by Talli Roland
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 off the 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 her artwork.
‘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.
‘Er, would you like to come over sometime this week for dinner? Maybe tonight when you’re off work, or tomorrow?’ Emma forced out the words quickly, as if they were a painful plaster to be ripped off. Bracing herself for another rejection, she glanced up at Will’s face. To her surprise, he looked like he was contemplating it.
‘That would be great,’ Will said finally. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve had a home-cooked meal. What about Wednesday? I’m working the evening shift tonight and tomorrow.’
Home-cooked meal? Emma had been thinking more along the lines of an upscale takeaway. Her cooking skills extended to toast, and even that she burned. ‘Sure, Wednesday’s fine,’ she croaked out over the panic clutching her throat. ‘Around seven?’
Will nodded. ‘Sounds good. Come on, let’s get you through the checkout, and then I’ll help you pack up the car.’
What would Pollyanna say about this one? Emma wondered as they walked towards the tills. Ah well, at least she had until Wednesday to come up with something. How hard could it be?
Will cursed as he watched Emma pull away from the car park and merge neatly with traffic on the busy high street. What was it about this woman that made him forget his resolve not to get involved with anyone? He’d figured his cool behaviour yesterday would put her off, but she hadn’t seemed bothered by it when they’d met today. If she’d been Cherie, she’d have engaged in a full-blown pout, lasting days until he bought her something to say sorry.
But Emma wasn’t Cherie—far from. She was so easy to spend time with, and her enthusiasm for design was catching. One glimpse at the wonderful living space she’d created, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from jumping in to help. That colour he’d mixed deserved something spectacular like her design, and he couldn’t wait to see what it all looked like put together.
That was why he’d said yes, Will told himself. Artistic interest only—nothing to do with the chemistry or connection between them, despite knowing little about each other. Anyway, it was just one dinner. He was capable of controlling himself for a couple of hours.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Help!’ Emma shrieked to Alice over the phone the next day. It was just after ten, and Emma had spent most of last night and a few hours this morning sorting out her purchases and frantically scouring the Internet for a recipe that looked halfway doable. Trouble was, nothing seemed within her grasp—a shame positive thinking couldn’t conjure meals from thin air. Visiting her mum would fill the rest of the day, and tomorrow Emma needed to start decorating before Will arrived. Not to mention she still hadn’t revisited the job hunt!
‘What’s up?’ Alice yawned. ‘God, late night. Didn’t get home until three—Chaz invited me out to dinner, then we headed back to his. Anyway, what’s the big emergency?’
Emma took a deep breath. ‘Well, I went to the DIY centre yesterday and ran into Will.’
‘Oh, good. You followed my advice. And?’
‘And I asked him out. For dinner!’
‘So he said yes? Told you.’ Alice sounded smug. ‘Where’s the emergency in that?’
‘Al, he thinks I’m going to serve a home-cooked meal.’ Emma felt her blood pressure rising just thinking about it.
Alice snorted. ‘Cook? You? I remember when you tried to make instant noodles in university, and they overflowed and burnt on the—’
‘Okay, okay, no need to bring up that story again.’ Emma cringed, recalling how the charred noodles had set off the fire alarm, evacuating the whole student hall into the cold January night. Everyone called her Noodle for the rest of that year, and she’d only shaken the name by moving to rented accommodation.
‘There has to be something relatively easy, something even you can’t muck up. Hmm…’ The phone went silent for a minute, and Emma imagined Alice’s brain flipping through a catalogue of recipes. When they’d lived together after moving out of the student halls, Alice had done all their cooking. It was so good Emma had gained almost a stone.
‘Right,’ Alice said finally. ‘Red Thai chicken curry. It’s not possible to mess up. Just chop and then stir-fry the ingredients, pour in some coconut milk and let it simmer. Cook rice on the side, and you’re done. Not the most original meal ever, but it’s tasty and quick to prepare.’
‘And you’re sure this is something I can make?’ The dish sounded simple, but then again, so had the noodles.
‘I’m sure,’ Alice responded confidently. ‘I’ll email you the recipe. But forget food—what are you going to wear?’
‘Er…’ What was she going to wear? With George, wardrobe never warranted a second thought—the two of them had lived in business suits. Actually, the only time she’d seen George not in a suit had been the twice-a-week lovemaking sessions they’d scheduled in, although looking back, ‘lovemaking’ might be stretching it a bit. More like ‘in and out’. In fact—Emma winced at the memory—she remembered watching the clock above George’s desk and wondering how much longer this would take. Sex with him always felt awkward and stiff, and all too often George would end up head-butting Emma, or she’d put a knee in his groin. Not exactly the stuff of romance novels.
But Will…Emma’s heart lurched as an image of the two of them in bed filtered into her mind. She could imagine his hands sliding down her skin as she pulled herself up against his bare chest—
‘Right, that settles it,’ Alice interrupted her thoughts. ‘I obviously can’t leave you to your own devices. This is your first real date after rodent George, and you need to get back on board with a bang.’ She sniggered. ‘Well, if you’re lucky, that is. I’m not working until tomorrow night, so we’ll hit the shops in the afternoon.’
‘No way.’ Emma shuddered. She hated shopping at the best of times, and going with bossy Alice—who’d no doubt try to shoehorn her into something two sizes too small—would be torturous. ‘I have loads of things to do here before Will comes over.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Emma. He’s not interested in your bloody flat. He’s interested in you. Meet me at one tomorrow at Bond Street Tube.’ And with that, her friend hung up.
Shaking her head, Emma put down the phone. Maybe Alice was right. She could do with some new comfy clothes, something besides suits and skirts. And maybe a nice top to impress Will, too. Glancing at her watch, Emma was stunned to see it was almost ten thirty. She had to move fast if she wanted to be on time for lunch with her mum.
A few hours later, the train pulled into Virginia Water. Emma walked from the station to where she’d grown up, her eyes taking in the large house with a neatly tended garden that hadn’t changed a bit on the outside since her dad died. Inside, though, everything was different: new husband, new daughter…new life without her father. It was part of the reason Emma limited her visits. She couldn’t bear to see how her father had disappeared.