The Pollyanna Plan (7 page)

Finally, they’d all piled into a taxi to Alice’s, decidedly worse for wear. Although a mammoth hangover awaited her the next
morning
, Emma couldn’t recall ever having such a great night out. Well, minus the karaoke—and even that had bordered on fun, she had to concede.

‘Another drink?’ Alice asked as they squeezed onto the sofa. Next to her, Emma could feel the warmth of Will’s leg, and despite their easy camaraderie of the past few hours, her heart beat fast at his closeness.

Will shook his head. ‘No, thanks. In fact’—he looked at his watch, and Emma admired the perfect sprinkling of hair on his forearms—‘I should make a move.’

Chaz glanced quickly from Emma to Will. ‘I’ll come see what you’ve got for drinks in the kitchen,’ he said to Alice, making a hasty departure to give them some privacy to say goodbye.

Will cleared his throat as silence descended in the cramped lounge. ‘Well. It was really nice to see you again.’

‘Nice to see you, too,’ Emma said, her own throat feeling dry as she stared into his dark eyes. Despite the protests that she wanted no men in her life since she’d recently broken up with George, she couldn’t deny Will appealed in a way her ex never had. Suddenly, she realised she didn’t want to end the night with Will just walking out the door.

Well, if she could get up on stage and karaoke, she could ask a man out. What was that annoying expression optimists always used? ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’?

‘Maybe you can come over tomorrow and help me paint the rest of the walls? I’d love some expert assistance,’ Emma blurted, aware her cheeks were now the colour of an overripe strawberry. Oh, God. Had she really just asked Will over to paint? He probably thought ‘paint’ was a euphemism for something else. Her face flamed redder, picturing them alone in her flat. Why, O why, hadn’t she suggested a sterile dinner, like she and George always had?

Emma opened her mouth to revise the plan, but Will was already nodding.

‘Sure, all right. I’d love to see the colour in an actual room. And I bet with the two of us, we can finish off the remaining walls in under an hour.’

‘Fantastic,’ Emma responded weakly, staring at the dusty floor to hide her burning face. ‘Why don’t you come over around one? It’ll give us time to work off our hangovers. Tell me your number, and I’ll text you my address. I’m in Little Venice.’

‘Really? I’m in that area too, right by the canal.’ Will recited his phone number, and she entered it with difficulty into the phone. All that alcohol didn’t exactly aid accuracy.

Will got to his feet, swaying slightly. Emma hid a smile—it was nice to see she wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the night. ‘I’ll be off, then. Please say goodbye to Alice and Chaz for me.’ By the slurping sounds emanating from the kitchen, they’d progressed well beyond drinks.

Smoothing back her unruly hair, Emma stood, too. What she wouldn’t give for a mirror right about now! She could only imagine the state of her makeup.

‘Okay.’ She faced him uncertainly, nerves fluttering in her belly. ‘Well, er
…
’bye.’

Will smiled, his eyes crinkling up in the way she was beginning to love. ‘’Bye. I’ll see you tomorrow—or rather, today.’ As he leaned over to kiss her cheek, Emma breathed in the scent of his lemony cologne, feeling the scratch of his stubble against her skin. A wave of desire washed over her and she pulled back, the intensity of emotion jolting her into action.

‘Good night,’ she croaked out as Will shrugged on his coat, lifted a hand, and closed the door behind him.

CHAPTER NINE

‘W
akey, wakey!’ Alice’s chipper voice rang from the kitchen like a hammer battering the softest part of Emma’s skull. ‘Come on, I’ve got just the thing to help hangovers. Full English!’

Groaning, Emma slowly raised herself into the sitting position. Every muscle in her body ached like she’d run a marathon, and she couldn’t raise her eyelids more than halfway. Glancing around
the roo
m from her precarious perch on Alice’s sofa, she took in the empty wine glasses and half-smoked cigarillos— had she
smoked
?

What time was it, anyway? Forcing her eyes wide open, she rummaged in her handbag until her fingers closed around the mobile. Oh, a voice mail. Who could that be?
Probably Will calling to cancel,
she thought, before remembering she was supposed to be positive. Ah well, it was way too early for Pollyanna.

Sighing, Emma punched in the access code. There was a pause, then her mother’s voice echoed down the line. ‘Just calling to check in. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. We’d love to have you and George over for dinner sometime.’

Emma’s heart dropped. She still hadn’t filled in her mum on George or the minor detail that she was now unemployed. And when was the last time she’d visited the house? She couldn’t even remember.

‘By the way, I found a whole load of your old sketchbooks when I was cleaning out a cupboard upstairs. I’ve popped them in the post to you.’

Emma’s mind flashed to the hours she’d spent sprawled on t
he be
d, drawing. She’d loved the satisfying scratch of the pencil on the pad, the way she could pour visions from her head and onto the paper, bringing them to life. It’d be cool to flip through those pages again, as if she could see inside her younger self.

‘Your father was so proud of your talent,’ the message continued. ‘He used to say you’d be the next great architect or designer.’ Her mother’s voice caught, and Emma jerked in surprise. This was the first time in ages her mum had mentioned her dad. Usually, he was a no-go area.

What would he think of how her life had turned out? He’d be impressed at her accomplishments, but he’d always said people shouldn’t live to work—they should work to live. Emma definitely hadn’t followed that mantra. Well, except for last night. She winced as pain pounded her temples.

‘Ems! Come on, eat your breakfast before it gets cold!’ Alice’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and Emma clicked off the phone. She’d call her mother later.

‘I’m feeling a bit delicate today,’ she said to Alice, creaking her way slowly into the kitchen. The smell of bacon and coffee made her stomach turn over.

Alice shook her head. ‘Mate, last night was
epic
. God, if I’d known going out with you could be that much fun, I would have instituted this Pollyanna thing sooner!’

‘Morning, ladies.’ Chaz sauntered out of Alice’s room, and Emma’s eyes widened. She glanced over at Alice, who was wearing a smug expression. ‘So, are you going to see my mate Will again?’ Chaz asked, leaning on the counter and crunching his way through a rasher of bacon.

‘He’s coming over this afternoon to help me finish painting,’ Emma responded, her cheeks colouring.

Chaz chortled. ‘Finish painting? That’s a new one! Guess Will hasn’t lost his touch with the ladies.’

‘No, it really is just painting,’ Emma protested, knowing how feeble she sounded against the knowing expressions of Chaz and Alice. ‘You and Will have been friends for a while?’

Chaz nodded, slinging an arm around Alice’s waist. ‘Yes. Ever since university, actually. Our whole group did business management up in Durham.’

‘Business management?’ Emma asked in surprise. How had Will gone from majoring in business management at university to working in the paint department of a DIY centre? ‘What did Will do after graduating?’

‘Got a job with his father, and that was the last I heard.’ Chaz shrugged. ‘We lost touch for a bit after university. We’ve only reconnected recently on Facebook, and I thought it’d be a blast to meet up again for Ryan’s stag do.’

Will’s dad worked at Home & Hearth, too? Emma nodded, disappointed Chaz didn’t seem to know much more about Will than she did. ‘Right, I’d better get going.’ She couldn’t wait to head home, take three ibuprofen, and stretch out on the bed for a quick nap before Will arrived.

‘You’re not staying for breakfast?’ Alice’s face fell.

‘No, I’ll leave you both to enjoy that.’ Emma tried not to gag as she looked at the array of fried food swimming in oil.

‘Let me know how it goes with Will!’ Alice raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Emma’s face flushed for the umpteenth time since last night. What was it about that man that made her continually go crimson? She couldn’t remember ever blushing with George. In a strange kind of way, she was proud of herself for taking the next step to see Will again, even if it was making her super nervous. After last night’s antics, she was looking forward to learning more about him.

Throwing on her coat, Emma left the stuffy flat and pushed into the bright London morning. Despite the headache from h
ell, she
couldn’t stop a smile from spreading on her face. Last night, she’d gone against every instinct she’d honed for the past few years. S
he’d go
t up on stage and sang, drank whisky and smoked a cigarillo, stayed up all night and asked a man out. Those might not count as big strides forward for most people, but for her they were huge. And oddly enough, she felt more alive than she had since
…
well, she couldn’t even remember.

As much as Emma hated to think it, there might be
some
merit to the Pollyanna Plan, after all.

The gentle swaying of the boat made the contents of Will’s stomach rise, and he lurched to the toilet. As sweat beaded on his brow and his muscles trembled, he heaved until every last bit descended.

He stayed hunched over the toilet until he was certain the bout of nausea had passed, then crawled the short distance to his bed. He should have known better than to drink all that. He’d been trying to run, to escape from his life. The oblivion of alcohol had worked, briefly. Will groaned as images of the night flashed through his head—most of them featuring the dark hair and gorgeous long-lashed eyes of Emma. When he’d kissed her cheek, he’d definitely wanted more. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t, that was for sure.

He groaned again as he remembered agreeing to help Emma paint.
Christ.
Next time he decided on a night of oblivion, he’d make sure no women were involved. Stretching out an arm to grasp the mobile, Will noticed a text message. Maybe she was begging off? Given the amount she’d imbibed, she was probably in a worse state than him.

But Emma wasn’t cancelling—instead, she’d sent him her address, saying she was looking forward to seeing him at one. He couldn’t help shaking his head at how close she was: just down the canal towpath, almost to the bridge at Little Venice and off a leafy side street. Sitting up slowly, Will ran a hand over his face. What was he going to do now?

He almost texted back to say he couldn’t make it, but part of him was eager to see the colour on the walls to check if he’d managed to strike the right balance of white, yellow and blue.
Professional interest only,
he told himself—the paint job could be finished in about an hour, if the flat wasn’t too big. Squinting, he looked at the time. Just past eleven, which meant he had a couple of hours to feel human again. Lowering his head to the pillow, Will closed his eyes. Another quick sleep might do the trick.

Two hours later, he was ringing the buzzer to Emma’s flat. Located in a whitewashed Victorian terrace, her building almost made him long for a home on solid ground. He loved these old, character-filled structures, standing grandly as they weathered the passage of time.

‘Come on up!’ Emma’s voice crackled through the intercom, and the door clicked open. ‘Second floor.’

Will’s heartbeat quickened as he entered the plush, carpeted interior, and he told himself not to be an idiot.

‘You’re here to paint and check the colour, mate, nothing else,’ he muttered sternly. He had to admit, though, he
was
curious to know more about this woman. He admired her easygoing sense of fun, and he’d enjoyed how last night unfolded naturally without any of Cherie’s drama or high-maintenance demands. They’d laughed and chatted, but they hadn’t shared much—if anything—about their lives. If Emma had a flat in this desirable area, she must have a good job. Will’s brow furrowed as he made his way up the flights of stairs, trying to picture what she did for a living. Something creative, maybe, given how she’d described the exact shade she wanted, He couldn’t picture her doing a stuffy desk job.

Rapping on the door, he shoved aside the shot of desire that hit when Emma swung it open. Curls escaped from a messy bun on top of her head and her eyes—even with bags underneath them from last night’s exploits—sparkled. Sporting a baggy, paint-splattered T-shirt and jeans, he was drawn to her casual, relaxed beauty.

‘Hey! Long time, no see.’ Smiling, she motioned him inside. ‘Thanks so much for coming by to help. I’m a rubbish painter.’

‘No problem,’ Will said, glancing around the flat. Just as he’d expected, it was full of character, with high ceilings and ornate moulding. But—even with one blue wall adding a splash of colour to the stark whiteness—there was something very cold about the place, something that looked as if the inhabitant was just passing through. Definitely not the décor he’d envisioned, given Emma’s specific paint request.

The colour looked fantastic, he thought, pride seeping in. The right shade of blue—not too garish or bright, and nothing like the typical clichéd colours of paint catalogues. With the faintest hint of white, the wall mirrored an early-morning
summer
sky, before the haze cleared. A rare thrill of inspiration coursed through Will as he imagined slathering a canvas with that shade, adding in vibrant greens and darker blues to capture the first hint of a new season
.…
God, it’d been a while since he’d felt the urge to paint. Maybe he’d give it a go when he returned to the boat.

‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked, thinking she must have just moved in. That would explain the lack of decorations.

Emma wrinkled her nose as she pondered the question. ‘About eight years, I think?’

Will nodded, trying to hide his surprise.
Wow. Eight years like
this
?
‘Okay, well, let’s get started.’ He eyed the already completed wall. ‘You’ve not done a bad job on that one, actually. First we’ll tape the mouldings, put down the drop cloth’—he tugged a paint-stained tarpaulin from his bag—‘and then we can begin.’

Silence fell as the two of them knelt, covering the floorboards with a protective coating of tape. Will unfurled the drop cloth and cracked open the tin of paint, and Emma handed him a brush.

‘Where should we start?’ she asked.

‘You go from the left and I’ll go from the right,’ Will said, ‘and we’ll work towards each other.’ He tried to stay focused on the task at hand, but he couldn’t stop darting glances at Emma’s slender form, admiring her lithe body.
Focus, man,
he told himself, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but the swish of paint being applied to walls. Sinking into the job, Will began to relax, but Emma’s next question made him tense up again.

‘So, your friend Chaz tells me you majored in business studies?’ she asked.

Will froze. What else had Chaz said? The last thing he needed was Emma asking why—with his father’s company and wealth at his disposal—he worked in a DIY centre. Thank God, Chaz didn’t know about his illness.

‘Yeah. But it wasn’t for me,’ Will responded, hoping his vague answer would put her off. At least it was true, he thought grimly. If he’d had his way, he would never have signed up for three years of tedious courses at the same university his father had gone to. Even the excitement of moving up north, combined with the
freedom
of being away from his family and meeting a whole new group of people, hadn’t made up for how much he’d detested t
he de
gree.

‘Have you worked in Home & Hearth for long?’ Emma asked.

‘Oh, yes, for some time.’ Will felt bad being so cagey, especially after the fun they’d had yesterday, but it was for the best. Last night had been a one-off, and he knew now he couldn’t escape the reality of his illness. He’d only come here out of curiosity about the colour, he reminded himself. Now he’d seen it, so he’d finish painting and leave as soon as possible. Heaviness filled his heart at the thought of never seeing Emma again, but he pushed it away.

‘Whoa, slow down!’ Emma laughed, and Will realised he’d been slapping paint onto the wall, moving the brush back and forth like a man possessed.

‘Sorry,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but I have to finish up quickly. Just remembered I’ve got something else I need to do.’ His words came out more abruptly than intended, and he steeled himself against a wave of guilt as Emma’s face clouded over.