school for sixth-form. I’d enrolled to study artsy subjects – Fine Art, Media Studies and Drama, but we were expected to take four A levels so I opted for Business Studies as I’d heard it was quite easy. Little did I know how much I’d take to it. My tutor spotted an entrepreneurial streak in me and by the time I left college, business had become my thing.
The arty girl Will knew is long gone. Back in those days, I used to spend as much time as possible in the art room. It felt like home with its paint-spattered tables, jars of brushes and pencils and trays of paints. I loved it. But not many other people shared my enthusiasm. I persuaded my art teacher – Mr Reed – to start an after-school art club on Wednesday afternoons, thinking the club was going to be a hit, but I ended up being the only person who went, and Mr Reed said he was going to cancel the club if I continued to be the only attendee. Somehow, Will heard about my plight and the next week, he came along with a few of his friends. He was terrible at art. All of his drawings looked like they were drawn by a toddler and I could tell art wasn’t his forte, but I’ll never forget the wink he gave me when he asked Mr Reed at the end of the session, ‘So I guess you’re not still cancelling the club then?’
He came every week after that and we gradually got to know one another. My infatuation reached epic heights, but I did my best to hide it. Even though Will had saved my art club, I still wasn’t convinced he fancied me. You see, the fact that Will had tried to save my club wasn’t entirely out of character. Will had a reputation for doing things like that. He had this knack for just seeing when someone was in need and helping them out. He made the school a better place. There was one time when this really quiet, earnest girl called Alice started fundraising for a village in Tunisia and no one would donate. Everyone just wanted her to stop hassling them, but then Will started fundraising with her and within days, she’d met her fundraising target. She seemed more confident after that, sort of happier in herself. Then there was the time Will started a petition to ban sports teachers from getting team captains to pick who was going to be on their teams one-by-one out of the class, meaning that one person would always be chosen last. Will petitioned to have the practice banned because he felt it was unnecessarily cruel even though he was the kind of guy who’d be selected as the team captain, or if not, would instantly be chosen first. Nevertheless, he still took issue with the mean approach, which would always leave one kid feeling glum and dejected. Will’s petition garnered hundreds of signatures from pupils and parents alike and from then on, the practice was history. Things like that just fuelled my adoration for him. He was good-looking and had a heart of gold, what more could I want?
Will didn’t just come to Art Club once or twice, he came every week and he and I got really close. It was easier to be my real self around him when I was in the art room, which felt like a second home, than it would probably have been otherwise. I’d no doubt have been completely giddy and over-excited under normal circumstances. But I didn’t have Will to myself. Soon Art Club was the most popular club in school, and I realised I wasn’t the only girl who adored Will. A ton of other girls suddenly discovered a passion for painting the moment they realised where Will was spending his Wednesday afternoons. But Will always sat with me and I began to suspect that I wasn’t just fantasising and that perhaps – perhaps – he might actually fancy me.
But then things got messy, really messy …
‘Hi guys! Ready to get some raffle tickets?’ Rita, Mick’s sister who helps him organise the fundraiser every year, bounds up to me and Will, brandishing a pad of raffle tickets, before she notices Hera who’s now fast asleep and starts gushing over how cute she is.
While Rita fawns over Hera, I suddenly remember the prize. I’d got so distracted by all the commotion with Hera being sick, the cat jumper, Will and the buffet that I completely forgot that the reason I agreed to come along to this thing in the first place (apart from being a good person and raising money for charity, of course) was for the chance of winning a holiday. My mum was right, I do need a holiday. If anything was ever going to reinforce that fact, it would be standing here with a wet boob in a Cat Cuddle’s jumper emitting the faint odour of sick.
‘So, erm, is there really a holiday up for grabs, Rita?’ I ask breezily.
‘There is indeed!’ Rita replies, turning her attention away from Hera. ‘Mick really pulled out all the stops this year. His niece, Hannah, got a job at a travel agency and she managed to sort it. Best prize we’ve ever had. An all-inclusive romantic four night stay in a luxury five-star hotel in Marrakech! It has a swimming pool, a spa, the works. Sounds like heaven, doesn’t it?’ Rita’s eyes have lit up.
‘It sounds amazing!’ I enthuse. ‘Five-star? Really?’
‘Oh yeah, five-star. It’s top notch. The best,’ Rita insists, before glancing down at her pad of raffle tickets. She could be exaggerating to get me and Will to splurge on the raffle, but somehow, I get the feeling that this prize might really be a diamond in the rough. A five-star holiday amid a plethora of hampers, kitchen utensils and Debenham’s gift cards.
I rummage in my handbag for my wallet. ‘Okay, I’ll have five tickets please, Rita. No, ten!’
‘Feeling lucky, are we?’ Rita jokes. ‘It’s two quid a ticket, so that’ll be twenty pounds, please.’
Twenty pounds? This event really has moved on since I was 12, when raffle tickets cost 50p. I pull my wallet out of my bag. It’s a quirky one I found at an independent boutique in London with a Fendi-style monster print all over it. Will raises an eyebrow at the bold print as I pull out a twenty-pound note.
‘Interesting …’ he comments as I hand Rita the money. He’s clearly having difficulty getting his head around the new me. The businesswoman me who pays attention to trends rather than the head-in-the-clouds arty girl I used to be.
Ignoring him, I hand the money to Rita, who places it in a money belt around her hips, before tearing off a few strips and handing me the tickets.
‘Thanks Rita!’ I reply. ‘Fingers crossed!’
‘Good luck, love,’ Rita says, with a warm smile.
Rita turns around, looking for her next target, before clocking Clive. She waves over at him and turns to head his way when Will suddenly taps her on the shoulder.
‘Rita, wait. I want some.’
‘I already sold you one earlier,’ Rita points out.
‘Yeah, but I only got one. I didn’t realise people were buying multiple tickets,’ Will comments, sounding a little petulant.
‘It is for charity,’ I mutter under my breath.
Will laughs. ‘Oh sure, Natalie, charity is what’s on your mind right now!’ he jokes, and it’s as though he can see into my brain and is witnessing the picture in my head of me lounging on a deck chair by a gorgeous pool, the sun making my straw hat cast shadows over my face, a novel open on my lap and a cocktail in my hand.
‘How many tickets would you like, Will, love?’ Rita asks, ignoring mine and Will’s bickering.
‘Twenty,’ Will says.
‘Twenty?!’ Rita and I both echo in unison.
‘Yeah, it’s for charity,’ Will reminds me, with a smirk. I roll my eyes as he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a battered old wallet. He flips it open and hands Rita two twenty-pound notes.
She takes the money and gives him his tickets, which he folds into his wallet while smiling smugly.
‘I’ll
