The Pollyanna Plan

by Talli Roland

  ‘Thank you.’ His dad’s voice was gruff. ‘We’re going to need it.’ And with that, the line went dead.

  Will glanced around the boat a final time, then grabbed his bag. He couldn’t be out of here fast enough.

  A few hours later, rain slapped Will’s face as the taxi boat raced the short distance from mainland Croatia to Lopud. At least it’s ten degrees warmer than in London, Will thought, putting up a hand to shield his eyes from the damp. Through the blanket of fog, he could barely make out the curve of the island’s harbour and the steep incline of the land rising sharply towards the sky.

  Over that hill and down the other side was a beach, he remembered, accessible only by foot or boat. Sunlit memories flooded into his head: the water, so blue and clear; the golden sand; and the white rocks jutting out to sea. He’d happily spent hours swimming there as a child and could still remember the delicious coolness of the ocean closing over his hot head.

  The island the boat pulled up to now couldn’t look more different from the one of his memories. The harbour front was deserted, and there wasn’t a soul on the walkway by the ocean. It was winter, Will reminded himself, not the height of tourist season. This was what he wanted, right? To get away from it all. Grabbing his bag, he thanked the driver, then stepped onto the rain-slick flagstones. He wound his way through a narrow alley and pushed into the small shop run by Maria, the woman who cleaned the villa.

  Despite his fatigue from the cramped flight and the bracing boat journey, Will couldn’t help smiling as he spotted Maria’s lined, nut-brown face. This place might seem like a different planet in winter, but at least something was the same as he remembered.

  ‘Maria?’ he said, when she finished serving a customer. ‘It’s Will Ballard, here to collect the key for the villa.’

  Maria’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened comically. ‘Will?’ She came out from behind the counter, laying her meaty hands on his cheeks. ‘Will? Is that really you? You’re a man now!’

  Will laughed. ‘It has been a few years since I’ve seen you.’

  ‘A few years?’ Maria wagged a finger. ‘More like a lifetime.’ She cast a quick look over his shoulder. ‘You’re here alone?’

  Will nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll need to take good care of you.’ Her eyes crinkled as she turned away, opening up a drawer behind her and taking out a large, old-fashioned key. ‘Here you are. I switched on the boiler a couple hours ago, so the house should be warm by now. How long are you planning to stay?’

  Will shrugged. He hadn’t thought about that. It wasn’t like he had anything to go back for, was it? ‘Probably until after New Year’s.’ At least the Christmas season would be well and truly over by the time he did return to London.

  Maria nodded, but Will could tell by her expression that she was wondering at his unexpected presence here when the rest of the world would be warming the hearth with their families. ‘Okay. I will send my son up with groceries tomorrow when the boat comes in.’

  ‘That would be great.’ Will had forgotten the island only received food once a day, special delivery by ferries from Dubrovnik. Maria’s son bringing groceries would at least spare him the daily queue.

  ‘I’ll be by the day after tomorrow,’ Maria said, lifting a hand to greet the next customer entering the shop. ‘Give you time to settle in.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Will took the heavy key, then went back outside. The rain had stopped, but mist drifted through the air, making the alley and shuttered buildings resemble a scene from a black-and-white film. Following the alley higher up the hill, he turned left and climbed a long set of stairs to the front door of the villa. As he fit the key into the lock, relief flooded through him. He was far from everything that plagued him back in London, away from anyone who knew he was ill…and most of all, away from Emma and the emotions she’d stirred within him.

  Collapsing onto the rattan sofa of his childhood memories, Will let his eyes close. If he couldn’t find peace in London, he’d definitely find it here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Emma’s next week passed in a blur. Time seemed to have melted away, replaced by the pre-Pollyanna routine: work, George, work, George. Sure, the workplace was different, but the absorption of paperwork and the familiar relationship were exactly the same. After all the upheaval, Emma had her old life back.

  Well, sort of. Outwardly everything was almost as it had been, but inside, the Pandora’s box of emotion Pollyanna had opened refused to shut. The desire to be part of a family…the intensity she’d felt with Will…her excitement at being creative again…Emma thumped the desk in frustration. No matter what she did now, it felt like something was missing.

  Must be down to Alice’s absence, Emma reasoned. Surprisingly, her friend still hadn’t called to offer a truce. Emma hadn’t been that much of a downer to be around, had she? From time to time, Emma had contemplated ringing up her friend, but the thought of Alice’s tongue-lashing when she discovered George was in the picture put her off. Alice had never thought he was good enough to begin with.

  But George was just what she needed, Emma reminded herself for the zillionth time as she stared at the numbers on her computer screen. Solid, calm, logical…she could go on and on. She was impressed he hadn’t tried to rush things, either; that he was giving her a chance to regain her equilibrium in the relationship.

  After catching up on each other’s news that first night at the restaurant, George had kissed her on the lips and said goodbye, helping her into a nearby cab. Every evening since—after finishing their usual late-night meal—they’d ended things on a similar note: a measured embrace before going their separate ways. That was fine by Emma. Her mind flashed to how she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off Will on the boat, and she cringed at the memory.

  This was the ideal relationship. If Emma kept repeating it enough, she was sure to banish every last thought of Will from her head.

  Will stared out the open window at the brilliant blue sky blending almost seamlessly with the ocean. The scent of smoke and sea drifted in, and he filled his lungs, feeling invigorated. He’d had the right idea, coming to Lopud. The miserable weather he’d first encountered had cleared, leaving behind a string of bright days where the sun had warmed his back as he walked along the water. The fresh air made him more energetic than he’d been in months. Thankfully, all signs of his recent attack had vanished, and he felt steady on his own two feet again.

  The change of environment wasn’t helping him just physically, either. He was relaxed here, more free. People left him alone to get on with his life, instead of poking their noses into places where they didn’t belong. Maria came and went so quietly, he barely even noticed when she ducked in to do a cursory clean. Her son delivered groceries every morning, and between the two of them that was as many people as Will wanted to see.

  The silence was just what he needed to get absorbed in painting again. At first, his strokes had been tentative and timid. He was so out of practice, it was almost as if he was afraid of making a mistake. But as time passed, the strokes broadened, becoming swirls and patterns inspired by the vivid colours of the island. Even in winter, the green of the sweet-smelling pines and the crystalline blue of the sea seemed hundreds of degrees brighter than London’s muted shades.

  Thinking of blue, Emma’s face floated into his mind. No matter how hard he tried, she was the one thing he hadn’t been able to escape. Several times, he’d even caught himself sweeping the delicate outline of her profile on a canvas, like some kind of lovesick Picasso wannabe. He’d hastily slathered over it, watching as she disappeared beneath the layers of paint.

  Give it time, Will told himself. He’d got over Cherie. He’d get over this one, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Emma? Are you there?’ George waved a hand playfully in front of her face during their meal at Bread Street Kitchen. Sighing, Emma
glanced around at the other diners she recognised from her almost nightly visits here. Although she’d regained her life, the world she inhabited seemed to have shrunk even smaller. It wasn’t any different from before, she knew, but it felt different, like someone had drawn neat lines marking off the limits of her movement. She kept waiting for the same sensation of security to return, but as the days went by, she only felt more and more trapped.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, taking a sip of her wine. ‘What did you say?’ Forcing a smile, Emma gazed up at her boyfriend, telling herself to focus despite the pounding of her head and the undeniable urge to close her eyes. The past few evenings out with George had been exhausting. Once, she’d found their conversation about work, work and more work informative and useful, but now…well, she had to admit, it was rather dull.

  When she finally fell into bed, her mind would escape to the boat with Will. Emma’s cheeks flamed just thinking of the X-rated content her subconscious produced at night. Every day, she waited for Will’s presence to diminish. Instead of fading, it seemed to be growing stronger despite her constant self-admonishments that he was ill, with no potential for a relationship. Not to mention the tiny detail that he’d slept with her and never called again!

  ‘I said, do you want to come back to my place tonight? Maybe…’ George raised his eyebrows suggestively over the top of his espresso.

  Emma nodded so hard, she felt a kink in her neck. ‘Yes!’ she yelped, surprising herself with the strength of her reply. They still hadn’t made love—George hadn’t seemed in any hurry, and truthfully, she wasn’t, either. Maybe that’s what was missing. Once they had sex, everything would feel right again.

  ‘Brilliant.’ George stroked her cheek and smiled over at her. ‘I can’t wait to get you back into my bed.’

  ‘Me, too.’ She’d enjoy this if it killed her. And perhaps George would put a bit more effort into their lovemaking, instead of the usual five-minute, let’s-see-how-fast-I-can-get-to-the-finishing-line sprint? Perhaps with a little extra foreplay…Stop. God, when had she started placing importance on what happened between the sheets? Or on the desk, in their case.

  ‘Let me check my emails, and I’ll be with you in five,’ George said a few minutes later as he swung open the door of his flat. ‘There’s a bottle of Cab on the counter. Help yourself—you know where everything is.’ He disappeared into his office off the lounge.

  Emma looked around the pristine room, where each object was carefully positioned. Nothing had changed since her last visit, but the space she’d once admired now seemed cold and unfriendly. The walls were painted a very light shade of grey; the floor was a polished resin for which George had paid an obscene amount; and the furniture was as minimalist and uncomfortable as ever. Even the lighting cast harsh shadows, so that you were either in the light or out of it. Emma had no idea how George managed to live in this place, but then again, he spent as much time here as she did in her flat.

  Before she could stop it, an image of Will’s boat—cosy and cocoonlike despite being basic—came to mind, and a wave of longing washed over her. That was where she’d love to be right now, instead of this icebox of an apartment. Emma tried her best to push away the feeling, but it lingered tantalisingly. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself. Even if Will had been interested in a future together, she certainly wasn’t.

  But did she have to settle for this? For a relationship with someone who said he couldn’t wait to get her into bed, but then ran off to check his bloody emails? If Emma was honest with herself, she’d rather check her emails than make love to him, too.

  ‘Okay, finished.’ George came out of the office, scanning the low coffee table in front of the sofa where Emma was perched. ‘Did you pour me a glass?’

  ‘A glass?’ Emma’s brow furrowed. Oh, the wine. ‘Um, no.’ She met George’s gaze, picturing the two of them ten years on: doing the same jobs, eating at the same restaurants in the same square mile of the City, then coming back here for wine and a quick shag before turning off the lights to start the exact same thing the next day.

  An intense sense of dread settled on her, and Emma dropped her head in defeat. As much as she tried—and as much as she wanted!—she couldn’t get back the security and comfort her relationship with George had once evoked. Whether the cursed Pollyanna Plan or her brief time with Will was at fault, Emma didn’t know, but something had shifted inside, something that blocked her from simply slotting into how things used to be. It was as if the past few weeks had ripped off the blinders she’d been wearing, and nothing she could do would reinstate them.

  ‘I’m sorry, George,’ Emma said, setting her wine glass on the table. A look of impatience crossed his face when he noticed she hadn’t used one of the metal coasters.

  ‘What do you mean?’ George asked, reaching out to put her glass on the coaster. ‘Sorry? For what?’

  Emma got to her feet. ‘This just doesn’t feel right.’ She blinked in surprise as the words left her mouth. Doesn’t feel right? Sounded like something Alice would say. After everything Emma had been through, she could scarcely believe she was bypassing reason in favour of such an emotional statement. It was true, though. Her relationship with George didn’t feel right, and all the logic in the world wouldn’t make it better.

  George’s forehead creased. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘It’s just…’ Emma shook her head. How to explain something she couldn’t quite grasp herself? ‘I should go.’ A rising urgency to flee the cavelike flat propelled her across the floor. She might have belonged here once, but she didn’t any longer.

  George nodded, looking more surprised than upset at her abrupt departure. This time next week, he’d likely have someone else sitting here drinking his Cabernet.

  ‘Goodbye, George.’ As she shut the heavy oak door, the pounding in her head eased, and a sense of lightness filled her body. Although she didn’t fully understand it, Emma knew she was making the right decision.

  After dodging drunken revellers on the Tube—surprisingly plenty for a Monday night—Emma pushed open the door of her flat. Switching on the light, the milky blue walls of the lounge sprang into focus, a sharp reminder of the no-man’s land she was in. She couldn’t be Pollyanna—that much was clear. But admitting things weren’t working with George proved her attempts to return to normality had failed. If she couldn’t go back to her old way of living, where did that leave her?

  Her gaze fell on the sketchpad still resting on the coffee table. Sighing, Emma remembered her enthusiasm at the prospect of starting her own business and how she’d dismissed it as a naive dream, eager to return to the familiar confines of the insurance industry. Yes, that’s exactly what it was: confining. It wasn’t just George she found claustrophobic. No matter how many loan applications she rejected or how late she stayed at Plumtree, the job didn’t possess the same pleasing numbing effect it used to.

  God! Tears of frustration blurred her vision, and she angrily wiped them away. Right, that was it: she was going to ring Alice. The bloody Pollyanna Plan had got Emma into this state. Alice should help get her out! Underneath the justification, though, Emma knew she missed Alice’s presence in her life…not to mention that it would be nice to speak to someone who understood her, even if that someone did think she was a misery guts.

  Emma scrolled through the contacts on her mobile. Looking back, she had to concede she hadn’t been a barrel of laughs to be around. Punching ‘Call’, she glanced at her watch. It was after 10:00 p.m. If Alice had been working the evening shift, she’d be closing up right now.

  ‘Hello?’

  Emma’s heart sank at her friend’s formal tone. Alice always checked to see who was calling first. Well, at least she’d answered. That must count for something.

  ‘Hey, it’s me.’ Emma paused, unsure where to begin. ‘Er, how are you?’

  ‘Good, good.’ From the sound of the cheery trumpets blaring
in the background, Emma could tell her friend was still in the restaurant.

  ‘Look, um…’ Maybe this would be easier in person? God, she did miss Alice’s cheery face. ‘Are you busy right now? I’d love to chat.’

  ‘Well, if you can get to LocoLuca in the next twenty minutes or so, we can talk while I tidy up.’ Alice’s voice was still cold, but Emma thought she sensed a bit of the old easygoing tone.

  ‘Okay, I’ll be there in twenty.’ Without even bothering to change out of her work attire, she shrugged on her coat and raced back outside to grab a cab.

  A few minutes later, she entered the sombrero-strewn, nacho-chip-and-processed-cheese-smelling restaurant. Chairs were stacked on tables, and Emma spotted Alice wiping down the bar. The music had been switched from the annoyingly upbeat salsa to the bartender’s favourite R.E.M. compilation tape, one even Emma had heard so many times it made her ears bleed. Michael Stipe crooned something about how everybody hurts, and Emma grimaced. Wasn’t that the truth!

  ‘Hey,’ Emma said tentatively as she crossed the room towards her friend.

  Alice gave the counter another swipe. ‘Hi.’ She examined Emma’s suit before returning to the task at hand. ‘Just come from work? Are you back in insurance?’ From the curl of her lip, it wasn’t hard to tell what she thought of that.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been at my new job for a couple weeks now.’ Although it feels like a year. Taking a deep breath, Emma wondered how to start. ‘Look, we may not see eye to eye on life. But…’

  Alice glanced up from where she’d been examining the damp tea towel as if it held the secrets of the future. ‘But?’

  ‘Well, I realise even though I might have wanted to return to pre-Pollyanna, I can’t.’ Emma tugged a curl behind her ear. ‘I can’t, because I’m not the same.’

  ‘What do you mean “you’re not the same”?’ Alice asked the question slowly, almost as if she was afraid of the answer.