by Talli Roland
With surprising strength, Lou tugged him to his feet. Will slung an arm around her neck to keep himself upright, fear curdling his insides. Bloody hell. Was this what the rest of his life would be like? Never knowing when his body might decide to stop working?
‘Has this happened before?’ Lou asked as they hobbled the short distance to his boat. ‘I can take you to the hospital. Might do you good to have a checkup.’
‘No,’ Will rasped. It was hard to say even one word; he needed every inch of concentration to move his foot across the gap and onto the boat. Thank God for Lou, he thought. He wouldn’t have been able to manoeuvre onto the deck and down the steep ladder stairs without her.
‘Now you just lie here.’ Lou eased him onto the sofa, barely out of breath. ‘Look, Will. It’s not normal for a young man to collapse like that. I really think you need to go to the hospital and get yourself seen to. If you don’t want me to take you, I can call someone else. Maybe that nice young woman?’ Her hands hovered over the mobile, awaiting his response.
Will sighed. She wasn’t going to give this up, was she? ‘I have multiple sclerosis, Lou,’ he said, cursing the fact that he needed to tell her. Now she’d look at him with the same expression of pity as everyone else. ‘I’ve got medication to control the attacks. I’m afraid getting checked over isn’t going to do anything other than tire me out.’ Bitterness rang in his voice, and he closed his eyes.
‘Right, then.’ Will’s lids flew open at Lou’s efficient, practical tone, nothing like the cloying sweetness he’d expected. ‘Tell me where the meds are, and I’ll get them for you.’
He directed her to the bathroom, listening as she filled a glass with water and walked calmly to his side. He took the tablets as his doctor had indicated, then lowered his head back to the sofa, feeling like he could sleep for the next two years.
‘Is there anyone you want me to call?’ Lou asked.
Will shook his head. ‘No. I’m better now, anyway.’ But it was obvious, even to his own ears, how weak he was.
Lou rolled her eyes. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that pretending to be Mr Strongman when it comes to illness is useless, especially with something as unpredictable as MS. The more people around to help, the easier you’ll cope. Anyway, right now, you need to rest.’ She tucked a blanket around him. ‘I’ll watch over you for the next hour or so, make sure you’re all right.’
Will opened his mouth to protest, but before he could release any words, sleep overtook him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Settling in okay?’ Lionel popped his head around the corner of Emma’s cubicle at Plumtree, and she glanced up from the monitor in surprise. She’d been so absorbed in the file on her screen, she hadn’t noticed it was dark outside. ‘Your former boss told me you were a hard worker, but even I didn’t imagine you’d be working this hard. You’ve been here until eight every night this week. Almost as long as me!’ He laughed.
‘Just trying to get into the swing of things,’ Emma said. ‘So far, I’m really enjoying it here.’ ‘Enjoying’ might be a bit much, but throwing herself into work meant she could try to forget everything else. Like the fact she couldn’t seem to get Will out of her mind, or that almost a week after their argument, Alice still hadn’t got in touch. Not to mention her mum’s messages practically pleading with her not to let down Meg, reminding Emma over and over again of the concert’s date. The eighteenth of December was now seared into her brain.
‘Well, we certainly appreciate all your effort. You’re doing a fantastic job.’ Lionel smoothed his tie. ‘Right, best get back home before the missus starts wondering where I’m spending all my time. Good night.’
‘Good night,’ Emma echoed, trying to focus again on the computer screen. She yawned, the numbers swimming before her eyes. The past week had been a blur of getting up early, staying in the office late, and falling into bed when she got home. But despite her attempts to get things back to pre-Pollyanna, nothing felt right. The sense of comfort and security had deserted her, and everything she did seemed…empty.
Give it time, Emma told herself. Another week or two, and all these unsettled feelings would be gone, she was sure. Sighing, she pushed back from the computer screen. Better head for home and quit while I’m ahead, she thought, pulling on her coat and tying a thick scarf around her neck. On the street below, wind swirled an empty plastic bag in a macabre dance, and a man in a suit scurried by, head bent against the gusts. Drizzle hung in the halo of light coming from the streetlamp, and Emma shivered, feeling chilled already. London in December could either be crisp and sunny or damp and cold. Tonight, the city had plumped for the latter.
Emma grabbed her handbag and weaved between the empty cubicles. Despite being here for almost a week, she’d yet to have a proper conversation with anyone. In fact, the last person she’d said more than ten words to was…Emma screwed up her face, trying to remember. Her mum and Meg, when they’d come to visit? Had it been that long? Much as she hated to admit it, she was a little lonely.
Outside, she lowered her head to avoid the sharp, stinging drizzle—feeling more like hail now—on her cheeks. Plumtree was a five-minute walk to the warmth of the Tube, but now it seemed a million miles away.
‘Ouf!’ Her breath left in a gasp as she collided with a solid body. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she muttered.
‘Emma?’
She raised her head. There, right in front of her, was the golden-haired form of George. She hadn’t seen him since that fateful day in the café, although given Plumtree’s proximity to Aquarius—and that they both worked the same long hours—it was inevitable they’d bump into each other at some stage.
‘Oh, hi, George.’ Emma was proud of how calm her voice sounded, despite the shock at seeing him.
‘Hey.’ He leaned down and kissed her cheek, the familiar scent of his cloying cologne wafting through the air. ‘You look great. Love the hair.’ His eyes were admiring, and Emma put a hand self-consciously to her locks. She’d forgotten about the makeover Alice had put her through. The highlights had faded slightly but were still very much in evidence.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. ‘Well, I’d better get going.’ The wind whipped around them, and her cheeks were starting to feel numb.
‘Wait a second.’ George caught her arm before she turned away. ‘Ems, you never gave me a chance to explain. About the woman you saw me with. And about Gladstone.’
Emma shook her head. That seemed ages ago. ‘Oh, don’t worry, George. It’s all in the past.’ The brief sense of betrayal and disappointment had long since faded into insignificance, especially after the rush of emotion she’d felt with Will. A wave of frustration flooded in as his face appeared in her mind yet again. God! What would it take to forget that man?
George was gazing at her intently. ‘Still, I’d love the chance to explain. And to catch up with you.’ He flashed the familiar smile that melted the hearts of female underwriters across the City. ‘What are you doing now? Would you like to grab a bite?’
Emma met his eyes, thinking a cosy restaurant and hot food was more appealing than heading back to her half-painted flat where the hob didn’t work and thoughts bounced around her head like a hyper Ping-Pong ball. George might not be on her favourites list, but he knew her; he thought like her. Right now, that was exactly what she needed. ‘Okay.’
‘Fabulous.’ George nodded as if he’d known her answer already. ‘Bread Street Kitchen?’
‘Sounds good.’ Bread Street Kitchen was where they’d always gone after work; in fact, it was where George had taken her on their first date. Emma had been surprised at his choice—after their intimate chat at the hotel bar, she’d expected a romantic, subdued restaurant, where other tables faded into pools of darkness and they could continue getting to know each other.
Bread Street Kitchen was all about being seen. Emma had been pleasantly relieved at the buzzing a
tmosphere, and she and George had settled comfortably into chatting about work, careers and the insurance industry. There’d been none of those sidelong looks laden with expectation or awkward pauses as they both wondered what to say. The noise of the restaurant had filtered around them, creating a comfortable cushion to fill any empty space.
Actually, Emma thought now as the receptionist led them to a table, that’s how our whole relationship functioned. They’d rarely been alone together except for the five and a half minutes they made love. There’d always been other people—or work—to focus on.
Nothing wrong with that, Emma told herself as she settled across the table from George. It didn’t have to be all those intense emotions like she’d had with Will. That was a recipe for disaster. Imagine if she’d felt that way about George and then caught him cheating! She’d have been devastated instead of a little disappointed. Thankfully, she’d pulled herself together quickly, and now when she thought of what had happened, she felt…well, nothing. Just how it should be. A shame she couldn’t seem to reach that state with Will. Not yet, anyway.
‘It’s freezing outside, isn’t it?’ George bundled off his coat, and Emma noticed how smart he looked in his grey pinstriped suit paired with a silk tie. ‘So.’ He flashed a toothy grin. ‘What’s new?’
Emma tilted her head, wondering exactly how to answer. I’ve been on a roller coaster of positivity that crashed and burned? I’m trying hard to get my life back to normal? ‘Not much.’
George buried his nose in the wine list. ‘Good, good. Listen, how about a bottle of red?’
‘Sure.’
He beckoned to a waiter, then reached over and took her hand. Surprised, Emma tried to jerk away, but George clasped her fingers tightly.
‘Ems,’ he said, his tone low and earnest. ‘Look, about everything that happened…’ His voice trailed off.
Emma managed to remove her hand. ‘Honestly, it’s all behind us now. Let’s let it go.’
‘But Emma, I don’t want to let it go. The woman you saw me with in the café, well…I can assure you, nothing happened between us. She’s an intern who asked me to lunch to give her career advice, and I’m afraid she wanted a little more than that. I should have known better.’
Emma shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, George.’
‘And the whole thing about you losing your job…’ He paused, and Emma raised her eyebrows. Yeah, what about losing her job? How could he explain that away? ‘I didn’t know they’d cut your whole department, Ems. Really and truly.’ His eyes were wide and sincere, and Emma’s mind flipped over. Given he wasn’t on the management team, it was possible George hadn’t known. And he’d always been on the flirtatious side, so maybe nothing had happened with him and the brunette. If the woman came on to him first…
Wait, was she being Pollyanna now? A flare of anger burst inside, and Emma tried to weigh the possibilities, using logic and reason. That was the right way to make decisions.
‘I did try to get in touch to explain everything, but you wouldn’t take my calls.’ George leaned forward. ‘You and me, we were good together. I miss that.’
Emma recalled the daily voice mails littering her mobile and how she’d methodically deleted them without even listening. That hadn’t been rational, she chastised herself. She’d let her disappointment at his betrayal dictate her actions, and hadn’t she just learned that following feelings led to disaster?
George’s explanation seemed to make sense, and he was nothing if not reasonable. It was one of the things Emma liked about him. He reached out to take her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away.
‘So, what do you say? Now that I’ve told you what happened, will you think about giving us another chance?’ His hopeful eyes met hers. ‘We can start slowly. I realise when you’ve spent a few weeks believing I engaged in nefarious behaviour, it may take a while to regain our former level of security.’
Emma held his gaze, the words echoing in her head. Former level of security. George was offering a lifeline to the way things had been. God knows she was desperate to get back there. She missed the solidity of their relationship, of knowing they were on the same wavelength. Okay, so he didn’t make her tingle like Will had. But you couldn’t get through life on tingles, right? Emma had read somewhere that the infatuation phase only lasted a year, and then compatibility became the most important factor. She and George had already proved they had that in spades.
If she’d listened to his explanations earlier, she could have avoided this whole Will fiasco. Anger poured into her again at the thought of recent events, but she steeled herself against it. That was behind her now. This was her future.
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice seeming to come from a place far away. ‘Yes, let’s give our relationship another try.’ As George’s face softened and he leaned across the table to kiss her, Emma briefly registered the only sentiment she felt right now wasn’t happiness, love, or any of those other traitorous emotions.
It was relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Will surveyed the narrow confines of the boat, wondering if he’d missed packing anything. His bag stood ready, with his painting supplies neatly ordered in their case. He was itching to get away and clear his mind of Christmas, his illness…everything. The boat had seemed claustrophobic enough before he’d ‘taken the spell’, as Lou put it, but now it was a downright prison. He’d lain on the bed, day after day, staring up at the ceiling and praying he’d be well soon. Even the gentle rocking he used to find so comforting had made him nauseated.
The light, airy space of his family’s holiday home on a tiny island off the coast of Croatia was just what he needed. Will hadn’t visited for ages, but he still remembered Lopud’s peaceful calm. Although he’d tried to drag Cherie there, she preferred the crowded Italian coast where tourists were packed like sardines, making Will feel even more hemmed in than London. Right now, the relative isolation of the whitewashed villa overlooking the quiet bay couldn’t hold greater appeal.
Thankfully, he’d recovered enough to make the short journey. Sighing, Will thought of the past week. He hated to admit it, but he’d been lucky Lou was around, coming by to ensure he had groceries, serving endless cups of tea, and checking he’d taken his meds—a real godsend when getting up to use the toilet was like completing an obstacle course where the obstacles were his own feet.
When he’d said he was going away for Christmas to a warmer climate, Lou had nodded approvingly, even offering to drive him to the airport. Will had neglected to mention he’d be there alone. But that was all right—he was better now, and if worse came to worse and he did have another attack, a local woman visited the villa once a day to clean when someone was in residence. He could ask her to pop to the shops if he wasn’t able.
But he would be able, he told himself, pushing away the fear that plagued him whenever he remembered how weak he’d been. He’d take it easy and get some work done on his long-neglected paintings. When he returned to London, everything would carry on like before, pre-Emma. Part of the reason Will was so eager to leave was because he couldn’t stop picturing her here in his bed, in his arms. It was madness. They hardly knew each other! Maybe the disease was addling his brain—beyond the usual, he thought grimly.
There was one final thing Will needed to do: let his mum know he was going. She’d be upset and disappointed he wouldn’t be around for Christmas, but…at least, with the tension between him and his father, the holiday wouldn’t be nearly as strained without him. Anyway, hopefully his mother would understand the warmer climate was better for his illness. Steeling himself for her reaction, Will picked up the phone and dialled the landline. It was just after ten. Dad would be safely out of the way at work.
‘Hello?’ His father’s voice rang through the receiver, and Will gripped the phone in surprise.
‘Hi, Dad. It’s Will. What are you doing home?’ He grimaced. Shit. H
e hadn’t meant to make it so obvious that he’d been trying to avoid his father.
‘Board meeting later this afternoon. I thought I’d stay here and get my thoughts in order,’ his dad replied. Will could sense his worry, and a shard of guilt stabbed his gut. Maybe he should have stuck around to support the company. But no, he told himself. He’d broken away, and it was best to stay that way.
‘Oh.’ Will paused, wondering what to say. Really, there was nothing left. ‘Is Mum there?’
‘No, she’s gone off to an early Christmas lunch for one of her charities,’ his dad said. Silence fell, and Will checked his watch. He needed to be at the airport in under an hour. The taxi was probably already waiting canal-side.
‘Okay. Well, I’m calling to let you know I’ll be spending Christmas at the house on Lopud. I just thought…it might be easier. For all of us,’ he added quickly.
Silence stretched across the line again. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ his father said with a heavy sigh. ‘Your mother will be disappointed, though. Make sure you turn off the boiler when you leave, and lock up tightly.’
Will rolled his eyes, thinking his dad could never resist the opportunity to treat him like a child.
‘When you arrive on the island, get the keys from Maria at the shop. You know the one. I’ll give her a ring and tell her you’re coming.’
‘Yes, Dad.’ Will’s voice was curter than he’d intended. ‘I know. Don’t worry—I’ll leave the house exactly as I found it.’ For a second, he was tempted to throw a wild party like he’d had when he was a teen.
‘All right, then.’ His father cleared his throat. ‘Well, Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Will responded in the same awkward tone. ‘And Dad…’
‘Yes?’
‘Good luck with the meeting.’ Even if he had decided not to get involved, he still hoped things would come out in his father’s favour.
