Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (16 page)

“
Agreed. Where?”

“
Ever been to Foxglove?” he asks.

“
Is this some sort of SPCA thing?” I ask, trying to be smart.

“
Don’t give up the day job, Jess. No, it’s a fantastic bar on the waterfront.”

“
I haven’t. But is it anything to do with Fox
tail
? That’s where I’m offering new clients a glass of bubbles when they book a styling appointment with Estil. Morgs raves about it, so I thought she’d approve.”

I push thoughts of Morgan out of my head. I’m only just beginning to recover from this morning’s events, after all. The last thing I need is another problem to get worked up about right now. I’m having so much fun with Ben.

“Good choice and yes it is. It’s got this cool Narnia wardrobe door thing. And my challenge to you, Ms. Banks, is to find a way through that door.”

How hard can
it be?

“
I love a challenge, Mr. Pearson. Bring it on.”

W
e flag down a cab and head to the bar.

“
Now find it,” Ben says after we’ve walked through the doors into Foxglove.

I start wandering around the bar, randomly poking a
nd prodding the walls as we go. Ben’s having a great time laughing at me.

I spot
one of those gravity defying vertical wall garden things and start feeling around it. I’m getting fern frons sticking me in the eye when a very kind woman sitting in front of the garden takes pity on me and points out that the hidden door is in fact right behind me and could I please stop knocking dirt and bits of plant into her gin and tonic. I apologise profusely, thanking her for her help and darting Ben a good-humoured dirty look as he stands watching me, looking highly amused.

I push on the
closet door and like magic it opens up and we walk through into a stylish bar, complete with a terrace overlooking the harbour. Although it’s pretty busy we chance on a table outside, grab it and enjoy our drinks, gazing out at the beautiful view.

“
Hey, I completely forgot. Want to go to the Wellington Sevens in February? Laura and Kyle got some tickets and we all thought we’d get dressed up and make a day of it,” Ben says.

The Rugby Sevens tournament in Wellington each year is one enormous party. Everyone g
ets dressed up in costumes ranging from super heroes to Cookie Monsters to Adam and Eves and has a totally great time. In fact, if you went in your everyday clothes you’d stand out like a sore thumb. We’d all gone in a big group every year through varsity and in our early-twenties and never failed to have an epic weekend.

“
That’d be so fantastic! Count me in. I haven’t been to the Sevens for years. It’s such a great day,” I reply enthusiastically.

“
Too right. Cool, I’ll let them know you’re in. What do you want to go as?”

“
Well, I could go as Snow White again? I’ve still got my costume somewhere I think.”

The last time I’d gone to the Sevens Morgan,
Laura and I went as three racy Snow Whites in short dresses and brown wigs. To say we’d received a bit of attention on the day would be a fairly gross understatement. I got so many guys asking for my number, I think I went on about ten dates after the event. But sadly none of the guys looked as good out of their costumes, which was a bit of a let down.

“
Nah, let’s do something different this time. Have a think about it.”

As we get up to leave once the sun’s set Ben asks,
“So how’d you like your Wellington experience today, Jessie? It’s a pretty awesome little city, wouldn’t you say?”

I have to
admit, Wellington can really sparkle, and it’s been a fantastic day. Well, other than at the start, where I found out the guy I thought I was in an exclusive relationship with publicly humiliated me in front of my arch nemesis, dumping me in favour of her at the same time.

But hey, you can’
t have it all.

And right now I’m feeling like everything is pretty darn right with the world.

“
I had a great time. Thanks, Ben.” I lean in to give him a hug.

“
You’re worth a thousand Scott Wrights. You know that, don’t you?” he asks gently.

“
Thanks, yeah, I know. Ironic, isn’t it? He’s Mr. Wright but
so
not
Mr. Right. More like Mr. Completely-Utterly-and-Totally-No-Way-in-Hell-Not-Right, as far as I can see.”

I laugh at my feeble joke, but hell, the
fact I can make a joke about him is major progress.

We stand
together for a few more moments in companionable silence, neither of us wanting to leave, taking in Eastbourne across the water in a picturesque golden glow. This day has been so much fun and I’ve already started to feel infinitely better.

And it’s all
thanks to Ben.

My warm thoughts are interrupted by
Ben as he looks at his watch. “Oh shit. I’m sorry but I have to go.”

“
No problem. Got a hot date, eh?” I joke, knocking my elbow into his side.

“
Umm…” He looks sheepish. “Actually, I do have a date. But I can cancel it if you want to hang some more? Seriously, it’ll be fine.”

I’
m genuinely shocked and more than a little disappointed in him. After all his protestations about Scott and his treatment of women here Ben is doing to Amber exactly what Scott did to me!

“
What? Hang on a minute. What about Amber?
Please
don’t tell me you’re doing the dirty on her? She may not be my favourite person but she deserves…”

Ben cuts i
n. “No, I’m not two-timing Amber, so you can relax. I’m not
that
guy, Jess. We broke up a few months back, after her visit here. Doing the long distance thing is just too hard, and anyway, I think things had run their course.”

“
Gosh. I didn’t know.”

“
Don’t look concerned. It’s all good. Believe me, it was the right thing to do. But seriously, I’ll cancel if you want me to. Just say the word.”

“
No no, you go. Have fun. I think I should head home, anyway. It’s been a bit of a big day. Who’s the lucky girl, anyway?” I ask.

“
Oh just someone I met a while ago. Another lawyer. You know how it is.”

I guess I do. They
must have things in common, I suppose. Like the law?

“
Well, thanks for an awesome day.”

“
Anytime, Jess.”

He walks me to the bus stop and waits with me until the bus arrives.

“So is this thing serious with… what’s her name?”

“
It’s Jia. And we’ve only been out a few times. But she’s cool.”

My bus arrives.

“Well, have fun with Jia. And thanks Ben. You’re a star.”

I get on the bus
, find a seat between a couple of tweens, and then watch Ben walk away down the street.

I can’t quite name the way I’m feeling. Pensive? Flat? I guess it’s just because of Scott.

But I can’t help thinking maybe it’s because Ben’s going out with some new woman called Jia and I’m going home alone.

T
o my happy, humming Mum.

I wake up the next morning feeling marginally less bitter about the whole Scott situation and a bit more connected to the city I now call home. Ben’s right, there
are
loads of things to do here and the place has a great feel, despite the crazy weather at times. And the fact it’s about the size of a minor Eskimo village at the edge of the Bering Sea.

T
here isn’t exactly a plethora of celebrity spotting to be had here (other than when Peter Jackson is filming or eating out with Brad and Angie at suburban restaurants, of course); there’s no London Eye (clearly); no amazingly huge department stores where you can get anything under the sun; and the local pubs tend to be dives. But Wellington has its charms, made all the better by Ben’s magical mystery tour yesterday.

Ben. He’s the best, such a great friend.
Cheering me up the way he did yesterday was going completely beyond the call. And now he’s dating some new, almost certainly outlandishly gorgeous woman and I have to admit I feel a bit weird about it. Not good weird, not bad weird, just weird. But why? Other than one drunken kiss, nothing’s ever happened between us.

There’s no reason to feel anything other t
han happy one of my friends is out having fun with someone new, like I would if it’d been Morgan or Laura or someone. Right?

Just then my phone buzzes
, interrupting my train of thought, and checking it I see it’s a message from the man himself:

How about Hansel and Gretel?

What? Some weird fairy tale thing? Oh, that’s right - costumes for the Sevens.

I text him back.

Got a better one. Hulk Hogan and his ex-missus? U look good in a big moustache!

Have u seen his
ex?! Star Wars? Han Solo + Princess Leia?

I smile to myself as I
think how good Ben will look as Han Solo. The whole Princess Leia pigtail buns thing will have to be negotiated around of course, but I think I can make it work.

Deal. We can all do Star Wars

G8 plan. Will txt Kyle

After reading
his final message I decide it’s best to shelve the whole confusing Ben thing as I’ve really got bigger fish to fry right now.

My big
gest problem is where the hell Morgan has gone.  Quite frankly, enough is enough. The work is piling up and she needs to be here. We’re in a business partnership, for goodness sakes. What if I get it all totally wrong? What if I upset our new clients and they never want to do business with Estil again? I mean I’ve done my Boulton School of Fashion course and have been to quite a few styling appointments now, but I’ve only been doing this for a matter of weeks.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to find
her. I’ve left a multitude of voicemails, sent a million text messages, and even tried to connect with her psychically. Well, maybe not the last one, but I’ve been trying really, really hard to track her down and it did occur to me fleetingly I might consult a psychic as a last ditched attempt to find her.

I know Ben says she’s flaky, but he doesn’t know her like I do. I just hope she’s
all right.

I
t just occurs to me, maybe she’s been abducted. Maybe she’s being held in some clapped out old shed with a rusted corrugated iron roof in the middle of a pig farm being tortured by a sweaty, stubbly grizzly bear of a man while a banjo plays the Deliverance theme tune in the background.

Or maybe I’v
e just watched too many horror movies and she’s gone off the radar because she’s going through a tough time and really needs me to understand.

W
hatever her reason I’m off to Morgan’s flat to find out what I can.

I ring the doorbell and within moments Darling Dave
is standing in front of me. To say he looks devastated is a total understatement. He’s wearing a distinctly smelly sweatshirt and track pants, complete with food stains, his face is covered in grey patchy stubble, and I’m pretty sure the concept of washing and applying some much needed deodorant hasn’t been high on his list of priorities lately, either.

“
Oh. Hi Jess.” He sounds seriously disappointed to see me. “I thought you might be Morgan, but then why would she ring the doorbell? She lives here. Well, did. Sorry, sorry. Come in.”

He tries to smil
e but it comes out more like a vaguely unsettling grimace. Poor guy, my heart really goes out to him. Morgan’s obviously done a bunk on him too. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in Scott I would’ve come to see Dave earlier and maybe we would’ve managed to get to the bottom of this Morgan disappearing act by now.

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours I silently curse
Scott’s name.

We
walk into the living room and he offers me a cup of tea, which I accept. The room looks like a group of overexcited toddlers have done some redecorating, complete with clothes strewn over furniture, cushions over the floor, dirty plates and cups piled up on the coffee table, and a large number of discarded beer bottles on the kitchen bench. So maybe not a bunch of toddlers - unless they have a penchant for alcohol - but you get the picture.

Total
boy bombsite.

I pick up some of the dirty plates
from the coffee table and bring them out to the kitchen where Dave seems to have forgotten he offered to make me a cup of tea. Instead he’s absently gazing out of the window.

“
You know I’d do anything for Morgan, Jess. She’s my world.”

He
turns and looks at me with such a beaten baby seal look I feel a rising lump in my throat, which I attempt to swallow away.

“
So you haven’t seen her either?” I ask, assuming I now know the answer. I put my hand on his sleeve and he almost leaps away from me.

Once recovered he replies,
“No. I came home from work Tuesday night nearly three weeks ago and she was gone. I checked her wardrobe and she’d taken most of her clothes and shoes and things. Even took the paracetamol from the bathroom cabinet. I’d bought her some flowers.”

He
indicates a bunch of wilted, half dead roses on the breakfast bar, still in their wrapping, and then bows his head. He looks so thoroughly dejected I think he might start crying. Oh please don’t cry, Dave. In my current fragile state it’ll totally do me in and we’ll both end up sobbing together on the floor for hours.

I swallow
again. “I’m so sorry Dave. Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Have you heard from her at all?”

I’m starting to get pretty worried now. Leaving me in the lurch is one thing, but she’s clearly
walked out on Dave as well, so this is more serious than I’d thought.

“
I got this text message the night she disappeared.”

He hands me his phone. It’s warm and a bit sticky, no doubt thanks to being gripped day
and night for the last few weeks in the hopes of hearing from Morgan. I take the phone somewhat reluctantly and open the message.

It’s
brutally succinct, to say the least.

Sorry

Sorry? Sorry?! I’m genuinely shocked Morgan’s been so awful to Dave, and I feel my cheeks flush.  Leaving him after four years together and all she does to explain is send him a one-word text.

I’
m absolutely shocked. Shocked and deeply ashamed of my friend’s behaviour.

He picks up his laptop, which is open on Morgan’s Facebook page.

“Take a look at this.”

He clicks on the relationship status link and I read the word ‘
single’. I can’t believe how brutal she’s been with poor Dave. As dreary as he is and as wrong as I think he is for Morgan, he still doesn’t deserve to be treated so glibly, so callously.

Looks like she’s screwed both of us
over, mate.

***

Having left the now more aptly named ‘Dishevelled Dave’ in a slightly better state than I’d found him, I’ve decided Morgan has clearly left Dave, run off somewhere and wants to be alone. Otherwise she would’ve responded to my texts and calls by now, wouldn’t she?

Realising I’m on my own for the foreseeable future
I need to throw myself into Estil, blocking out the misery of Morgan’s disappearance and Scott’s humiliating rejection. After all, to get on in this world a girl has got to prioritise, prioritise, prioritise. And for me that means getting my clients styled for this week’s black tie World of Wearable Arts gala dinner.

I’
ve ordered Trelise Cooper outfits for the impossibly gorgeous Lex and a couple of Karen Walkers to boot, which were delivered to my house two days ago and look stunning. I just need to collect Stephanie’s Voon dress, which the designer had altered slightly to accommodate her somewhat buxom assets.

After arranging to drop the clothes off to each of them the following afternoon I decide it’s time I check the website
to see what sort of response my introductory offer has had. I have to admit, I’m quietly impressed with my idea of offering a glass of French champagne to every new client. I think it adds a bit of big city sparkle to our services - both literally and metaphorically - making the whole experience a bit more London-style glamorous.

I log onto
the Estil site and am astonished to see loads of people have signed up for the offer already. This is a flyaway success! Morgan’s going to be
so
proud of me for drumming up so much new business.

Well,
once she bothers to get in touch with me, that is.

I
happily open up a few of the styling session requests and my heart skips a beat, in fact I’d swear it stopped beating for a good five seconds there. Staring out at me under ‘
Fabulous Introductory Offer!
’ it states each new client will get a bottle of Moët at Foxtail. A
bottle
?

Oh. My. God.

I didn’t change the offer from a
bottle
to a
glass
before the site went live. I quickly review what a bottle of Moët costs at the bar and realise one bottle per styling session will eat up most of our profits. Shit crap shit! What am I going to do? Morgan will
kill
me!

For
a moment I’m relieved she’s not here to see what certainly feels like the demise of our business, but that feeling flits away before it’s barely conscious and I’m back to sheer panic again within a nanosecond.

Come on
, Jess – think! How can I fix this?

I quickly count all the session requests and find there are twelve people wanting to book with us.
Right, now for some damage control. I change the offer to a glass straight away and start to feel slightly better, but I still have a lump in my throat the size of Texas and my heart still thinks it’s doing some sort of high impact aerobics class in my chest. I am
such
an idiot.

Between Morgan
’s disappearing act and my epic stuff up, I’ll be surprised if there’s even a business to panic about by the end of the week.

***

I arrive at Lex’s house with the dresses. After trying them all on she narrows her choice down to two Trelise Cooper dresses - an exquisite short, cream and grey sequined number that shows off her mile-long legs to perfection; and a gorgeous hot pink strappy dress, which looks equally striking on her. She decides on the cream one, but as she takes it off she knocks her Diet Coke over and ends up with a large patch of unsightly brown right over the front of the dress.

“
Don’t worry, Lex. I’ll take care of it,” I exclaim, significantly more positively than I feel as I hop to it, grabbing the dress before she can do any further damage. “I know a great drycleaner who can bring it up like new.”

I don’t, but I’ll have to find one. And pront
o - the dinner’s tomorrow night!

“
Thanks.” She smiles weakly. “My mum would totally, like, kill me if I wrecked a dress before I’d even worn it.”

I can well imagine.

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll rush it through and drop it back to you tomorrow afternoon. Plenty of time to get ready for the dinner.”

I wish I felt as confident as I sound.