Downer and Alice’s joking laugh how sh
e wa
s ‘misery guts’. A pang of pain went through her. Despite Alice’s denial, she hadn’t been joking after all.

‘I’m sorry to burst your bubble.’ The words sounded cold even to her own ears, but hurt propelled them from Emma’s mouth before she could stop them. ‘But I’m not a kid anymore, and I can’t live in a fantasy land like this delusional Pollyanna character.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘And maybe it’s time you got real, too. How much of your life are you going to waste wearing a sombrero and hoping to someday make it in acting?’ It was harsher than intended, but it was only the truth. If Alice was being honest, then she would be, too.

Alice’s face was stonier than Emma had ever seen it. ‘If getting real means becoming like you, I’d rather not.’ Throwing on her coat, she strode to the door. It thudded with a sense of finality behind her.

Emma sank back on the sofa as silence fell. Her friend’s swift exit only proved what she already knew: when confronted with the truth, people who couldn’t face it ran away. She’d give Alice a few days to calm down. Eventually, she’d have to see Emma couldn’t have carried on in light of recent events. The fact that life was as harsh and bleak as ever couldn’t be more evident. If Alice didn’t want to accept that then so be it, but Emma wasn’t going to be all sweetness and light any longer.

An image of Meg’s hopeful face and her mum’s gentle smile drifted into her mind, and Emma’s heart squeezed. They’d seemed happy to let her into their lives, but had the Pollyanna Plan blinded her to reality there, too?

As she glanced around the lounge, the twinkle lights teased her with their cheerful sparkle. Thank goodness she hadn’t acted on her foolish interior decorating pipe dream. Wasting time on something she’d dabbled in as a child was one thing, but wasting money was another. The first chance she had, she’d see about returning to real employment.

Suddenly, Emma couldn’t wait to put the last couple of weeks behind her, to bury the emotions they’d stirred and get back to the pleasantly numb world of the past. Anything was better than the anger, loss and hurt whirling inside now.

Pulling herself up, Emma crossed the room and heaved the plug for the twinkle lights from the wall, feeling something deep within her go dark as the glow faded. The Pollyanna Plan was done. Positive thinking was a very dangerous thing, and Emma was grateful she’d come to her senses before it completely ruined her life.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

E
mma awoke the next morning, her head throbbing. As she rubbed her eyes, images of last night flooded in: learning about Will’s illness and how that had ripped open old, aching memories of her dad; her argument with Alice; then downing the rest of the wine, in between packing away all the spare bits and bobs she’d installed around the flat—starting with those bloody twinkle lights. Thank God, she hadn’t done up her bedroom. It was still bare and pleasantly neutral, with none of the frou-frou elements now gone for good.

Yawning, Emma sat up slowly, pushing away the hurt that lurked when she thought of Alice storming out. They’d never exchanged words like last evening, but sooner or later, Alice would accept that Emma was better off living life the way she wanted. They could agree to disagree. And as for Will
…
no more swooning over men like a sex-starved heroine. It was time to get her life back on track.

First things first: she’d look at some job sites. What had she been thinking, delaying the search until now? Then, she’d head to the paint store—a different one than Will’s DIY centre—and buy a pristine white, restoring the walls to their former glory. On the way, she’d dump as many design cast-offs as possible at the charity shop. The quicker things were normal again, the better she’d feel.

Emma opened the lid of her laptop, shaking her head as she noticed the bookmarks for design courses. How daft to think that was something she could do! After deleting the markers, she quickly pulled up the job site she’d looked at a few days ago—had it only been a few days?
It feels like it’s been months,
she thought, running her eyes down the page of listings.

Ah, here was something. Emma scanned an advert from
Plumtree
Insurance labelled ‘urgent’. Okay, so the salary was less than she’d made at Gladstone; and the responsibilities, not as great. But it was a job in her industry, and right now she’d empty rubbish bins at an insurance company if it meant a return to routine. After composing a professional cover letter, Emma attached her CV and emailed it off. Might as well send out a few more, too—the same listings she’d spotted before were still there, except (surprisingly) the advert for Azerbaijan. Someone must be even more desperate than she was!

There,
Emma thought, snapping the laptop closed. Her earlier notion about having an occupation she enjoyed came to mind, and she rolled her eyes. Jobs weren’t for enjoying, were they? They were for making money.
Being an underwriter is
…
fine,
she told herself firmly. She’d just been away from the environment and had forgotten how satisfying the work could be. Well, maybe ‘satisfying’ was the wrong word. Absorbing. And that’s exactly what she needed right now.

Briefly, Emma wondered if she were engaging in the adult version of what she’d done after her dad had died: shutting herself off from everything and everyone. But no, this was completely different. Back then, she’d spent days in the world of her imagination. Now, she was embracing reality.

A couple of hours later, Emma had dropped off the terrible twinkle lights, the potted tree, and the candles she’d sculpted into quirky shapes, and was returning from the paint shop near
Paddington
Station. Her shoulders ached from carrying two large tins, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get home and paint everything back to how it used to be. As she plodded along the canal, leaves drifted from the trees overhead, and the sky was a dull slate grey. The streak of glorious autumnal weather had come to an end, and the winter chill was finally setting in.

Her mobile rang, and Emma lowered the tins to the towpath and grabbed the phone. Probably Alice, calling to say she was sorry. Her friend could never stay angry for long.

‘Hello?’ Emma tried to catch her breath.

‘Is that Emma Beckett?’ The voice of an older man Emma didn’t recognise came through the mobile.

‘Yes, speaking.’

‘It’s Lionel McFarlane from Plumtree Insurance. You emailed your CV earlier today.’

‘Oh, yes. Good morning.’
Wow, that was quick,
Emma thought.

‘I’ve just spoken with your former boss, who’s said exceptional things about you—mainly that I’d be a fool not to hire you and that I’d better snap you up fast.’ Lionel laughed. ‘You’ll have noticed we need to fill the position quickly, and we’re about to wrap up the interview process. Can you come in at two today? You’ll meet with Cathy, our HR, first; then I’ll have a quick chat with you. Does t
hat suit?’

Hell, did it ever! ‘That would be perfect, Mr McFarlane.
Th
ank you.’

‘Cathy will email directions. The office isn’t far from your old one, so you won’t have any trouble finding it. I look forward to seeing you later this afternoon.’ He said goodbye and clicked off. Emma breathed in as a knot of tension eased. Thank God, things were moving quickly.

Picking up the paint tins, Emma urged her feet faster and faster towards home. It was already ten thirty, and after schlepping around with what felt like two-ton weights, she was sweaty and in desperate need of a shower. Plus, she needed to take a look at Plumtree and learn a bit more about the company.

A few minutes later and that much closer to cardiac arrest, Emma plunked the paint down on the floor of the flat and collapsed on the bed, opening up the laptop and Googling ‘Plumtree Insurance’. They weren’t as big as Gladstone, but according to the website, they had a stable client portfolio, specialising mainly in corporate insurance. Right now, ‘stable’ sounded just right.

After showering, Emma slicked back her hair as best she could, bemoaning that she’d cut it in the first place. Stepping into a black suit, she felt a little like the past week had been a dream—
a dream that can never be real life,
she reminded her solemn, pale reflection.

‘We’d certainly be delighted to welcome you on board,’ Lionel McFarlane said a few hours later. ‘You’re by far and away the most experienced candidate, and your references are impeccable.’ The twinkle in his eyes reminded Emma of her former boss, although the two men couldn’t appear more different. With his tweed
jackets
and grizzled beard, Henry resembled a professor. On the other hand, Lionel was decked out in what could only be a Savile Row suit, his dark hair clipped neatly. ‘Tracy will email the details of our offer. We’ll need you to start in the next few days.’

‘That’s perfect,’ Emma responded. She was so desperate to get back to work, she’d muck in right now if they wanted. With its beige cubicles and fluorescent lighting, Plumtree lacked the slick environment of Gladstone. But Gladstone’s glamour hadn’t done anything to protect her job, had it? ‘I look forward to receiving the offer, and I’ll let you know shortly.’

‘Excellent.’ Lionel stood, towering over her. ‘I hope to see you again very soon.’ His phone rang and he picked it up, covering the receiver. ‘Are you all right to make your way out?’

Emma nodded and retraced her path down the corridor, relief flooding through her with every step. Sure, she wasn’t filled with the heady excitement she’d experienced when thinking of her own design business, but that was a silly dream, better left on the shelf where it belonged than actually attempted.

Out on the street, the towering metal and glass structures were surreally familiar, as if she’d been away for a very long time and was returning to a place that was unchanged but felt different. Being Pollyanna had really done a number on her, Emma thought as she paused in front of Gladstone’s—now Aquarius’s—building, craning her neck to gaze up at the fifteenth floor, where her old company was located. Henry, George and everything else from just a few weeks ago seemed so distant, as if they were characters in a past life. Snorting, Emma dismissed the fanciful thoughts. Once she started her new job, everything would come into fo
cus again.

Back at the flat, the offer from Plumtree was waiting in her inbox. As the initial posting indicated, the salary was considerably less than what she’d made at Gladstone, but a cut in pay was a small sacrifice to get back to work. She quickly typed out an acceptance, saying she’d send the signed contract by courier as soon a
s possible.

Then, Emma slumped onto the bed and succumbed to sleep, lulled by the security of knowing that soon her life would be back on track, and all the useless feelings the Pollyanna Plan had dredged up—hope, optimism, enthusiasm—would vanish.

‘Yoo-hoo!’ Lou’s voice echoed across the silent waters of Regent’s Canal, and Will raised a hand in response. The last time he’d seen her was that night with Emma, almost a week ago. Ever since the conversation with his father, Will had either been holed up inside the boat or working shifts at Home & Hearth. A colleague had quit after spilling a tin of black paint on a shipload of Santas, landing Will with double the work. He couldn’t complain, though: he was so desperate to keep his mind off both Emma and his dad, the extra hours were a godsend. Every muscle in his body ached and Will knew he was pushing it, but he didn’t care. The exhaustion meant he fell asleep almost as soon as he came home. If only he could control his subconscious
…

Every night, images of Emma in his arms marched through his mind. As he fought with the duvet, he could swear her perfume still lingered. He’d force himself back to sleep, only to be faced with his father’s disappointed countenance, the accusations of cowardice piercing Will’s dreams like daggers.

Will arranged his face in a smile as he neared Lou, eyes widening as he took in her full aboriginal headdress and the smeared war paint across her broad cheeks. Against the backdrop of Regent’s Canal, she was a fantastical vision.

‘You look like shit,’ Lou said bluntly, the words at odds with her posh accent.

Will laughed, running a hand over his tired face. No point denying it—he did, and he felt like shit, too. ‘Thanks. Hello to you, too.’

‘Haven’t seen you around much,’ Lou said, staring hard at him, as if she could see into his mind.

‘I’ve been busy working,’ Will mumbled.

‘Oh.’ Lou’s face dropped. ‘I’d hoped you were spending more time with that young woman of yours. How is she, anyway?’

The last thing he needed was Lou sticking her sizeable nose into his affairs—or lack of them. ‘I wouldn’t know, Lou. I haven’t seen her for the past week, and I don’t plan to.’
Best to nip it in the bud now,
he thought.

But Lou just tilted her head to the side. Will tried not to grin as the headdress shifted comically, looking like it was about to slide off. ‘I reckon you haven’t seen the last of her, my friend. I have a feeling about these things, and I know that woman wasn’t a one-night stand. You two have a connection.’ She waved her hands mystically in the air, and the headdress slipped over one eye.

Will sighed. Connection or not, he wasn’t interested in a relationship. ‘Well, things didn’t work out,’ he said, stepping onto his boat. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Lou.’ And before she could respond, he unlocked the door and climbed inside, silence filling his ears.

Thank goodness,
he thought, sinking onto the sofa. He reached for his mobile, a strange feeling sweeping over him when he noticed there were no messages—not even from his father, who, until their last conversation, had rung once a day to ‘chat about the business’.

So, Dad finally got the message,
Will thought, shoving away the phone. Fleetingly, he wondered if the takeover was progressing and how his father was dealing with it. But his dad was more than capable of handling the situation under his own steam—it was what he’d always done, even when Will had been around. No, he was better off staying out of any business affairs.

Maybe now he’d have the peace he craved.