The Pollyanna Plan (12 page)

‘What kind of business did you study?’ Emma asked, trying not to make it sound like she was probing.

But Will was already getting to his feet. ‘We should check on the curry. There needs to be enough coconut milk; it’s rubbish when—’

Before she could stop herself, Emma’s hand snapped out, grasping his wrist. Her eyes widened as she met Will’s surprised
expression
. What was she doing? Suddenly, Emma realised she didn’t want him to keep closing up and running away. There was something between them. She could sense it, and she was sure Will could, too. And for once, she was going to act on her desires.

Without letting go, she scrambled to her feet and leaned forward, feeling the heat of his body
…
the scratch of his stubble
…
his lips on hers. God, they were nice: soft and warm, so different from George’s oily ones. She felt Will’s body tense for a minute, and a dart of fear went through her. Had she made a mistake? Would he push her away?

But then his arms encircled her, pulling her up against his solid form. The pressure on her lips increased with his intensity, and before she knew it, she was yanking his shirt free, desperate to touch his skin. She ran her fingers over his smooth back, conscious his hands were slipping under her jumper and tugging her even closer.

So
this
is what it should feel like, Emma thought as Will’s lips moved down her neck to the sweet spot on her shoulder.
Goosebumps
rose on her arms as she was swept away on a carpet of pure emotion, her mind blank except for the delicious sensations cascading through her body.

Without words, Will tugged her over to the bed, slipping off her sweater. As the cool air caressed her skin and she sank onto the soft mattress, Emma’s last thought was that she would never again settle for anything less than this.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
s light filtered through the curtains, Will opened his eyes, heart sinking when he faced the reality that last night hadn’t been a dream. What had he done? One kiss and he couldn’t control himself? There was something electric about this woman, something that jolted him to the core each time he touched her. Cherie had been attractive and the sex, always satisfying, but with Emma
…
If only he wanted a relationship, things would be jus
t right.

Things weren’t right, though, and they never would be again. Will let out a soft groan. He should have brushed Emma off, but the unexpected way she’d grabbed his hand
…
the look of desire on her face
…
and how her lips had touched his
…
well, it was too late to go back now.

Taking in Emma’s sleeping form—her pale, slender limbs bunched together, as if she was trying to protect herself from invisible forces—he couldn’t help reaching out a finger and brushing a chunk of dark hair back from her cheek. Something deep inside him shifted as she stirred in her sleep, and Will shook his head to dispel the emotions.

He barely knew this woman, for God’s sake. And more to the point, he couldn’t afford to get involved—didn’t
want
to get involved—with anyone. As much for her as for him, really. He’d never expect someone to stick around as he lost control of his limbs—or whatever monstrosities might be coming.

There was only one way to deal with this, and that was to say he’d got carried away last night and didn’t want anything long term. It was definitely the truth! Who knew? Maybe Emma didn’t, either. They could part amicably, fading from each other’s life. Wouldn’t be too difficult, given they’d just met a week ago. Will blinked—had it really just been a few days? For some reason, it felt longer. A brief stab of pain hit as he pictured Emma walking off the boat and into the misty morning, but he steeled himself against it.

Sighing, Will climbed from the warm cocoon of the covers and into the frigid air, every muscle stiff and complaining. Last night had used up a lot of energy. After making love the first time, they’d laughingly joked that the curry must be ready by now. With Emma in one of his T-shirts, they’d padded over to the kitchen, devoured the meal with another glass of wine, and gone back to bed for a second session that had lasted well into the night.

‘Morning.’ Beside him, Emma was yawning and rubbing her eyes. As she smiled his way, Will noticed she looked even more beautiful—makeup smudged and hair dishevelled—than when she was carefully done up last night. Suddenly, the space felt too small, and the overwhelming urge to get out gripped him. If he stayed, Will knew he wouldn’t be able to resist leaning down, kissing her, and picking up where they’d left off.

‘Morning.’ Will threw on jeans and a T-shirt. ‘I have a shift at work. Got to be there in forty minutes.’ It wasn’t true, but right now he’d say anything to leave the boat.

‘Oh. Okay.’ Emma’s face fell as she wrapped the duvet around her and sat up in bed. ‘Brrr. It’s freezing!’

‘Yeah.’ Ducking into the bathroom, Will splashed cold water on his face, then hurriedly brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair. After gulping down his meds, he dabbed on some cologne, then went back out to the main living area. Thank God, Emma was now sitting on the side of the bed, buttoning up her jeans. The thought of her naked under that duvet was too much.

‘So
…
I’ll see you again soon?’ she asked, a tentative note creeping into her voice.

Will forced himself to shrug, feigning a glance at his watch.
So much for the ‘I don’t want a relationship’ conversation,
he thought. All he wanted was to flee. Anyway, she’d get the message from how he was acting, right?

‘I won’t be around much the next little while. Holiday season and all. Extra shifts at the centre.’ He busied himself with gathering his wallet, keys and mobile, so he didn’t need to look at her face. ‘I’ve got to go. Just lock the door behind you and be careful getting off the boat.’ And with that, he was out of the claustrophobic confines of the narrow boat and into the frigid morning, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Right now, his home no longer felt like a refuge. It was a danger he had to escape.

Emma watched as Will hauled himself up the steep ladder stairs and onto the deck, listening as his footsteps receded quickly from the boat. What the hell was going on? Was he that desperate to get away from her? She ran through events in her mind, emotion flooding her yet again as she recalled how they’d moved together, the way he’d stared into her eyes and how she’d felt a connection beyond their bodies. Snorting, she shook her head. Forget Pollyanna; she was turning into a romance writer.

Despite Will’s odd behaviour this morning, last night
had
been brilliant, and Emma wasn’t going to let her attitude of old dictate the future any longer. Will was probably late for his shift, like he’d said. She could understand how stressful running behind schedule was. Anyway, some people just weren’t into mornings.

The ringing mobile interrupted her thoughts. ‘Hello?’ Her voice was hoarse with lack of sleep.

‘Ems!’ Alice’s excited tone buzzed through the line. ‘So? How did it go? God, I’m sorry about the recipe. By the time I got your message it was after twelve, and I didn’t want to call in case
…
’ Emma could almost imagine her friend’s eyebrows waggling. ‘Spill!’

Emma gazed at the mist rising from the water. Where to start? ‘Well, everything was perfect.’ The words slipped out, and they took her aback.
Perfect?
Had she just said that? She couldn’t remember ever saying anything was perfect—perfection was impossible; it didn’t exist. Or so she’d thought.

‘Reallllly?’ Alice dragged out the word. ‘Did you get any action?’

Emma laughed. ‘Actually, yes. It was amazing.’

‘Woo-hoo!’ her friend crowed. ‘About time you got a decent shag after lame George. Is Will still there?’

‘No, he had to run.’ Literally. ‘Anyway, we had a great time.’

‘I told you last night would be the night,’ Alice crowed. ‘When are you seeing him again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Emma responded. ‘We didn’t get the chance to talk. He was late for work and rushed out.’

‘I’m sure he’ll call tomorrow
…
if not today.’ Alice yawned. ‘Right, I’m going back to sleep. Got an audition in a couple hours.’

‘Break a leg,’ Emma replied automatically, then clicked off and glanced around the boat’s interior. It was strange being in Will’s space alone. Outside, she could hear the low voices of other
narrow
-boat owners as they awoke, and the drone of something that sounded like a chant coming from Lou’s boat. Padding across the cold floor and into the bathroom, Emma washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. Ugh, the curry still lingered.

Will must have some toothpaste she could borrow. Without thinking, she slid open the cabinet, eyes popping as she took in three medicine bottles standing out amidst the jumble of razors and colognes. Hmm, what were those? She glanced at the labels, but the medications weren’t familiar. A flicker of fear went through her. Will looked fine, but Emma knew only too well that someone who appeared the picture of health could be the exact opposite.

Don’t be silly,
she scolded herself. Statistically speaking, having two people in her life (if you could count Will as ‘in her life’) suffer from terminal illness was unlikely. It was much more probable Will was taking the meds for a minor ailment—surely he’d have told her if not. Anyway, if it
was
something life threatening, Will would be gulping down a whole lot more than three bottles’ worth. Her mind flashed back to the final days of her father, when he’d come home from the hospital because they couldn’t do anything more. He’d had to take at least five different meds to control the pain, not to mention to deal with everything else.

After locating the toothpaste and trying in vain to use her finger as a brush, Emma grabbed her handbag, looked around the boat a final time to make sure she had everything and then hauled herself up the stairs and into the fresh air, closing the door and checking it was locked.

It was freezing outside, and Emma hurriedly buttoned her coat. What was she going to do today? Maybe walk along the path for a bit and enjoy the mist curling off the water. Then she’d head back to her flat and start decorating. The next time Will came round, it would be a different place! God, she couldn’t wait for him to see it.

‘Had a good night?’

Emma swivelled to see Lou standing with hands on hips on the deck of her boat like the Queen of the Canal. Today she wore a vivid turquoise shell suit, complete with beaded leather moccasins and the same Navajo blanket as last night, draped around her shoulders. ‘I did, yes, thanks.’

‘About time that boy got some action.’ Lou shook her head, and Emma’s cheeks flushed. Lou couldn’t have heard them, could she? No, they hadn’t been noisy. Unlike George’s chorus of overeager ‘Oh baby’s’—as if by vocalising excitement he could actually create it—she and Will had been quietly intense. ‘He’s a good egg, that one, always round to help when the sink gets clogged or my boiler’s on the fritz again. He deserves someone nice.’ Lou gave her an appraising look, then nodded. ‘I’d say you’ll do.’

‘Er, thank you,’ Emma mumbled, her face turning even redder.

‘I’ll see you again? Soon?’ Lou raised her eyebrows, throwing the blanket over her shoulder with a flourish.

‘I hope so,’ Emma said, sensing Lou wasn’t one to pull punches. ‘I’d certainly like to.’

‘Good.’ Lou nodded, her cheeks jiggling, as if the subject was closed for discussion.

Emma smiled and waved, making her way down the canal
towpath
. It looked completely different this morning than in the dark of last night. Fog spiralled in the air, and the first rays of the sun illuminated the high stone wall. She breathed in the scent of leaves and water, and despite the lack of sleep, a feeling of well-being came over her at the beauty of the day.

Funny, she’d lived close to the canal for years and had never been down here before. Emma shook her head as she remembered reading canals harboured ten times more bacteria than rivers. That was all it had taken to put her off.

Well, no more. No more would thinking negatively stop her. Just look at her now! It had only been a week since instituting the Pollyanna Plan, and already she had a wonderful space to live in, an upgraded wardrobe and snazzy new hair, and a fresh start with her mum and Meg. Not to mention potential for a great relationship with a man who’d finally made her understand all those
clichés
about knees trembling, hearts racing, etcetera. Happiness burst inside as the sun warmed her back.

Things could only get better from here.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

W
ill swore softly as he sipped coffee at a flashy new café on nearby Paddington Basin. Fabricating a work shift had been a great excuse to escape the boat fast, but now he had nowhere to go. Not only that, he’d fled without wearing his uniform—something he hoped Emma hadn’t picked up on. He cringed, guilt weighing on him when he thought of her reaction to his quick departure.
Had
she got the message, or would he be forced to tell her last night was a mistake? Maybe he should return, say his shift was cancelled, and at least have the decency to explain in person he wasn’t interested in anything long term.

But would she still be there? Leaving Emma alone on the boat hadn’t been the brightest idea. For all he knew, she could be long gone, or she could have dropped off to sleep. She might be taking her sweet time, having a shower, drying her hair
…
shit! Will jerked upright, knocking the table with his knee and spilling his coffee. What if Emma snooped around and spotted the meds in his cabinet? She might not know they were for MS, but still. The last thing he wanted was another conversation with someone making sympathetic noises, asking if he was okay and being concerned for his health.

No, forget going back—it was best to cut all contact right now. She’d think he was a bastard who only wanted a one-night stand, and that would be that. Done.

Will’s phone flashed with yet another text from his dad, asking him to come to the factory, saying the company needed him. He gritted his teeth. What would it take for his father to get the message that Will would never work there again? Life was too short to waste time doing something he didn’t want to.

That’s what he’d do now, Will thought, draining his coffee and standing. He’d go to the factory, have it out with his father face to face, and make sure the man got the picture for once and for all.

One packed Tube ride later, Will emerged into the light at
Neasden
. Anger fuelled the short walk to the large, red-bricked factory.

‘Hi, Judy,’ he said to the receptionist he’d known since he was young. ‘Is Dad in?’

‘Will!’ Judy removed her headset and rounded the counter, throwing her arms around him. ‘My goodness, I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you holding up?’ She pulled back, eying him from head to toe, as if searching for a concealed crutch.

Will sighed.
This
was why he stayed away. He couldn’t bear the weighted looks of everyone who expected him to faint in front of them. ‘I’m great, thanks,’ he said.

‘Your father’s in his office. Go on back. I’ll let him know you’re on the way.’ Judy paused, shooting a bright grin in his direction. ‘And don’t be a stranger! We miss you around here.’

Will nodded as he pushed past the counter and through the narrow corridors to his father’s office. The familiar chemical smell of paint met his nostrils, and he shook his head to clear the memories of the last few years: sitting at a desk, staring at invoices for hours as boredom and frustration gnawed inside
.…

‘Hi, Dad.’ Will knocked on the half-open door. His father was reading a paper held so close to his eyes that it was practically touching his face. ‘Forgot your glasses again?’

‘Son!’ His dad put the paper on the desk. ‘Did you get my messages? Why haven’t you called?’

Will plopped onto a dusty chair, taking a deep breath to calm his impatience. ‘Look—’

‘You know, I can’t believe those sons of bitches,’ his father
interrupted
.

Will twitched in surprise at the uncharacteristic language. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Richardson Paints,’ his dad spit out. ‘They approached us with a takeover offer, and the board is considering it. They say I’m getting old, that I don’t have my finger on the pulse of the bloody
industry
—as if it’s changed that much over the years. The board thinks I should bow out and enjoy retirement while I can.’

Shit.
Will swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine his father not going to work every day; the company was his life.

‘You need to come back,’ his father continued, ‘so the board knows we have a strong future leader who can adapt to new technology. I’ll even give you a go at designing a range of colours.’

Wow, things must be bad if his dad was willing to let him take charge of something. Will had tried many times over the years to modernise the line; to make the shades more contemporary and introduce his own ideas. His father had blocked him at every turn. Even with the rare praise, though, there was no way Will could return. Surely, his father could find someone else to breathe new life into the place, someone who actually wanted to be there.

‘Dad,’ Will began, trying to sound as firm as possible, ‘I told you I don’t want to be involved in the business. And with my illness, it doesn’t make sense, anyway. What if I take over and then have an attack? I wouldn’t be able to function.’

A flash of anger crossed his father’s face. ‘For goodness’ sake, you act like you’re some kind of invalid. Look at you! You’re
healthier
than most men your age, and the doctor said you might stay that way for years to come if you continue taking the medications. You can’t shy away from life and responsibility based on “what if”.’ He fixed Will with a hard look. ‘Just get us through this thing with the takeover, all right? Come back for the next, say, six months or so. Then we’ll bring on someone else once we’re out of the woods.’ The older man nodded decisively as if the case was closed.

Will stared at his father, wondering how many times he’d heard that familiar refrain. When he’d finished A levels and was keen to attend art school, his dad had convinced him to do the business course at university instead. And when he’d graduated from
university
and wanted to do a gap year at a renowned art school in Florence, his father had persuaded him to give the company a go, saying he could leave whenever he liked. Ten years on, Will had still been there—until the illness finally lit a fire under him to quit. How ironic that now he had plenty of time to paint, he was having difficulty getting motivated. Life seemed dull and flat, with little to inspire him.

Should he return to the factory? Just for the half-year his dad suggested? Will tried to picture himself wearing a suit and tie, sitting in the office across the hall from his father. A shudder went through him. If he came back now, he’d be sucked in again. His dad would always need him for ‘a few more months’; there’d always be another crisis to take care of.

Will shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’ He
was
sorry, too. But he’d given up enough for the company, and he wasn’t going to do it any longer.

His father’s lips tightened. ‘Come on, William. I’ve never asked you for much.’

Will’s mouth dropped open. ‘Never asked for much? How about giving up art school to go into business? Coming to work for you? Staying on instead of doing what I really wanted?’

His dad’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘What on earth are you talking about? I never forced you into anything you didn’t want to do. Those were merely suggestions. You could have said no.’

Will stared at his father incredulously. Did his dad really believe he’d simply been making suggestions?
Could
Will have said no? He tried to think back to his younger self, remembering feeling trapped and suffocated under the heavy blanket of wanting his father’s approval. Had he willingly sacrificed his own desires, or had he been pushed into it, like he’d always believed?

‘Well, I’m saying no now.’ He was sure his father would find a way to save the business without him.

His dad held Will’s gaze a few seconds longer, then dropped his head to examine the paper on the desk—the paper Will knew he couldn’t see because he wasn’t wearing specs. ‘You know, I expected many things from a son I raised.’ He paused, then met Will’s eyes.

‘But I never expected a coward,’ the older man continued. ‘You’re afraid to help because you don’t believe you’re strong enough to leave the company again when you want to.’ He waved a hand in the air. ‘Go back to your boat, then. But think about this: What’s the point of leaving here to have a life if you’re not going to live it?’

Will stood for a second as the words circled around him, then turned and hurried down the dusty corridor, as if by fleeing his father he could also escape the judgement. His dad might be right about him being afraid of getting sucked in, but if Will was a coward, he’d have caved to the demands. And a real coward would have gone along with Emma and enjoyed time with her, without any sense of consequences or thoughts for the future.

It wasn’t cowardly to live on your own terms, and that was exactly what Will was doing. From now on, there’d be no more interruptions, no more distractions. His life would consist of easy shifts at the DIY centre, working on the boat, and being alone.

Exactly what he wanted.

Emma couldn’t help whistling as she returned home after strolling along the canal.
Whistling!
What the hell was happening to her?

Shrugging off her coat, she grinned at the memory of the broken hob. Talk about a blessing in disguise. How she would have pulled off the evening without Will’s help, she hadn’t a clue. Not to mention she’d loved seeing his home—and his paintings.

She plopped onto the sofa, drifting into a daydream where the two of them sketched and painted as sunlight streamed through the windows, the jazzy piano CD played, and the boat rocked gently. They’d cook dinner together like last night, then fall into bed
.…
Okay, they’d only just met. Even after years with George, though, Emma felt Will knew her better than her ex ever had. Maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous to dream about a future. Lou certainly seemed to think they fit!

Emma’s gaze fell on the laptop sullenly perched on the corner of the coffee table. She really should check the job listings again. But the freedom of the past few days and all the fun she’d had being creative highlighted how monochromatic her old life had been.

What would it be like to have a job you loved?
Emma wondered. Was it actually possible? Imagine how cool it’d be to spend her days working with clients to develop visions that reflected their desires and dreams. Her own little business—something classy like ‘Interiors by Emma’. She’d have to qualify first, probably. Take a course and gain the right credentials so people would trust her, and then develop her portfolio.

Grabbing the laptop, Emma opened up her browser and entered ‘interior design courses London’. Her eyes widened as link after link filtered onto the screen, everything from online programmes to a three-year degree.

She scanned the information, excitement building as she read about spatial planning, complementary colours, client communications
.…
One of the courses would accredit her after she completed all the modules at her own pace. She could make sure her pace was as fast as possible and get through it in record time. Her savings might last long enough to cover her until the coursework was completed, and it wouldn’t take much to set up the business once she was qualified.

Slow down,
Emma told herself, trying to limit the adrenaline flowing through her body. Starting a business was a risky move—as an underwriter, she’d seen countless times how often new companies needed loans to survive. Then again, since the start of the
Pollyanna
Plan, she hadn’t exactly been following logic. And look where it’d got her: happier than she could remember.

Anyway, there was no harm in exploring the course options just for fun. A smile nudging up one side of her mouth, Emma sank into the wonderful world of colours and design.