As Luck Would Have It. Zoe May

an heiress called Elsa Millington-Brown. It came as a bit of a shock to the village, especially since Will seemed to have been playing the field when he was first making a name for himself on the media scene. I’d see articles from time to time on the Daily Mail site with him falling out of nightclubs looking cosy with other minor celebrities. He was pictured quite a few times with a candidate from The Apprentice. Then those articles dried up and all of a sudden, word got around that he’d found love and settled down. Except apparently, the couple split a few years ago – I have no idea why. And I had no idea Will was back in Chiddingfold either. I wish I’d had a heads up that he was in town. My mum is usually a pretty reliable source of village gossip, but she’s probably been too busy with Hera to stay on top of her game. If I’d known Will was back, I might have actually made an effort with my appearance – not because I still fancy him after all these years, but just for my own sense of pride.

      ‘So, do you still paint?’ Will asks.

      I used to paint at school. I used to spend all my time in the art room, and it was my artistic ability that helped me get a scholarship for sixth-form but I haven’t painted for years. Even before I had Hera. I just kind of lost interest in it.

      ‘No, not really,’ I admit.

      ‘But you were so into it,’ Will says, sounding almost disappointed.

      I shrug.

      ‘You were Natalie, the arty girl.’ Will has a wry smile on his face.

      ‘Ha!’ I laugh. ‘And you were a skater boy, but people change. I doubt you still hang around at the skate park with your arse hanging out of your jeans, while pretending to be into punk even though everyone knew you preferred pop,’ I tease him. ‘I bet you’re not still doing that now – or are you?’ I raise an eyebrow.

      ‘No, I’m afraid not. Although I can get my arse out if you want me to?’ Will asks with a wink.

      ‘Oh for God’s sake, I really set myself up for that one.’ I sigh, laughing in spite of myself.

      Will watches me as I reach for another handful of crisps and I can feel my cheeks growing hot as a blush creeps into them. I’m trying to focus on the crisps, but all I can currently think about is Will’s arse. And the fact that he’s watching me having these thoughts is like being an insect examined under a microscope. I feel like I’m squirming in a hot beam of light.

      You see, I used to really fancy Will. Like really fancy him. I had a crush on him from the very first time I saw him, when he joined the school aged 11 after he and his family moved to Chiddingfold from London. His dad had quit his job as a police officer at the Met Police and wanted a quieter, calmer life. Of course, I didn’t know that detail at the time, but over time, I gathered titbits of information on the grapevine and added them to my mental catalogue of facts about Will Brimble, building up quite a detailed picture of him even though it took us three years to finally speak.

      Will’s right, I was the arty girl at school. It was my thing back in those days and I really wanted to be a painter, but everything changed when I went to my new 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