by Talli Roland
Emma shrugged, her cheeks colouring. ‘I hate to admit it, but the Plan did have some effect. Not that I’m saying positive thinking is the best strategy,’ she added hastily, ‘but sticking with something because it’s secure isn’t always a good solution, either.’
Alice started grinning as she rounded the counter and wrapped Emma in her arms. ‘Well, thank God. Something’s better than nothing.’ Pulling back, Alice scanned her friend’s face. ‘So what the hell happened to cause this conversion? You saw the light on the road to Damascus?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry, I’ve been working on a biblical scene for an audition. Come on, sit down, and I’ll make us some margaritas.’
It was good to be back here again, Emma thought as she sank onto a stool, watching Alice expertly pour a generous (in other words, quarter of the bottle) slug of Hungary’s finest tequila into the blender.
Where to begin? In her mind’s eye, she envisioned George’s slick flat, and the distracted, empty look in his eyes as he ran off to check his email while she waited alone on the hard leather sofa. Now, Emma could see she hadn’t wanted him, only what he represented. The same held true for her job as well.
‘Let’s just say someone helped me have an epiphany,’ Emma said finally. What’s done was done, and there was no point rehashing the gory details.
‘Well, whatever it was, I’m glad you rang. I missed you!’
‘I missed you, too.’ Emma’s eyes started watering, and she ducked her head to sip the strong margarita Alice had placed before her. ‘And I’m sorry for saying you’re wasting your life.’ She cringed, remembering the harsh words.
Alice waved a hand in the air. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve heard it a million times from my parents. So…what does all this mean for you, exactly?’ Alice asked delicately, and Emma could see she was afraid to upset the equilibrium they’d struck.
Emma sighed, wishing she knew that herself. Despite her realisation about Plumtree, she couldn’t just ditch a paying job and throw caution to the wind. Not yet, anyway. ‘I’m not sure. I need some time for everything to sink in, I guess.’ For once, she didn’t have a life plan in place.
‘What’s new with you, anyway?’ Emma was conscious the past few minutes had been all about her. ‘Are you still with Chaz?’ Her heart squeezed just thinking of anything connected with Will.
To her surprise, Alice nodded. ‘Yeah, I am. We’re getting along brilliantly. I know I’ve said this before, but I really do think he might be the one.’ Something in her tone rang true.
‘That’s fantastic, Al.’ Emma reached out and touched her friend’s arm, trying to swallow back the words clamouring in her throat to ask about Will. Was he doing okay? Was he still at the DIY centre? She shook her head to clear the thoughts. Even if she had decided not to settle for George, it didn’t mean Will was the answer. And surely if he had been interested, he’d have got in touch, illness or not.
Alice stared at her friend as if she wanted to say more, too. Instead, she lifted her drink in the air. ‘Here’s to friendship.’ She clinked the glass with Emma’s.
Emma grinned. ‘To friendship. Long may it last!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emma trudged to and from work the next few days, feeling like she was free-falling through life. Now that she’d admitted Plumtree and insurance wasn’t her ideal future, every minute was pure torture, but she’d no idea what else to do. For the first time, she arrived at the office at a reasonable hour and left on the stroke of five—and if she could escape earlier, she would.
The extra hours alone meant she finally had time to finish the half-baked paint job in the lounge. For some reason, though, Emma hadn’t been able to bring herself to cover everything in white, no matter how hideous the light blue colour was. Perhaps I’ll plump for a different shade, she thought now, picturing the expanse in her mind. Sage green, or maybe yellow? She snorted, pushing back from her desk. Wasn’t yellow the colour of insanity? Seemed about right. She was going crazy with all these thoughts circling her mind. Will…her job…her mother and Meg…
Sighing, Emma thought of the bevy of voice mails from her mum to confirm her presence at Meg’s Christmas concert next week. As the days passed, each message became increasingly terser. Emma knew she should ring up and say she was coming, but hurt still lingered that she hadn’t been invited to join the family at Christmas. I’ll call tomorrow, Emma told herself, glancing at her watch. Right now, she was due to meet Alice and Chaz for a quick bite at a café around the corner.
It was just past five, but the streets were already dark as Emma hurried towards the restaurant. Wreaths twinkled from streetlamps, and shop windows were decked out with their Christmas finest. Pushing past a toy shop featuring a display of video games, smiling dolls and plush teddies, Emma’s heart squeezed. It would have been fun watching Meg excitedly open her gifts.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to see if there were extra tickets to Mauritius. Would her mum be happy to have her along, or would Emma be crashing their holiday? She shook her head, wondering if she’d been wrong to think they hadn’t asked because they didn’t want her there. After all, she was in her thirties. Maybe her mother had assumed she’d prefer to be with her friends, like most her age—not to mention Emma had turned down more invitations than she could remember. Could she really blame them for thinking she wasn’t interested?
‘Ems!’
Emma glanced away from the window to see Alice hurrying down the street, hand in hand with Chaz. With glowing eyes and blonde hair framing rosy cheeks, Alice had never looked so happy. Judging from the soppy expression on Chaz’s face, he felt the same. A pang of longing hit as Emma realised she wanted that, too. Her recent encounter with George only highlighted how wrong she’d been: emotion did matter when it came to relationships. Otherwise, you might as well just sign a contract with your business partner, which was pretty much what she and George had done. Shoving the thoughts from her head, Emma pasted on a smile. If anyone deserved to find a man, it was Alice, especially after all her searching.
‘Hey!’ Emma gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Chaz. ‘Nice to see you again.’
Chaz grinned. ‘Good to see you, too.’ In his suit and tie, he was a different man than the one who’d been lounging in boxers and tee that morning in the kitchen. Emma had been wrong about him—he was more than a one-off shag. She couldn’t help being impressed as she watched him open the door for Alice and help her from her coat. Small things, sure, but Emma liked the way he treated her friend.
‘I’m sorry we have to eat and run,’ he said as they settled into a booth, ‘but my parents invited Al and me over for drinks later. I can’t wait for them to meet her.’ He smiled and squeezed Alice’s hand.
Wow, this is getting serious, Emma thought, looking over at Alice with raised eyebrows.
‘Shame you and Will didn’t work out,’ Chaz continued, unaware of the dagger looks Alice was shooting him. ‘He’s a great lad.’
‘I’m not sure Emma wants to talk about this,’ Alice said nervously.
‘No, no, it’s okay,’ Emma yelped. Now that Will’s name had been mentioned, she felt like she’d been stranded in the Sahara for a year, desperate for a drink. She needed to hear more.
Chaz shook his head. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through. Finding out about the illness, his girlfriend dumping him…his dad says he’s practically become a recluse. I’m surprised he even came out with us that night.’
‘His girlfriend dumped him because he was ill?’ Emma winced, thinking given a chance, she’d have done the same once he’d told her of his diagnosis. Guess it was good he never got in touch.
‘You didn’t tell me that!’ Alice jabbed his arm.
‘Didn’t know it was important.’ Chaz shrugged. ‘Anyway, Will’s dad seemed to think the ex was the reason Will sold his flat and quit working as VP at the paint company.�
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Emma blinked. ‘Paint company?’ Vice president?
‘I can see our man wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his previous life,’ Chaz said. ‘Well, he didn’t like to mention it much, even back in our university days. His father owns Ballard Paints, and Will used to be VP there before this whole MS thing.’
Emma’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place: the way Will knew everything about paints, more than you’d expect from an average DIY centre employee; how he could afford to buy the boat and moor at a prime London location.
She thought of all the hurt and pain he must have gone through. Hearing he had a disease…his girlfriend deserting him…No wonder he’d backed off after they’d slept together. He probably figured she’d react the same, and he’d have been right.
‘I had no idea,’ Emma said slowly, trying to absorb everything. ‘Wow.’
Chaz nodded. ‘The poor guy. I’d say he really liked you but just got spooked. He’s not the type for one-night stands.’ Emma glanced over at Alice, wondering how much her friend had told him. ‘In all the time I knew Will—although granted, that was years ago—he never slept with anyone just for the night.’
Emma’s heart flipped. Could Chaz be right? Had Will liked her but fear got the better of him? She ran a finger through the condensation on her glass, noticing she’d traced the outline of a heart. It didn’t matter, she told herself. It was one thing not to settle for security, and another to deliberately pursue something that would only end in pain.
But would it end in pain? By the sound of things, MS sufferers could go on for years, healthy and controlled by medication. There might be some blips along the way, but it wasn’t the same as what had happened with her dad. Was she going to throw away the potential she’d felt because of fears of what might happen?
Emma stared at the heart she’d drawn on the glass. Drops of water had burst and were snaking down the side, making the shape look more like a blob. Given what she knew now, Emma could understand Will’s desire to distance himself from everyone. After all, she’d done the same for the past twenty years.
She was starting to see that wasn’t the best way to live. But was it too late for him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘Damn it!’ Will rummaged through a cabinet in the room he’d designated as his painting studio. How the hell could he have run out of blue? He glanced towards the canvas he’d been working on for the past few days, an abstract showing the scene from the villa’s window. He’d almost got the sky the right mix of blue and grey, and the way the mist hung in the air today was perfect for capturing. But he couldn’t bloody well capture it without more blue!
‘Maria?’ he called, wondering if she was still in the house somewhere. He’d thought he’d heard her running the Hoover earlier, but then he’d disappeared into the absorbing cocoon of painting, and everything else faded away. God, he’d missed that feeling.
Maria’s slow steps up the stairs got louder. ‘Yes?’
Will turned to face her. ‘Just wondering, can I buy oil paint anywhere on the island?’ He already knew the answer—you could barely purchase a banana after 1:00 p.m.—but he was holding out hope.
‘Paint?’ Maria’s face contorted as she stared at the half-finished work on the easel. By her confused expression, Will could tell all too well what she thought of the scene he’d rendered, and he struggled to hide a smile. ‘No, no, you will have to go to the mainland to find such things.’ She waved a hand in the general direction of Dubrovnik, and Will’s heart sank. He didn’t feel like taking the ferry to the busy city.
‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘There were some old painting things in a desk in the next bedroom. I do not know if they are still there, but you can see. I’ll be off now. Do you need anything else?’ She looked at him questioningly.
‘No, that’s fine. Thanks.’ Maria nodded, and Will heard her footsteps creaking down the stairs, then the thud of the door. Brow wrinkling, he walked to the room she’d mentioned. Why would old art supplies be here?
The air inside the room was thick with dust, and the smell of disuse met his nostrils. Holding his breath, Will flung open the desk’s top drawer, praying some oil paints remained—and that a blue was among them. The tube might be years old, but as long as the colour wasn’t completely dried up, it’d take just a little linseed oil to be usable.
Ah, good. Tube after tube was scattered throughout the drawer. Rooting through them, Will uncovered a blue and twisted the cap, heart sinking at the weakness of his fingers. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, breathing a sigh of relief when the cap moved. He squeezed the tube, but all that emerged was cakey powder beyond recovery. Worth a shot, he thought, tossing it back in the desk. He was about to close the drawer when an old photo under the paints caught his eye. Pushing aside the kinked tubes, he drew out the yellowing picture.
Whoa, was that his dad? He looked so young! Will’s eyes bulged as he took in the smiling face of his father, complete with seventies-style beard and bushy sideburns. Dad was grinning down at a tiny easel with a postcard-sized canvas…and behind the easel sat Will. Clad in his favourite Star Wars T-shirt his mum had to bribe him to remove, he couldn’t be older than five or six.
Will shook his head as if trying to access the memory. His father had bought supplies and helped him paint? How come he had no recollection of that? He’d always got the impression his father thought painting was a waste of time; that he should be doing something more productive. But here was evidence that his dad had encouraged Will.
Laying the picture on top of the desk, Will walked to the window and heaved it open, breathing in the ever-present scent of charcoal and sea. His father’s words from the office came to mind: how he’d never pressured Will to go into business or even work at the factory; how he would have supported anything his son chose to do.
Was that true? Had Will been so anxious to please his father that he’d chosen the wrong path, when in reality his dad would have been happy to see him do what he liked? All those years of resentment…when he’d wished he could be painting instead of wasting away in the office…was his father really to blame? And now that his dad did need him, was Will punishing him for something he’d played no part in?
It wouldn’t take much to return to the company for a month or two, show his support, and buoy up the board against the takeover, Will conceded. If his father hadn’t sucked him into business in the first place and it had been Will’s choice, he wouldn’t get sucked in again. Will could leave whenever he wanted. Sighing, he crossed the room and picked up the photo, staring at the smiling faces of father and son.
He’d give going back more thought over the next day or so. First thing tomorrow, though, he’d take the ferry to Dubrovnik and pick up some blue. No matter what happened in the future, he was bloody well going to finish this painting.
Emma awoke the next morning, bleary eyed and exhausted. Despite all the wine she’d gulped at her flat after leaving loved-up Alice and Chaz, the information about Will swirled inside like a tornado that wouldn’t rest until it flung each and every thought around her head. Three times, Emma had left the twisted bed sheets and snapped on the telly, attempting to lose herself in the mindless shopping channel narrative.
She’d finally managed to drop off at an ungodly hour, but the tornado only whirred faster when the sky began to lighten around eight. Was there a chance for her and Will? Was the reason he’d pushed her away all down to his ex’s reaction? Could she face her own fears and reach out to him one last time? One thing Emma knew for sure: she was tired of thinking. Outside, timid rays of sun dotted fallen leaves, and the streets were Saturday-morning quiet. Perhaps a walk would clear her foggy brain.
After jumping into a pair of jeans and pulling on a wool coat, Emma stepped out into the frosty air. A thick mist hung over the water of the basin in the heart of Little Venice. The otherworldliness drew her towards it unti
l she was standing on the canal towpath in a strange white world, unable to see more than a foot in front of her. She followed the edge of the canal, wending through the haze. There was something strangely appealing about being lost in this mist, just taking step after step without knowing what was coming.
‘Ouf!’ Emma collided with someone. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking…’ Her voice trailed off as familiar features came into focus. ‘Lou! Lovely to see you again.’ Emma tried not to giggle as Lou attempted to unfurl her cape, which had caught on the zip of Emma’s coat. Finally, the older woman yanked it free, swooping the fabric over one shoulder in a flourish straight from a Siegfried & Roy show.
‘Looking for our man?’ Lou raised an eyebrow. ‘Here for a—what is it you young ones say—a booty call? You know, the natives used to call it “touching hips”.’ She swayed hers suggestively until she had to grip Emma’s shoulder to keep from toppling over.
‘Er, no. Just out for a walk.’ God, how lame. Lou was sure to think she was one of those crazy women stalking any man who showed a bit of interest. Emma feigned a glance at her watch, desperate now to get away. ‘I’d better head home.’ She turned to go, but she’d only got a few steps down the path when Lou’s voice floated through the mist towards her.
‘You can come back later, but he still won’t be here.’
Emma spun around. ‘Sorry?’
‘He’s run off to an island in Croatia,’ Lou replied, shaking her head. ‘Apparently his family has a holiday house there. I thought the change of scenery might do him some good, but I didn’t realise he’d go for so long—and alone. His mum’s been by to check on the boat a couple times, and she says he’s planning to stay at least until the New Year.’
Run off to an island in Croatia? Until New Year’s? Will must really want to get away from it all! Emma could certainly relate to that. Hadn’t she done the same thing by throwing herself into a new job and attempting to start over with George? It hadn’t worked for her. She wondered if it was working any better for Will.
