The Pollyanna Plan (2 page)

Emma pictured the loud chaos of Alice’s flat, where people traipsed in and out all night.
No way.
‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.’

‘Call if you need anything.’ Alice lifted a slender hand.

Navigating across Piccadilly Circus towards the Tube, Emma assessed whether she really
was
okay. It wasn’t every day you discovered the man you were about to marry snuggling with another woman. A wave of disappointment at George’s traitorous actions swept through her, and she shook her head sternly.
Enough
. Life had a way of throwing curve balls, she knew that. The sooner Emma accepted the change in her situation and reformulated plans for the future minus her ex-fiancé, the better.

Anyway, statistics showed 70 percent of relationships founded on infidelity failed. Good luck to George and his new woman, Emma thought, clattering down the stairs to the Tube. She’d had a narrow escape.

CHAPTER TWO

O
ver the next week, Emma embraced the pile of work on her desk like never before, heading to the office for six in the morning and staying as late as possible without being threatened by the grumpy cleaner’s broom. For once, Henry didn’t come by to insist she take a lunch hour or inhale a lungful of polluted air—he had his head down, too, and whenever she spotted him in the corridor, he appeared as exhausted as she felt.

Although the days passed in a welcome blur of loan applications, nights were sheer torture as Emma wrestled with her duvet, eyes wide open, waiting for sleep to come. Eventually, she’d trudge to the lounge and camp in front of the flickering telly, praying the mind-numbing show on hair products would knock her out. Instead, she’d sit for hours, watching women get extensions clipped in, transform their locks from dry to luscious, and be sprayed with some kind of Miracle-Gro guaranteed to turn tresses to Rapunzel manes in no time.
How could people believe all this?
Emma
wondered
. Optimism was a dangerous thing.

When she’d finally drag herself to bed again, her brain tumbled over with images of George and that final scene in the café. She wasn’t upset, of course—in fact, they’d seen each other so infrequently she didn’t even miss him—but George’s daily texts and voice mails claiming he needed to talk grated on her nerves. Why couldn’t he leave her be to deal with what happened and move on, the same way her mum had left her alone after her dad died? Emma had deleted the messages, trying to force George from her mind.

After yet another sleepless night, the shrill ring of the alarm clock jerked her eyes open Thursday morning. Outside, the sky was dark, and rain tapped against the windows. She snapped on the bedside light, squinting against the harsh glare reflected off the white walls.

Emma trudged to the bathroom and stood under the hot spray, hoping the heat would make her alert. Thank God she had a lot of work on her desk. She could comfortably bury herself in reports until late tonight, late tomorrow night, all weekend
…
relief flooded in that no matter what else happened, people always needed money. The well of loan applications would never run dry.

Sluicing citrus shampoo through her hair, Alice’s words about how she had no life circled around her mind. What was with the desperation to see her take up knitting or pottery, or getting off her head at raves? Emma wasn’t the exception—most City
workers
didn’t have lives. Their job was their life, and there was nothing wrong with that. Why couldn’t people just be proud, impressed with what she’d accomplished?

Dad would have been,
Emma thought, scrubbing her skin with the loofah. In fact, her father would have believed she could be CEO in no time, although he’d find her choice of the corporate route surprising. A smile lifted Emma’s lips as she thought of how he’d always encouraged her endless sketching of houses and rooms, buying her notepads and pencils and saying she’d make the world’s best interior designer.

But that unstinting positivity was also Dad’s downfall,
Emma reminded herself. He’d waited too long to check out the lump on the side of his throat, and by the time he’d visited the doctor, it had been too late. Within a couple of months, her father had been gone. It was then Emma had learned positivity changed nothing in the long term. Much better to be unfailingly realistic about life and its harshness. And even that couldn’t prepare you for everything—look at what had happened with George.

After towelling off, Emma twisted her dark curls into a bun, stepped into one of her many grey suits, slipped on her coat, grabbed an umbrella, and was out of the flat by half past five.

On the stroke of six, she pushed through the glass door of Gladstone, tension easing as she entered the plush confines. The receptionist wasn’t in yet, but the low hum of voices drifted from behind closed doors. Hmm, that was funny. Usually, she was the first one here. Dropping her handbag by the desk, Emma settled into her chair and booted up the computer, losing herself in the flow of numbers.

‘Emma? Can I see you for a minute?’ Henry’s voice interrupted her concentration, and she lifted her head from the screen, noting with surprise it was already nine. Her boss’s eyes looked strained, and his face was paler than she’d ever seen it. He’d obviously been working too hard. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

‘Of course.’ Smoothing her skirt, she followed Henry down the hushed corridor. He probably wanted to offload some extra work. Great timing, because with all the hours she’d been putting in lately, Emma was blowing through her queue of applications much faster than normal. The more she had to keep her occupied right now, th
e bet
ter.

‘Have a seat.’ Henry motioned to the chair beside his desk, and Emma’s eyes widened as she spotted the company’s human resources officer in the corner. What the hell was she doing here? Oh, God. Was Henry going to give her a ticking off for working so many hours this week? He’d been around to notice all the extra time she’d put in, too. Emma’s heart sank. The last thing she needed was a chat from HR about life balance and fluffy bunnies. As she met Henry’s glum expression, it was obvious the news couldn’t be good. Maybe he was retiring? The thought of this place without his friendly face was unimaginable.

Henry’s shoulders lifted in a sigh. ‘Emma, you’ve been a brilliant part of the Gladstone team for over ten years now, and I’ve really enjoyed working with you.’

Ah, so he
was
retiring. Emma was about to say she’d miss him when his next sentence stopped her.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.’

What?
Emma’s jaw dropped as the words swirled around her. They couldn’t be letting her go! She was the hardest worker, got through the most applications
…
for God’s sake, just a few weeks ago, Henry had been praising her to high heaven, claiming he didn’t know what they’d do if they lost her. She tried to find something to say, but her mouth flapped open and closed without sound.

‘We’ll be announcing this next week, but Gladstone will soon be merging with Aquarius. Unfortunately, we’re forced to cut areas where resources overlap. In this case, I’m afraid that means our underwriting department has to go.’

Wait a second. Had Henry just said
Aquarius
? That was George’s company! Had he known about this? As lead actuary, it was very possible he’d been aware of the plans. Emma sat mutely, struggling to take in everything. Not only was she being made redundant, she was being made redundant by her cheating ex-fiancé’s company—the same cheating ex-fiancé who hadn’t even bothered warning her. Even without doing a quick calculation, Emma knew the chances of such a coincidence were miniscule.

‘To help smooth your transition, we’re offering counselling advice and information on how to sign onto benefits,’ the HR said in an uber-calm voice, as if Emma was a psychiatric patient about to have an episode. The way her eyes were popping at the news, Emma really couldn’t blame the woman.

‘I’m sorry,’ Henry said, shaking his head. ‘I tried everything I could to keep you, but in the end, the decision came from the top. I’m sad to lose you. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a dedicated employee.’

Emma forced herself to nod, conscious she had to do something to show she understood. Inside, though, every inch of her fought the knowledge she no longer had a job. What the hell was she going to do now? It felt like she’d been plunged into the cold ocean without even knowing how to swim. And with the current economic situation, she might be flailing for some time.

‘I’ll just finish up the application I’m working on, then,’ she croaked in a deadened voice.

‘Er, actually,’—the HR darted a nervous glance at Henry—‘we’re going to have to ask you to leave now. Gather up your things, and Taz will collect your pass and escort you from the building.’

‘“Escort me from the building”?’ Emma echoed. What did they think she would do? At five foot seven and one hundred and twenty pounds, she was hardly going to cause problems. Then she remembered the report she’d read last year, citing the probability of disgruntled workers creating disruption in the office. One in a thousand was a potential problem, and Gladstone was obviously taking no chances.

Henry stood, signalling an end to the session. ‘Keep in touch,’ he said, holding out his meaty paw. ‘It’s been a pleasure working together. Don’t hesitate to let me know if I can do anything for you.’

Emma nodded again, sadness panging her heart as Henry’s
fingers
closed around hers. He’d been a constant presence in her life for the past few years, checking in to see how she was doing and ordering her to rest when she was tired, as well as being an
invaluable
mentor. She’d learned so much from him, and now
…
today would be the last time she’d see him. She blinked to hold back the liquid pushing at her eyes.

‘Good luck.’ Henry smiled sadly, and Emma withdrew her hand, ducking her head as she headed out the door. Back in her office, she flopped onto the chair, conscious she’d never again sit here. The cool rationale of the numbers on the screen mocked her, and her heart started beating fast with panic. What if she
couldn’t
find a new job quickly? Sure, she had some savings to tide her over, money she’d set aside each month to prepare for a worst-case
scenario
like this. But finances weren’t what worried her.

No, what really alarmed her was the expanse of emptiness stretching out before her. Over the past few years, work had been so absorbing, Emma hadn’t contemplated the concept of free time. Even her weekends revolved around numbers, numbers, numbers, much to Alice’s chagrin. And the rare afternoons Emma spent with George usually resulted in the two of them working side by side at his penthouse in Islington.

Work had given the day purpose and structure, allowing Emma to sink into the consistent world of percentages and block out life’s unpredictability. Losing George was one thing, but her job
…
without it, what would anchor her down?

Taking a deep breath to calm the rising anxiety, Emma gathered up her favourite calculator, the Parker pen Henry had given her after completing a decade in the company, and
…
she flung open her desk drawers, frowning at the tangle of paper clips and Post-it notes. Ten years here, and all she had to take away were a calculator and a pen. To be honest, she didn’t even want to say goodbye to anyone. She’d kept her head down and worked hard, and the only person she’d interacted with beyond grunts had be
en He
nry.

Right. Hauling herself to her feet, Emma took a final look around the office. As she walked down the silent corridor, it was impossible to believe she’d never be back again. She thought she’d been prepared for everything and anything, mentally running statistics and probabilities through her mind to ensure she kept one step ahead of life.

But as the lift plunged downwards and Emma joined the chaos of the street, she had to concede she’d never seen this coming. Sometimes, even expecting the worst didn’t prepare you for how bad life could be.

CHAPTER THREE

‘W
ant another?’ Alice pushed back her heavy fringe, gesturing towards the empty fishbowl that had once been swimming with lime daiquiri.

Emma nodded. ‘Sure.’ Already, her brain was foggy and the tip of her nose numb, but she needed to block the uncomfortable thought that no matter what she did, nothing could prepare her for life’s evil surprises. She was starting to feel like a mythical creature at an evil god’s mercy.

Shaking her head to clear the fanciful notion, Emma grabbed a straw, spearing the now full fishbowl Alice had just placed on the table, and drew in a mouthful.

‘Er, you should probably pace yourself,’ Alice said, eyebrows raised. ‘You’re not exactly known for your drinking abilities.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Emma mumbled, lifting the straw to her mouth. She’d had about four drinks, maybe? The longer they stayed in the bar, the harder it was to keep track.

After leaving Gladstone, Emma hadn’t felt like returning to her flat. God knows when she’d last been there during working hours! The concept of lazing at home was so foreign, she couldn’t even begin to imagine it.

Instead, Emma had wandered the streets of the City, ending up in Brick Lane amidst bohemian creatives with funky haircuts and alien outfits. Desperate not to be alone, she’d rung Alice, who thankfully wasn’t working until this evening. After Emma blurted out the day’s events, Alice steered her into a bar full of saggy couches and random paraphernalia, ordering a huge cocktail served up in a communal fishbowl. The whole scene was so far removed from Gladstone, Emma could barely grasp the strange reality.

‘So
…
’ Alice crossed her legs and leaned forward. ‘How are you feeling about everything? It’s a lot to handle.’ The sympathetic tone of Emma’s best friend—combined with the super-strong alcohol she’d necked down—wormed through the control barrier. Suddenly, Emma didn’t have the energy to keep up the facade that she could deal with whatever life threw her way.

‘I feel pretty crap,’ she said, trying to ignore how Alice’s eyes widened in surprise at the blunt confession. Emma couldn’t remember ever admitting she wasn’t okay. ‘I can’t believe I don’t have a job to go to anymore.’

Alice nodded. ‘I can imagine. It’ll take you a few days to adjust. But I’m sure you’ll have a new job in no time, and think on the bright side: now you can finally go on vacation! Or at least spend a few days relaxing, right? I mean, seriously. Have you ever taken time off?’

Emma slurped from the fishbowl as her mind flipped over. When
had
she last gone on holiday? Unbidden, memories poured in of her and her mum, laughing as they dumped bucket after bucket of sand onto her dad until only his head emerged. He’d stood up roaring, chasing them both into the warm Mediterranean surf as they shrieked in the bubbling foam, the sun high in the clear blue sky. She’d been about eleven
…
it must have been the year before her father died.

God, how Emma wished life was still as it had been when he was alive: it was the last time she’d felt part of a family. After her dad’s death, her mum had packed away every little trace of him, from the funny T-shirts he’d collect and wear to embarrass them, to the photos of the trips they’d taken. It was as if by removing his presence, her mother could stop the pain. Not that it worked—Emma had heard her mum’s sobs more nights than she could remember. But during the day, her father was an unwritten taboo.

Emma had retreated to her bedroom, the only place in the house where her mother hadn’t managed to erase her dad. Losing herself in her sketching as she created room after room to escape to, she and her mother had become like strangers sharing a house. Several years later, her mother had remarried and then had Meg, embracing her new life with a vengeance. Despite invitations to visit, Emma couldn’t help feeling she was an unwelcome reminder of the past her mother tried so hard to bury.

‘Emma?’ Alice’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Emma jerked her attention back to the present.

‘Um, I can’t remember the last time I went on vacation,’ she admitted, stirring her drink.

‘Exactly!’ Alice crowed triumphantly. ‘Now’s your chance. You could go somewhere lovely and tropical. Maybe even have a hot fling.’

‘Did you know one in ten catch a venereal disease on holiday?’ Emma mumbled.

Alice rolled her eyes, a look of impatience flashing across her features. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. You know what? I understand why you want to be ready for the worst. I really do. Especially given what happened with your father.’ Her voice softened. ‘But look at you. Can you really say all your risk calculations prepared you for today?’

Alice’s words echoed Emma’s earlier thoughts, and she shook her head no.

‘Maybe
…
maybe the time has come to try something
different
,’ her friend continued.

‘Something different?’ Emma slurred. Blinking, she tried to focus on Alice’s blurred features.

‘Yeah. Like, a new way of thinking.’

‘It’s a little late for me to go all New Age or become a Buddhist.’ Emma grimaced, picturing herself in a robe, dancing through Leicester Square like those irritating Hare Krishnas who held up the crowd every Friday night.

‘You don’t need to go that far,’ Alice replied. ‘I meant more along the lines of being positive. Looking for the best in everything, instead of expecting the worst. You know, like Pollyanna.’

‘Pollyanna?’ What the hell was Alice on about?

‘God, didn’t you watch telly growing up? Yes, Pollyanna. The little girl who sees the good in everything?’

‘I never heard of her.’ Thank goodness. That kind of character wasn’t exactly Emma’s cup of tea.

‘She’s packed off to live with a horrible aunt after her parents die, and she plays the “Glad Game”, where she finds a sunny side to everything, no matter how dire,’ Alice continued. ‘I used to love watching that show.’

Emma made a face. ‘Sounds really annoying.’

Alice shrugged. ‘Might be, but I reckon Pollyanna was a whole lot happier than you.’

Emma stared down at the scarred tabletop. Happy? She
was
happy with the ordered routine of her life. Or she had been, anyway, until she’d lost her job. Okay, maybe ‘happy’ was the wrong word. More like
…
‘contented’, or ‘satisfied’. That was better than happiness, which didn’t last.

‘Look, with everything that’s happened, you have a chance to begin again.’ Alice stirred the fishbowl. ‘It’s a great time to start embracing life and positivity instead of constantly talking about risk factors and stuff. I reckon it’ll make a massive impact on your daily living!’

Emma shook her head, biting back the words that positive thinking hadn’t affected Alice’s ability to get acting parts
…
or
lasting
boyfriends. ‘I don’t think it’ll make any impact, Al. Life is life, no matter what spin you put on it.’

‘Well, Ems, I hate to say it, but what have you got to lose?’ The sympathetic look on her friend’s face eased some of the words’ bluntness.

Tears pushed at Emma’s eyes as she gazed at her drink. Alice was right. What
did
she have to lose? In the space of a week, her once solid life had crumbled, leaving behind
…
well, nothing. No boyfriend, no job, a family she barely even spoke to, and no group of girlfriends but the faithful Alice.

‘Anyway, you thought thinking negatively would help, right? And it hasn’t exactly been successful,’ Alice continued. ‘So why not try a little positivity?’

The words circled around Emma’s alcohol-fogged brain, and they seemed to make sense. But Emma hadn’t been negative, she told herself, struggling to think clearly. She’d been
realistic
. There was a huge difference between looking for the worst in everything and basing decisions on known risk factors.

‘Come on, Ems. Just give it a go for, like, a month at least.’ Alice’s voice was hopeful. ‘We’ll call it the Pollyanna Plan.’

‘The Pollyanna Plan?’ Emma couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. God, even the name sounded like unicorns and leprechauns. Emma didn’t have a problem with either—except they didn’t bloody exist. ‘Why are you so keen for me to sign up to this, anyway?’

Alice shrugged and glanced away. ‘I just think
…
you could
do with a little more
…
well, sweetness and light,’ she finished
delicately
.

Sweetness and light? Had her friend been replaced by Mary
Poppins
? When had sweetness and light ever got you anywhere in life?

But where has thinking realistically got you?
a little voice peeped up from the back of her brain.

Emma stared into Alice’s expectant face, her mind flipping over. Maybe trying a different approach wouldn’t hurt. She wouldn’t go as far as embracing mythical creatures, but she could try to be
slightly
more positive. It might not change anything in the long run, but perhaps it’d make rebuilding her life more bearable. She swallowed back her growing dread just thinking of the days ahead in her empty flat.

‘Okay.’ Emma nodded, and Alice’s face lit up. ‘I’ll give this
Pollyanna
Plan a try.’

‘Fantastic!’ Alice grinned. ‘See? It pays to be optimistic. If I’d thought you’d never agree, I wouldn’t have even mentioned it. Then you’d still be old misery guts.’

‘Misery guts?’ Emma echoed, taking another big slurp of
he
r dr
ink.

‘Well, not exactly misery guts, but you know,’ Alice said quickly. ‘Anyway, I really think seeing the good in everything will bring about a whole new you.’ She tried to heave the fishbowl into the air, then gave up and raised her straw. ‘Here’s to the Pollyanna Plan!’

Squinting, Emma attempted to clink her straw with Alice’s, but her aim was off.

‘Cheers,’ she managed to get out. Lifting the straw to her lips, Emma thought that although she might be drunk, she definitely wasn’t delusional. She’d try this Pollyanna thing because, as Alice so kindly pointed out, she had nothing to lose. But Emma was certain when it came to real life, seeing the good in everything wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.