The Pollyanna Plan (8 page)

An hour later all the walls were painted, and Will was nearing collapse. The sleepless night combined with alcohol, the ensuing sickness, and his continued physical exertion had used up every last reserve. Thankfully, after he’d made it clear this was strictly an
in-and-
out operation, Emma’s questions stopped, and they’d worked in silence. Even if he’d wanted to converse, he hadn’t th
e en
ergy.

‘Right,’ he said, standing back and surveying their handiwork. ‘It looks great.’

‘It does look great.’ Emma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. ‘Thanks. It would have taken ages to do this on m
y own.’

Will busied himself with putting the lid back on the tin. ‘No problem.’

‘Listen, why don’t you let me buy you dinner,’ Emma said suddenly. ‘It’s almost five. We can order in a pizza
…
and I have wine, if you can handle more booze. Let me do something to thank you.’

The thought of relaxing beside her with food and drink was so irresistible, it jolted Will to the core. ‘No!’ he yelped, the word escaping his lips with such force it surprised even him. He cleared his throat. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get home. Er, to the other appointment I have.’ He could tell by Emma’s expression that she didn’t buy his excuse.

‘Right, well, thanks again,’ she said, her once animated face now neutral.

Will’s heart sank, but he knew he’d done the right thing
refusing
.
‘My pleasure.’ His tone was just as formal. ‘Goodbye, then.’

‘’Bye.’

He shrugged on his coat and turned, feeling Emma’s eyes follow him as he closed the door.

CHAPTER TEN

A
s she peeled tape from the floorboards, Emma tried not to let disappointment at Will’s distant attitude overtake her. Last night, he’d been so warm and genuine—almost even interested, she thought, remembering the kiss on her cheek and the electricity that flared between them. Today, it was almost a 180-degreee turn. Sure, he’d come and helped, but he’d seemed a million miles away, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

He’d been a shadow of his former self, too: the laughing, energetic man replaced by one who looked about to keel over, as if he was inserting his last bit of energy into every movement. Maybe he was suffering from all the booze? At least there’d been no confusion over the true meaning of ‘painting’. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her goodbye.

The ring of her mobile made her jump, and Emma wiped her hands before grabbing it off the counter.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey!’ Alice’s chipper tone came through the phone. God, was that girl ever hung over? Then again, she was more used to imbibing Olympic pool–sized quantities of alcohol than Emma. ‘So, how was the ‘painting’?’ Emma could hear the suggestive tone in her friend’s voice, and she rolled her eyes.

‘It was more like “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am”. And I don’t mean that in a sexual way,’ Emma added quickly. ‘He came in, helped me paint and left as fast as he could.’ Her heart sank as she said the words, and she realised she’d hoped for something more.
Maybe it’s a good thing nothing happened,
Emma thought, trying out a Pollyanna notion. Will was as far from her type as a sumo wrestler was from a diet.

‘Ah, I wouldn’t worry. Sometimes men do that, you know. Pull back after a night of intimacy—even if it’s just verbal. Haven’t you ever read
Men Are from Mars
?’

Emma barely refrained from snorting. Did her friend not know her at all? Pre-Pollyanna Emma would never have indulged in a load of psychobabble designed to make women feel better about men’s bad behaviour. She’d have made a swift judgement, based on Will’s attitude, that he simply wasn’t interested, and that would have been that.

But was Alice right? Was this the way men normally acted? Emma hadn’t much experience with dating. George had been her only serious relationship, much to Alice’s chagrin; she’d badgered Emma to ‘get out and have fun’ before settling down. But after watching Alice navigate the relentless London dating scene, Emma remembered how grateful she’d felt to have George. Funny, it was obvious now she didn’t miss
him
—just the safety net h
e’d provided
.

‘Anyway, I think tomorrow—maybe the day after—you should ring up Will and invite him out to dinner or something as a thank you,’ Alice said.

‘I did ask if he wanted to stick around for pizza, and he said no.’ Emma’s heart panged as she recalled the closed look on Will’s face.

‘Take it from me, he was just in his pulling-away phase. By tomorrow, he’ll be gagging to hear from you again. Come on, just give it a go. Remember, you’re supposed to be positive now!’

Emma’s mind spun as she considered Alice’s words. She’d already gone out on a limb and asked Will once. That was a miracle in and of itself! Surely if he were interested, he’d have shown it. But what if her friend
was
right and Will’s aloofness was the norm? She’d been pleasantly surprised with how behaving contrary to her usual pessimistic—no,
realistic
—self was paying off. Maybe pursuing Will just this once would pay off, too.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Emma responded finally. ‘So how was your night of love, then? Are you seeing Chaz again?’

‘Oh yeah, definitely. We exchanged numbers, and he’s going to pick me up after my shift tonight. Ems, I really think he could be the one. He’s perfect! Good job in marketing, great body,
huge
—’

‘Okay!’ Emma interrupted, before she had to hear more about Chaz’s private places than she ever wanted.

‘I’ve got to get ready for work. Talk to you later.’ Alice clicked off, and Emma put the phone down and glanced around the flat. The blue on all four walls did look much better than just one, lifting the room and bringing it to life. The paint made the rest of the space seem even emptier, though.

Emma drummed her fingers on the counter as her mind ticked over. Perhaps she could pop by Home & Hearth
tomorrow
and ask Will for some decorating tips? That way, she’d be able to gauge where things stood. If Alice was right and he was interested, s
he cou
ld take things from there. If he was still cool and distant, she’d back off. A little stab of disappointment jabbed her gut w
hen sh
e thought of never seeing him again, but she told herself not to be ridiculous. They’d only spent one alcohol-fuelled night together and a few hours painting! For goodness’ sake, she was
getting
as bad as Alice.

Enough reflecting on the vagaries of men,
Emma thought as she flopped on the sofa and cracked open her laptop. Time to focus on something practical—like finding a job. It was hard to believe three days had already passed since she’d left Gladstone! Despite her initial fear of how to fill them, Emma was astonished how quickly they’d flown.

Smiling, Emma pictured Henry in his leather chair. She missed his daily admonitions to leave the office and enjoy life. He’d be impressed with her now—she’d painted her flat, been out on the town, met a new man
…
all small things, she knew, but events that would never have happened if she’d been slaving away at work li
ke u
sual.

An image of being shut in the office both day and night filtered into Emma’s mind, and a surprising sense of unease filled her. This time last week, the thought of not working would have been horrifying. But amazingly enough, she hadn’t fallen to pieces without a job. Although she wouldn’t go so far as to say she was
enjoying
unemployment, it was kind of nice to have a break.

Emma stared at the job website in front of her, then snapped closed the laptop lid. One day wouldn’t make a difference, and right now she was too tired to even focus. Scrunching down and drawing a stiff pillow under her aching head, she let her eyes sag closed. After last night’s shenanigans and the busy afternoon painting, she’d definitely earned a little nap.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

E
mma caught herself humming ‘Like A Virgin’ as she threw back the covers Monday morning. Sun streamed through the
window
, and the clock by her bed showed she’d managed to sleep until nine, despite spending most of the evening cocooned in a delicious nap on the sofa. When had that last happened?

A foreign sense of optimism filled her as she popped bread into the toaster and poured a large glass of lovely pulpy orange juice. What would she do today? Was she brave enough to head to the DIY centre to pick up some odds and ends for the flat—and to see Will? Hope fluttered inside at Alice’s words that his recent cold demeanour was the norm for men. God, she had a lot t
o le
arn.

The sound of the buzzer made Emma jump, and she threw on her robe then padded towards the intercom.

‘Hello?’ she said, her voice still husky with sleep.

‘Package for you,’ came the bored tone of the deliveryman.

‘Come on up. Flat three.’ Emma buzzed him through.
Package? Oh yes, must be the sketchbooks Mum forwarded.

She opened the door and scrawled her signature on the
electronic
keypad, then took the large box inside. It was heavier than she’d imagined. Emma carried the parcel to the lounge, then plunked down on the sofa and ripped it open. The smell of her old room—musky teenage perfume mixed with the scent of yellowing paper—wafted up, transporting her back to when she’d spent hours lying stomach down on her bed, feet crossed in the air, creating endless sketch after sketch of her ideal interior.

On top of the pile was a fresh notebook, its smooth edges a sharp contrast to the torn ones beneath it. Leafing through the empty pages, a small envelope fell out. Carefully, Emma withdrew a card as her mother’s handwriting met her eyes.

For fresh dreams,
the neat script said, and Emma couldn’t help smiling as she set it aside, feeling the old itch to grab a pencil and start filling those pages right now. But curiosity for her past visions was stronger, and she picked up the notebook on top and examined the drawings inside.

At first, they started off like every child’s scrawls: the neat,
two-store
y family house with smoke curling from the chimney and two large trees shadowing the structure. As time went on, though, the sketches became more fanciful and elaborate as her drawing skills developed—along with her need for escape, clearly.

Emma shook her head as she stared at one of the final drawings in the book, a swaying tree-house structure resting on a bank of clouds, painted the same shade as her walls now. The rest of the notebooks were stuffed with similar sketches featuring both the inside and outside of houses, right down to sparkly tiled
bathrooms
and whimsical walk-in closets with cushions and secret hideaways. Some of them were quite good! She was impressed with her younger self.

When had she stopped drawing? Emma bit her lip as she tried to pinpoint the moment. It must have been when she’d left
Virginia
Water and moved into London to start her university degree. There’d been no need to create imaginary worlds any longer—she could forge her own. She’d put all her energy into building something solid and real, the exact opposite of what she’d drawn on paper. Back then, she’d wanted anything but reality.

A memory flashed through her mind of her mum knocking on the bedroom door, imploring her to come out for dinner. Emma had ignored the pleas, focusing instead on her drawing, until the footsteps receded.

Pushing aside the stack of books, Emma remembered how furious she’d been when her mother removed all of her father’s things and then remarried, erasing her dad from the picture. But Emma had created a world of her own, too: first through the drawings, and then in London. Curling against the armrest, she thought of the crevice now separating her from her mother. The distance was so entrenched it seemed as unchangeable as her father’s absence.

Well, at the very least, she could ring up her mum and say thank you. Guilt panged as Emma realised she hadn’t returned
yesterday’s
message
, either. She punched in her mother’s number, tapping her
fingers
on the pile of pads as she listened to the tinny ring.

‘Hi, Mum. It’s Emma,’ she said when her mother picked up.

‘Emma! Are you at work? Is everything all right?’ Her
mother’s
anxious tone buzzed through the phone, and Emma grimaced. She’d forgotten calling during the day would conjure up concern.

‘I’m fine, Mum.’ No point saying she’d been let go from her job—hopefully, she’d have another soon enough. Hey, she was thinking positively! Emma pulled a face. She must get on with the hunt today. ‘So, thank you for sending my sketchbooks. I got the box this morning.’

‘Oh, good. I remember you used to stay up in your room and draw for hours. For a while there, I thought you were going to be the next Michelangelo. I’d never have guessed you’d become an underwriter.’

Emma shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. ‘Yes, well
…
you can’t make a career out of drawing rooms.’ But as soon as the words left her lips, she realised she was wrong. People did make careers out of it; Alice was always banging on about those interior design shows on daytime TV. Insurance was more stable, though, with a steady income.

Well, it had been, anyway.

‘I showed Meg your drawings, and she was fascinated.’ Emma’s eyebrows flew up at the thought of her small stepsister being
halfway
interested in random sketches. ‘You know, I wish you two had a stronger relationship,’ her mother continued. ‘There’s going to come a point when Meg will want to talk to you rather than her fuddy-duddy old mother. Just the other day, she was asking how you could be her sister when you didn’t even live with us.’

Emma tried to hide her astonishment that Meg even noticed she wasn’t around. Whenever she trekked out to Surrey, the seven-year-old barely gave her the time of day, unless Emma brought her the latest toy or gadget. Even then, Meg usually mumbled a cursory ‘thank you’ before scampering to her already toy-stuffed room. ‘What did you say?’

‘I told her you were a grown-up and that you’d lived here when you were young, but adults make their own homes when they’re ready.’ Her mum sighed. ‘You just happened to be ready quicker than most. The house seemed so empty when you went off to
university
.’

Another flash of surprise hit Emma. She’d left for university right around the time her mother married Andrew, and she’d always thought her mum had been happy to have the house to herself and her new husband. That she’d even missed Emma was news.

Fingering the card, Emma wondered if her mother
had
tried to cross the chasm between them, and Emma had pushed her away.
Pollyanna would have something to say about this situation,
Emma thought wryly. She’d chirp that it was never too late to mend broken fences, or some other equally trite cliché.

‘Why don’t I come round tomorrow?’ Emma heard herself asking. ‘We can have lunch. I’ve got the day off,’ she added quickly, hoping her mother wouldn’t probe into the rare occurrence.

‘That would be lovely!’ Emma could hear the surprise in her mother’s voice. ‘We’ll eat at the house, and then you can come with me to pick up Meg on the school run. I’m sure she’d love to show you her classroom.’

Emma still had problems believing Meg cared about her opinion on anything, but maybe she should give the kid the benefit of the doubt for once. ‘Sounds good. I’ll see you soon.’ She clicked o
ff t
he mobile, an uncustomary warmth spreading through her at the thought of travelling home. Usually, it was more a duty call than a pleasure.

Right, what to do with the rest of the day? Her gaze fell on the laptop crouching sullenly in the corner. She had to check job sites, yes, but first
…
she picked up the empty sketchpad. What was it her mum had written? ‘Fresh dreams’ might be asking a bit much, but Emma could start small—with this very space, in fact. The new paint highlighted the need for redecoration, and there was no time like the present to get started. Her mission to Home & Hearth wouldn’t seem so bogus, either, if she already had a design worked up. Flipping to a fresh page, Emma stared at the empty expanse looming in front of her. Did she even have anything to draw with?

After locating a pack of felt-tip pens in one of her kitchen drawers, she settled on the sofa again and made a tentative stroke across the page. Wow, this felt weird. But after the initial hesitation, her hand started moving as ideas flooded into her head. She could have one of those potted trees twisting up out of the corner to give the space some greenery
…
maybe a throw rug in a bright shade to contrast with the walls
.…

An hour later, she was done. The room that emerged on paper resembled something from Emma’s childhood dreams—whimsical, cosy and comfy. And highly impractical. It would take ages to put all this together!

But why not?
she asked herself. She had the time, and it wasn’t like back in her teenage years: now, she
could
do it. Excitement filled her as she stared at the sketch again, then glanced around the room. She couldn’t wait to get started. In fact, she’d head to the DIY centre right now and pick up what she needed. Her stomach shifted at the thought of seeing Will. Might as well sort that out, too. If Alice’s advice had any merit, it was time to make the next move.

After a quick shower, Emma grabbed her keys and drove the short distance to Home & Hearth. As she manoeuvred into a tight parking space, her heart picked up pace.
Will might not even be here today,
she told herself, taking deep breaths to calm down. Still, she checked her hair in the mirror, making sure no rogue curls stuck up like a clown wig gone wrong.

Grabbing her sketch, Emma forced herself to walk slowly into the centre. She wandered through the aisles, picking up objects and setting them down again as she drifted in the direction of the paint department.

‘Hello there.’ Will’s eyebrows rose in surprise as Emma nearly ran into him with her trolley. She’d been so absorbed in trying to appear casual, she hadn’t even noticed him tidying the tins of paint.

‘Oh, hi.’ Emma fussed with a roller on the shelf as her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘Just picking up some more things for my flat.’

‘Is everything okay with the paint?’ Will asked. ‘You’re still happy with it?’

Emma nodded. ‘Oh, yes. And I can’t say thanks enough for your help. You were right—painting all four walls has made a big difference. It looks great.’

Will shrugged, but Emma thought she caught a fleeting look of pleasure on his face. ‘No worries.’ He pointed to the drawing in her hand. ‘What’s that?’

Shit! Too late, Emma realised she was still clutching the sketch of her lounge. Apart from her family, she’d never shown her drawings to anyone. Sure, they weren’t nude portraits—her cheeks went redder at the thought of Will naked—but in a way, it was like showing someone a glimpse of her soul.

She tried to shove the paper behind her, but Will was already leaning forward, peering over her shoulder with interest.

‘Wow!’ His eyes widened, and he tugged the picture from her grasp. ‘That’s fantastic. Who drew it?’

‘Er, I did,’ Emma mumbled. ‘It’s kind of, um, an abstract overview of how I want the room to look.’ He was going to think she was on acid after seeing that. She attempted to ease the sketch from his fingers, but he held firm.

‘You did?’

Emma shrugged.

‘It’s bloody brilliant!’ Will exclaimed. ‘I love how you’ve worked the whole room around the blue on the walls, and the contrasting colours
…
amazing.’

Emma tilted her head. Was he having her on? No, he actually
did
appear impressed. ‘Thank you. It’s the first drawing I’ve done in ages. When I was growing up, I sketched loads, but then
…
’ She waved her hand in the air as if showing how she’d dismissed he
r art
work.

‘Look, I’m supposed to stay in the paint department this
morning
,’ Will said, ‘but seeing as how it’s Monday and the place is still dead after the weekend rush, what do you say we hit the aisles together and try to recreate your vision?’ His eyes twinkled, and Emma couldn’t help smiling as relief flooded into her. Looked like Alice was right. Will had been in his pulling-away phase, and clearly he was back again.

Not that I should care so much,
she thought, trying to downplay her excitement. After all, she and Will had only just met. Still, Emma couldn’t deny the jolt of nerves and attraction whenever she saw him. He was so handsome with his dark hair and liquid-brown eyes, and she liked the look of his hands, strong with solid fingers she could just imagine touching her skin—

Stop!
Emma dragged her mind back to where Will was standing in front of her, awaiting an answer. ‘That would be fantastic.’

Two hours later, they’d managed to locate almost everything she’d need, from the leafy tree she’d position in the corner, to the fabric blind on which she’d paint a row of stripy bright colours. It’d take ages to sort out everything at the flat, but finally she’d be able to bring one of her sketches to life. Will had a fantastic eye for spotting items and putting together different combinations to help her achieve the look long after she’d given up.

‘Phew!’ Emma stared at the overflowing trolley in front of them. ‘Good thing I brought my credit card.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Will rubbed his forehead. ‘I never even thought to ask if all of this was in your budget. We can decide what to put back, if you like.’

‘No, no, don’t worry. I was just joking.’ Emma turned to face him, her heart flipping over. ‘So
…
yet again, I owe you.’ Dare she invite him for dinner once more? He did appear to have snapped back, like Alice had predicted. But what if he said no again? After all, this was his job; he could just be playing Mr Salesman. He probably got a commission every time he sold something. So far, though, thinking positively
did
seem to be working. She might as well give this a go, too.