The Pollyanna Plan

by Talli Roland

  Not that Emma had anything to complain about, even if her wine glow had long since been replaced by a dull, lingering headache. Her normally dry, frazzled hair glistened under the lights, streaked with natural-looking strands of copper. Jesús had taken the blunt style and added in little layers, framing her face attractively. Okay, so she might not be able to tug it all back behind her ears anymore, but bloody hell, Emma had to admit she looked pretty good. Better, anyway.

  ‘Not bad, huh?’ Jesús said smugly.

  Emma nodded, reaching up to stroke her new locks. Soft to the touch, they almost didn’t feel like her hair. Wait until Alice sees this, she thought. No, wait until Will sees this! Her stomach flipped as she envisioned the look in his eyes when he took in her improved appearance.

  Will! Panic flooded into her. ‘What time is it?’ she asked Jesús, trying to extend an arm to check her watch from under the voluminous metallic cape.

  Jesús glanced at the clock over his shoulder. ‘Half past five,’ he responded defensively. ‘Love, you needed a lot of work. This kind of thing doesn’t happen quickly.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Emma said, struggling to stand. ‘It’s just, I’ve a friend coming over, and I have to go…ouf !’ She fell back into the seat with a thud as the cape caught on the metal mechanisms of the chair.

  ‘You must see the back of your hair first.’ Languorously, Jesús pulled out a large mirror and spun Emma around. The cape tightened, and for a second Emma wondered if this hairstyle would be her last. ‘Much better. Conditioned, shiny, with natural highlights.’

  ‘It’s brilliant,’ Emma squeaked. She gulped in a lungful of air as Jesús mercifully snapped off the cape, and then she lunged for the receptionist, to pay.

  ‘Any product today?’ Jesús hurried after her. ‘We have a two-for-one on the spray conditioner, and—’

  ‘I’ll take it!’ Emma grabbed the bottles, conscious it was better to acquiesce than argue.

  As she paid the eye-popping amount, Emma silently listed everything she needed to do: have a look at the recipe, run to Tesco’s and grab the necessary ingredients along with wine, hail a cab home—no time for the Tube—throw on her outfit and start dinner preparations…already, her stress levels were rising. Think positively, Emma reminded herself. Of course she could cook a simple meal. She could do it with one hand tied behind her back!

  Even Pollyanna would have trouble buying into that one, she thought, shaking off the receptionist’s attempts to bully her into booking another appointment. Outside, the pavements were clogged with rush-hour commuters heading home, and Emma nearly knocked down a few in her haste to get to Tesco’s. Right, now where had she put that recipe?

  Her stomach dropped as she remembered Alice saying she’d hand it over before leaving…shit! With all the excitement of the hair salon, her friend had run off without passing it on. How on earth could Emma purchase ingredients for a dish she’d never even eaten, let alone made? She strained to recall Alice’s words: chicken, coconut milk, curry.…

  In the past, Emma had avoided Thai restaurants like the plague. She’d read a report stating the chances of contracting food poisoning there were far greater than average, due to lack of proper hygiene. True or not (and since it was in Britain’s biggest tabloid, she had to concede it was more likely ‘not’), she hadn’t been up for the risk.

  Heart thumping, Emma grabbed the mobile from her handbag and punched in Alice’s number. It was quarter to six now. She might be able to catch Alice before her shift started.

  ‘Please pick up, please pick up,’ Emma chanted, listening to the tinny ring before the phone clicked through to voice mail.

  ‘Alice!’ she screeched, panic making her sound like a chipmunk on speed. ‘You forgot to give me the recipe for the chicken curry. Please call—I’m in Tesco’s now.’ But if Alice had started her shift already, she wouldn’t have time to ring back until Will had come and gone.

  Okay, calm down. It’s not the end of the world—just a little chicken curry. For God’s sake, she’d reviewed multimillion-pound loan applications with ease. Emma took a deep breath, struggling to gain control of her emotions.

  Chicken, curry paste and coconut milk—she could handle that. And wasn’t there something to do with veggies? Racing through the aisles, Emma grabbed almost every product from the produce section, threw some chicken fillets into her basket, and scoured the shop until she uncovered red Thai curry paste and coconut milk. Grabbing a bottle of Côtes du Rhône (several, in fact—maybe she’d get Will so drunk he wouldn’t even taste the curry?), she rushed through the cashier and onto the street. Lifting her arm to hail a cab, she jumped in, and twenty minutes later she was back at the flat.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Emma groaned as she opened the door. Although she’d organised all her purchases from the DIY centre, boxes were still stacked high against the walls. She’d meant to spend this afternoon decorating, but then Alice had proposed the shopping trip…ah well. Hopefully her friend was right, and Will was here for other things besides the flat.

  Okay. Six thirty, and he’d arrive in half an hour. First things first. She had to get changed. Emma raced into the bedroom, ripped off her now sweaty clothes, tore open the shopping bags, and jumped into the skinny jeans—had they got skinnier since she’d last put them on?—then jammed the turquoise jumper over her head.

  Hastily, she swiped under her eyes where the mascara had migrated, dusted some powder to stop her face from glistening, fluffed her gorgeous new hair, and slipped on the boots Alice had forced her to buy. Her friend had tried to persuade her into sky-high Kurt Geigers, but Emma wasn’t about to clomp around all night in lofty heels. Stilettos shortened your Achilles tendons and caused 5 percent of all ankle injuries, and although the Pollyanna Plan seemed to be working, you also had to recognise your limits. No way did she want to end tonight in some dingy Accident and Emergency department. Although it might be worth it if Will had to carry her there! Emma sighed, picturing herself being gently lifted into his strong arms.

  Oh, for God’s sake. This was no time to indulge in daydreams! She needed to get a move on. When did I last lay the table for dinner? she wondered, unpacking the Habitat china plates (from their box, she was ashamed to admit). George had never eaten here; they’d always gone out. And her mum had never come round for a meal, either.

  Funny, it was almost as if by keeping everyone away, she could cordon off her own space and stay separate. Emma snorted at the self-analysis. Who was she trying to be—Freud?

  The buzzer sounded as she set down the last gleaming knife, and her heart leaped into her throat. Could that be him? She glanced at her watch—only six fifty. Since when were men early? She hadn’t even started on the curry.

  ‘It’s Will,’ the deep tone boomed through the intercom.

  ‘Come on up!’ Emma’s voice quivered, and she gulped, examining her reflection one final time. At least she looked okay. Dinner might be poisonous, but hey, Will would know she was making an effort. See? She really was thinking positively.

  There was a rap at the door, and Emma swung it open, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart.

  ‘Hi there,’ she said, smiling up at Will. Even with her heels, he was still a good deal taller. Much better than George, who—for all his swagger—was actually an inch shorter when she was wearing flats. She’d turned a blind eye to the fact he often wore dress shoes with heels just a little higher than normal in an effort to boost his height. Now that she thought about it, those shoes had been a major turn-off.

  ‘Hi.’ Will leaned down to kiss her cheek, and Emma caught a whiff of spicy cologne mixed with something fresh and citrusy. Yum. His skin brushed hers, and she could already feel the telltale heat flooding her face.

  Will pulled back, his eyebrows rising. ‘You look fantastic!’

  Emma’s blush deepened. ‘Thank you. Come on in. Wine?’ Words tumbled out in the haste to co
ver her nerves.

  ‘That would be great. Thanks.’ Will shrugged off his coat, laying it over the back of the sofa. Damn! She should have offered to take it. She was so out of practice with all of this.

  ‘Oh, I brought you a bottle.’ Will waved it in the air, and Emma tried to hide her surprise. She could see by the label it was an expensive brand, putting her Tesco-bought bottles to shame. She wouldn’t have thought a man who worked in a DIY centre could afford such extravagance. Hope rose inside as she realised he must really be interested in her to splash out like that.

  ‘Oh, good. Thank you.’ Emma scooted over to take the wine. ‘I’ll just crack this open.’ No way was she going to pour him a glass of her five-pound Côtes du Rhône now. ‘Have a seat.’ She waved a hand towards the sofa, watching as Will made himself comfortable. Thank goodness he didn’t cross his legs like George always had. She’d often wondered how on earth he could comfortably do that. Didn’t his bits get in the way?

  ‘So what are we having tonight?’ Will gazed curiously at the open-plan kitchen from where he was sitting. No doubt he was wondering about the lack of action.

  ‘Um, red Thai chicken curry,’ Emma said, twisting the stubborn cork from the wine. Unfortunately, she hadn’t plunged in the corkscrew deeply enough and the cork snapped, one piece remaining embedded in the corkscrew and the other in the bottle. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Everything okay?’ A small grin tugged the side of Will’s mouth.

  ‘Er, yes.’ Emma swore under her breath again as she removed the broken cork from the corkscrew and jammed the instrument into the piece still in the bottle. Gingerly, she lifted it out…but not before tiny flakes of cork filtered into the liquid below, bobbing on the surface. Extra nutrients, Pollyanna would say. Emma forced a smile, hoping Will wasn’t looking as she poured two large glasses, skimming off as much of the ‘extra nutrients’ as she could.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, handing him the wine. ‘And here’s to tonight!’

  ‘Cheers.’ Will lifted the glass and met her eyes. He looked nervous, too, Emma thought, feeling a little more relaxed now that she wasn’t the only one on edge.

  ‘I hope you won’t mind if I get started on the cooking?’ she asked, thinking that busying her hands would help sort out the remaining butterflies flitting inside. ‘Feel free to turn on some music or the television. There are some magazines beside the coffee table. Or we can just chat as I get the food ready…’ Her voice trailed off as she realised she was blathering on again, and she scuttled behind the safety of the counter.

  Will nodded. ‘Sure.’ Reaching over, he rifled through the stack of papers by the side of the table, where Emma had jammed old editions of the Evening Standard, collected from the Tube, along with the odd Underwriter Today. Not exactly riveting reading, but it might keep him entertained until she figured out what the hell she was doing.

  She’d lay out the ingredients first, just like they did on the cookery shows. Reaching into the fridge, Emma brought out the veggies (did radishes really belong in a Thai curry, she wondered?), the chicken, the coconut milk, the curry paste…she was rather proud she’d managed to assemble all the critical elements without a recipe. After pouring some oil in a never-used-before frying pan, she turned on the hob. Alice had said to fry the vegetables, of that she was certain.

  ‘These are wonderful!’ Will’s exclamation made her look up, and her heart dropped. Oh, God. He was flipping through her old sketchbooks! She’d forgotten they were there.

  ‘Oh, those things. Yeah, I drew a lot when I was young,’ Emma mumbled. Forcing herself not to race across the room and rip the sketches from his hands, she turned on the CD player, hoping music would distract him. The Spice Girls blared through the speakers, and Emma clicked it off in horror.

  But Will barely noticed. ‘These are brilliant. I knew you had talent from that drawing you showed me. Do you work in design or something along those lines?’ He leaned back on the sofa. ‘I don’t even know what you do.’

  ‘Nothing remotely close,’ she said. ‘Actually, I’m an underwriter.’

  ‘Wow.’ Tilting his head, Will gave her an appraising look. ‘Now that’s a surprise. I’d never have guessed.’

  Emma smiled tightly, unsure how to respond. ‘Right, what about Mozart?’ She waved the CD in the air to draw his attention away from the book.

  ‘Can’t go wrong with Mozart,’ Will said, still gazing down at the sketches. ‘You know, I bet if you wanted, you could make a career out of designing interiors. Your stuff is really quirky and different.’

  Emma shrugged, heading back to the kitchen. She had a career already—a good one, one she liked. Or did she? If she did like it, surely she’d be keener to scour job sites? So far, her efforts had been sporadic at best.

  Now isn’t the moment to think about that, she told herself, pushing away the thoughts. She needed all her concentration fixed firmly on the task at hand.

  ‘Right, time to fry some veggies!’ Emma said in a cheerful tone over the Mozart. God, Will was still flicking through the sketchbooks. It was disconcerting having someone she barely knew examine her innermost imaginings…strange and unnerving. It was like he had a direct line into her adolescent brain.

  Hmm, that’s funny, Emma thought as she placed bean sprouts in the frying pan. The pan was stone cold. Maybe she’d forgotten to switch on the hob? No, the dial was turned to the highest setting. Frantically, she twisted the knobs on the other elements, telling herself to be patient as she held out a hand, awaiting heat. But nothing came.

  Emma shook her head incredulously. Out of all the things she’d thought might go wrong with this dinner, she’d never imagined the bloody stovetop wouldn’t work! To be fair, it could have been out of commission for ages—who knew when she’d last used it? The microwave, on the other hand…Emma eyed the faithful white box atop her counter. Was it possible to do a Thai curry in there? Her stomach turned at the thought of limp microwaved veggies and rubbery chicken swimming in a seared coconut sauce. Ugh.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Will eyed her inquisitively.

  Might as well come out with it. Emma sighed. He’d soon figure out something was wrong when she served up KFC’s finest.

  ‘The hob’s decided not to work tonight,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Let me take a look.’ Will got up off the sofa and came towards her. Once again, Emma caught a whiff of his lovely scent. She watched his hands as he fiddled with the dials, praying he’d get them to work.

  Finally Will shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea what’s wrong. Not that I had much of a clue to begin with.’

  Emma laughed, thinking it was nice he was confident enough to admit that—some men (George) would have pretended the oven was at fault, neglecting to mention he’d never used an appliance before in his life. Staring at the mountain of ingredients on the counter, Emma’s mind spun with what to do next. Takeaway? Chowing down on greasy kebabs wasn’t exactly the romantic mood she wanted to set. And despite her lack of culinary talents, it seemed a shame to waste all these ingredients.

  What would Alice do? More to the point, what would Pollyanna do? Make a Thai salad? Whip up coconut ices? Emma pulled a face. She could be as Pollyanna as she liked, but her cooking skills only extended so far.

  Wait—hadn’t Will said he lived nearby? Maybe they could decamp to his flat. An image of the two of them, cooking side by side in his kitchen, floated into her head. He’d have to help her if they cooked there, wouldn’t he? It would be cool to see his place, too. Alice always said you could tell a man’s emotional maturity by how many video games he owned. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a total disaster.

  ‘Maybe we could take all this over to yours?’ Emma asked. ‘You said it’s close, right?’

  ‘Well…’ Will looked uncertain, and Emma winced inside. Had she gone too far? She could understand wanting to keep your own space pri
vate—she’d been thinking that earlier herself.

  ‘Yeah, I guess we could,’ Will responded finally. ‘I’m about a ten-minute walk from here, if that. I have to warn you, though, my kitchen is very small.’

  ‘No worries, that’s fine.’ Emma waved a hand as if she could deal with any cooking challenge. But hell, if she didn’t know how to make the dish anyway, the size of the kitchen was hardly a factor. ‘Right, guess we should get started packing this up.’ She got out the plastic carrier bags she’d tidied away under the counter.

  Will scooped up an armload of veggies. ‘You’re putting all this in the curry?’

  Emma glanced at him. Was she not supposed to? ‘Yes?’ she answered hesitantly.

  ‘Interesting. Don’t think I’ve ever eaten Thai curry with tomatoes or, um, radishes.’

  Oh, shit. Maybe she’d gone overboard on the vegetables. Still, at least it’d be healthy. She could claim it was a vegan curry! Except for the chicken, of course. It’ll be okay, she told herself, shoving the plastic-wrapped chicken pieces, coconut milk and curry paste into a bag.

  ‘I’ll just grab the rest of the wine’—Emma jammed half the torn cork into the bottle before Will could get to it, then grabbed her subpar Tesco selection—‘and I think we’re good to go.’ She shrugged on her coat and followed Will into the stairwell, locking the door behind them.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing your place,’ Emma said as they clattered down the stairs. ‘Thank you for saving the day.’ She rolled her eyes internally. God, she sounded like Lois Lane.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Will replied, but there was a slight edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. He pulled his coat tighter around him and started off down the street. ‘It’s just this way.’