The Pollyanna Plan (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
ill swigged his beer, watching the blonde girl onstage tug her terrified dark-haired partner into the light. He narrowed his eyes, thinking there was something familiar about the reticent woman. Had he met her before? Staring for a second as his mind ticked over, Will waited for the pieces to fall into place. Yes! He’d helped her at the shop yesterday; she was the one who’d wanted that particular blue shade. What was she doing here?

He took another gulp as the woman prompted the crowd to sing along to Madonna’s
‘Like A Virgin’. The lads around him needed no encouragement, lasciviously hooting and hollering their way through the lyrics. What was the chance he’d run into her here, at karaoke dating of all places? Maybe she hadn’t known what she was in for, either.

Karaoke speed dating was the last thing Will had expected after accepting Chaz’s invitation. Who the hell arranged that for a stag night? When he’d turned up to meet his mates outside the club, Will had barely been able to believe his eyes when he caught sight of the flashing sign. Chaz had shrugged, explaining this would be a great way to get warmed up for the evening ahead, and that it was the groom-to-be’s last opportunity for any kind of dating—and a chance for the rest of them to pull desperate birds. The women attending these things were absolutely gagging for it, he’d said, and so the men had made their way into the dim bar.

As they’d searched for seats, Will had to admit the women
did
seem rather desperate, all done up in the same style Cherie had gone for: the look-at-me makeup and up-to-here dress. Her sexy appearance was what attracted him in the first place, as shallow as that was. But the relentless quest for perfection was tiring, especially when Cherie persuaded him into smart black suits with skinny trousers cutting into his balls—Will made a face—and narrow, shiny ties better suited to a club than a paint factory.

As the crowd sang along, Will recalled the moment he’d told Cherie that despite her efforts, he
was
less than perfect—and he’d likely get worse as the illness progressed. She’d come home to their flat clutching a dewy bottle of Sancerre, full of excitement about a large client she’d just bagged at the PR agency. He’d almost hated to burst her bubble, but he’d been desperate to tell someone, to make it real. Three days had passed since the doctor informed him of the diagnosis, and in those three days Will had gone through the motions as the knowledge nipped at his brain and tried to g
ain en
try.

‘I have MS. I have MS,’ he’d repeated a million times each day, but it still hadn’t sunk in. The only way he could try to face the reality of his future was by telling others
…
starting with his girlfriend.

Will had listened to Cherie’s excited babble about what she’d buy with the signing bonus—there was a new Chanel handbag just in at Harvey Nichol’s she had her eye on—then told her he had some news of his own. He could still picture the widening of her eyes as he explained what the doctor had said, her glossed lips falling open when he outlined the symptoms that led him to be checked out in the first place. Instead of throwing her slender arms around him and providing longed-for comfort, Cherie had remained frozen, staring at him in horror. Finally, she’d recovered enough to clutch his hand and tell him in a numb voice they’d get through it together, then exclaimed she’d forgotten about meeting a friend and fled the scene.

A strained two months had followed, during which Cherie had pleaded with him not to leave his job at the factory and nagged him to return once he had quit. Eventually, she’d told him she couldn’t be with him any longer. It had almost been a relief.

‘What do you think, mate?’ Chaz nudged his arm. ‘I’d give the blonde a go. Alice, is it?’ He put a childlike tick next to her na
me on
the card in front of him. ‘She won’t be a virgin when she’s done with me.’ Will glanced at the two women who were now smiling and bowing. Although Alice was beautiful with that mass of blonde hair—he glanced at the form on the table—Emma was more his type: slender with a dark cap of wavy locks, wearing simple jeans and a black top that fit like a glove. He liked how she’d described the blue shade with almost a painterly precision and that she’d wanted something different. And from her performance onstage, it was obvious she didn’t take herself too seriously. Cherie wouldn’t have done karaoke in a million years.

‘Yeah, she’s fit all right,’ Will answered lamely, thinking he was out of practice being blokey. It was funny: he’d reckoned by going out with a group of mates from his past—people who’d no idea of his illness—he could forget it existed, too. But the knowledge dogged him at every turn, weighing him down.
Maybe another drink will help,
he thought, lifting his bottle and draining it.

‘Who wants more? This round is on me.’

As the music came to a stop and applause rang around the room, Emma and Alice stepped off the stage.

‘Wasn’t that a blast?’ Alice’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed. She tossed back her fringe and nodded at the other tables as they passed.

Emma laughed, shaking her head. ‘You know, it actually was. But why did you push me out front? Thank goodness the crowd joined in, or I would have cleared the place.’

Alice shrugged. ‘You certainly seemed to be enjoying it once you were out there. It was a brilliant idea to get everyone singing along. We’ll be the best of the night!’ She eyed the large group of men they’d spotted earlier. ‘I hope one of them marked me down.’

Oh, God. In the heat of the moment, Emma had forgotten about Will seeing her. He definitely had by now. Her heart flipped—maybe he’d circled her name?
Don’t be silly,
she told herself. The last thing she wanted was to hit the stage again in a cringe-worthy duet with a guy she hardly knew. She glanced in Will’s direction, but he was nowhere to be seen. Good. Maybe he’d been able to escape, lucky man.

‘I’m heading to the bar. Another wine?’ The earlier drinks were only starting to kick in, and Emma was in dire need for more.

Alice nodded. ‘Yes, please!’ Plopping into her seat, she smiled flirtatiously at the group of men Will had been sitting with.

Emma pushed between the tables towards the beacon of the bar. ‘A glass of Cabernet and
…
’ Her voice trailed off as she realised she wanted something much, much stronger than wine to get her through the rest of the evening. ‘Er, a double whisky on the rock
s, please.’

‘Coming up,’ the bartender said.

‘You’ve got the right idea, ordering a double. Reckon it’s the only thing that’ll make this night bearable.’

A low male voice in her ear made Emma turn. There, just beside her, was Will—she hadn’t even noticed him in her desperation for a drink. He was so close, she could sense the heat from his body and smell his fresh cologne, a welcome change from the pervading mildewy odour of the bar.

‘Oh! Hi!’ Emma tried to feign surprise at seeing him here.

‘That was quite the performance up there.’ His voice was even, but Emma thought she could see a spark of humour in his eyes. ‘I’d never have guessed when I met you earlier you’d be into karaoke.’

‘Yeah, well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,’ she mumbled, cursing herself for the insipid response.
What the hell did that even mean?

‘My friend dragged me here,’ Emma said in an attempt to explain, nodding towards Alice, now merrily chatting away to a man back at their table. ‘It was a present, so I couldn’t really turn it down.’

‘Quite the present.’ Will chuckled.

They stood in silence for a minute as the organiser announced the next two men, who clambered onstage to begin a painful rendition of Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

Will winced as one of the duo attempted a falsetto. ‘What do you say we head outside for some air? I could use a break from this,’ he said, leaning down to speak into Emma’s ear. His warm breath made the hairs on her arms stand up, and she patted them down again.

‘Okay.’ She’d leave with Jack the Ripper if it meant escaping the torturous sounds piercing her eardrums. Emma glanced over at Alice, now completely absorbed in her conversation with the man. Her friend wouldn’t miss her for a second or two.

Clutching her glass, Emma followed Will’s broad back across the room and up the stairs, trying not to stare at his well-formed bottom in the loose-fitting jeans. Outside, the street was even
busier, p
acked full of people drinking and chattering.

Will leaned against the wall of the building, away from the noise of the crowd. ‘That’s better. So, how’s the paint? Have you had a chance to use it yet?’

Emma sipped her whisky, trying not to wince as the liquid burned its way down her throat. She hadn’t tried it since forever, preferring to go with the milder—and less liver-damaging—wine. But what the heck, a little whisky was nothing compared to conquering karaoke! She risked taking a gulp and started sputtering.

‘Whoa!’ Will put a steadying hand on her back. ‘You okay?’

Shivering, Emma tried not to notice the heat of his hand seeping through the thin fabric of her top.

‘It is kind of cold out here, isn’t it?’ Will said. ‘We can go back inside if you want.’

Emma shook her head. Little did he know, she wasn’t shivering from the cold. ‘No, that’s okay. You were right—it’s good to give our eardrums a break.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, I managed to finish one wall, and the colour is fantastic. Just the shade I wanted.’

‘Only one wall?’ Will asked. ‘If something’s wrong, I’d be happy to have another go. Many goes, in fact, until we get the right shade.’

‘It’s perfect, but I’d planned on an accent wall.’ She sipped her drink again, wondering what else to say. This time, the liquid swirled pleasantly down her throat, warming her belly. The street was starting to take on a hazy glow that meant the alcohol was finally working, thank God.

‘Those accent walls are rubbish,’ Will said firmly. ‘“In for a penny, in for a pound,” my dad always says. You need to paint the whole room to get a sense of how the colour affects the mood of the place.’

Emma smiled. Her father used to say the same thing, too, usually when it came to eating cake. One piece was never enough, he’d proclaim, and if you were going to indulge, you might as well go all the way.

‘There you are!’ Alice burst out of the club, a brimming goblet of wine in one hand and a dazzled-looking man in the other. Emma jerked as she realised in her hurry to escape, she’d left her friend’s glass on the bar.
Oops.

‘Emma, this is Chaz. Chaz, Emma!’ Under the influence of multiple drinks, Alice’s voice rang loudly around the packed street, and cries of ‘Hi, Emma! Hi, Chaz!’ echoed up and down the pavement. Emma couldn’t resist laughing and waggling her fingers in response.

‘Hey, mate.’ Chaz clapped Will on the back, giving Emma an appraising look. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’

‘Ems, we’ve been invited to join the stag do!’ Alice said, her eyes bright. ‘Unless you’d like to stick around here?’

Emma shuddered. ‘No way. But Al, we can’t crash the guys’ night.’

‘Sure you can,’ Chaz responded. ‘Come on, we’re off to Tiger Tiger next. We can use you girls to draw in others.’ He winked playfully, ignoring Alice’s jab.

‘Please come,’ Will said. ‘I need someone halfway sane to keep me company with the rest of these crazies.’

Emma gazed around the crowded street, full of people having fun and embracing life.

‘Why not,’ she said, grinning into Alice’s hopeful face and linking arms with her best friend. ‘Let’s get this party started.’

Hours later, the party was still going. Clunking up the stairs to Alice’s flat, Emma smiled as she recalled the events of the evening: leaving karaoke speed dating and crossing Piccadilly to Tiger Tiger, where champagne poured with abandon
…
then being carried (yes, carried!) down Carnaby Street and into Kingly Court, with yet more drinks consumed
…
the bar at Sketch, where Alice stole the doorman’s bowler hat
…
squeezing next to Will during a near-lethal rickshaw ride
.…