Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (19 page)

He finally spoke.
“Hi Jess. Howzit?”

“
Howzit?
Howzit
? You’re kidding me, right?”

I paused, giving him a chance to say something in response. But when nothing was forthcoming I launched into the venomous
diatribe I’d fantasized about delivering to him since the funeral.

“
How the
fuck
do you think I am, Ethan? Do you know what you did? Do you even
care
? Because you sure as hell don’t look like you do to me. Is this something you make a habit of? Screwing amazing women over, totally destroying them to the point where they can’t bear to live anymore? And not even bothering to come to their funeral, to take
some
sort of responsibility for their death?”

My anger almost boiled over.

“You disgust me, Ethan. You’re not even worthy of licking the ground Lindsay walked on. You’re a despicable human being.”

My rant over,
I was satisfied to see Ethan looking ashamed, rooted to the spot.

“
I know. OK? I know.” I could see tears welling in his eyes, which he blinked back, sniffing, while raising his head to look up the street.

Seemingly finding the power to move, he muttered,
“I’ve got to go. See ya, Jess.”

He started to walk away
. Feeling incensed this was all the response he was going to give to my monologue, I pursued him down the street.

“
Is that all you’re going to say? Don’t you think Lindsay’s worth more than that? Jesus, Ethan.”

He kept on walking an
d didn’t respond to me, which made me even more furious with him, if it was humanly possible.

A
nasty thought occurred to me. “I wonder if your new little girlfriend knows what you did to Lindsay? That’s what she is, isn’t she? The pretty redhead? Your new girlfriend?”

I’d
got his attention.

“
Maybe I’ll come with you right now. Where did you say you’d meet her? Fidel’s, was it?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to me.
“Don’t, Jess. Please.” He looked at me imploringly.

“
Why not? Don’t you think she has the right to know?” I looked at him, wide-eyed in mock innocence.

“
Look. I didn’t tell her because I knew it’d freak her out. I know I broke up with Linds, I know it was hard on her. But Jess, can’t you see, her deciding to do what she did wasn’t my fault?”

“
Wasn’t your
fault
?” I spat the words back at him. “How, Ethan? Please. Explain it to me. I’d love to know how you dumping her, breaking her heart and then moving onto the next girl faster than you can say ‘male slut’ didn’t make her to decide to take her own life.”

“
Because it’s not normal, that’s why. You just don’t expect someone you break up with to do that sort of thing. Jess, she was
insane
. There wasn’t anything I could do about that.”

“
Insane? Fuck you. You really are a piece of work, aren’t you? I don’t ever want to see you again,” I spat.

I turned on my heel and stormed down
Cuba Street, feeling thoroughly enraged.

Later that day
I relayed my meeting with him to Ben, Laura and Kyle over a glass of wine at Atlanta Bar in the city, thinking they’d be really proud of me and wished they had been there to put their two cents in as well.

“
Can you believe him? What an arsehole.” I was still pretty worked up and the wine just wasn’t hitting the spot.

“
But he’s right, Jess. It wasn’t his fault,” replied Ben gently, shaking his head.

“
What do you mean by saying it wasn’t his fault? If it wasn’t for him, she’d still be alive, probably sitting here having a drink with us right now.”

“
Maybe.” He shrugged. “But maybe not. Look, we all loved Linds, Jessie, but she could be a bit, well,
unhinged
. You know that. You know what she was like. All the crazy behaviour, the drinking, the partying.”

“
Ben’s right, Jess,” Laura pitched in. “And you know what Cindy said, she was diagnosed with a personality disorder. That wasn’t Ethan’s fault. How could it be?”

I’d expected them to be right there behind
me shouting, “Way to go, Jess!”
Most definitely not siding with Ethan.

But
I did concede maybe there was a small, minute seed of truth in what they’d said. As amazing as Lindsay was she did do some pretty mad things.

I’ve been dumped by too many men
in my life than is strictly speaking necessary, but not once has it occurred to me to kill myself over any one of them. I might get a new haircut or buy a new outfit. Not stash away an inordinate amount of drugs and swallow them down with half a pint of whiskey in my bedroom on a Saturday afternoon.

S
eeing Ethan that day, coupled with the grim prospect of another Wellington winter, I made the decision to leave.

Morgan had just left her job and moved in with Dave, Laura had Kyle, and I’d ne
ver lived anywhere but Wellington. So I bought a one way ticket to London. Within a month I was living in West Hampstead, working in the West End, and making new friends, Lindsay’s memory locked away deep inside.

I figured the anger would run out of s
team after a while and, anyway, I was twenty-three - I just wanted to live my life. What was done was done and it was time for me to move on. Ben came to London too after a few months and we would get together and sometimes reminisce about the old days with Lindsay in Wellington. To his credit he never once raised her suicide or my attack on Ethan that day.

So I was able to bury my feelings of guilt, sadness and anger, and instead focus on being young and free in one of the most incredible cities in the world.

It’s the day of the World of Wearable Arts gala dinner and I need to get the outfits to my clients. I borrow Mum’s car and as I’m driving to the drycleaners my phone bleeps. I’m too impatient to wait until I’m sensibly parked at the side of the road to read it, so while I’m sitting in slow moving traffic I sneakily pick up my phone to check who it is, hoping beyond hope it’s Morgan, swooping in to save the day at the last possible minute. But it’s Ben.

Hey Jessie. Good luck for
tonight. Bet they look amazing thanks to you. B x

I’m pretty blown away he
’s remembered the event and how important it is to me I have two happy clients tonight.

Thinking about Linds
ay has reminded me how awesome Ben was at the time. How he’d just let me cry at the funeral, and how together he’d been during the whole, horrible mess that followed.

And most importantly, how
he seemed to just get it that I didn’t want to talk ad nauseam about it. I text him back.

Thanks B. Hope
u r right! J

I collect
Lex’s dress, thankfully now Diet Coke stain free. I remove the drycleaner’s plastic and put it in a nice suit bag - it’s the little touches - and drive to Stephanie’s place. She answers the door looking a little dishevelled.

“
Hey, Stephanie. Are you all right?”

“
Oh, Jessica. How nice to see you. Yes, fine, just busy. That’s all.” She unconsciously glances behind her, and then refocuses back on me. “Is that the dress?”

“Yes it is,”
I reply, producing her dress inside another slick black suit bag with a flourish. She’s going to look absolutely knockout in this fabulous little Sophie Voon number, so a little fanfare won’t go amiss.

She doesn’t invite me in, so I
awkwardly continue. “Now, let’s accessorise. You have those gorgeous strappy shoes we thought would go beautifully with the dress, but let’s work out hair and jewellery. You’re off to the hairdresser soon, aren’t you?”

“
Yes, at four. But look, I really can’t talk right now. Something’s come up. So you’ll just have to trust me to get the jewellery right.”

She begins to usher me off
the doorstep.

Feeling a little like cattle I reply,
“If you’re sure. But wouldn’t you like to try everything on right now? Make sure?”

“
No no. I know it’ll be fine.”

I’m down the
front steps already.

“
Thanks, Jessica,” she says brusquely.

“
Sure.” I’m feeling a bit bemused, but I guess she’s the client so gets to call the shots.

“
Well, there’s a little surprise in there for you. Just a thank you from Estil for your business,” I say with a smile.

I’d put a voucher for a gla
ss of champagne at Foxtail bar in the suit bag. After all, Stephanie was my very first client and she’d helped me with my confidence. Plus she was a really nice person.

“
Oh, thank you, Jessica.” She grabs the edge of the door in order to close it.

“
I’m off then,” I reply slightly uncertainly. “I’ll see you from the cheap seats tonight. I’ve never been to the Wearable Arts, so I’m really looking forward to it.”

“
Great! See you there. Bye.” She closes the door on me before I even have the chance to wish her luck and I’m left staring, open-mouthed.

I wonder what’s going on?

Oh well, I’ll just have to see how she looks from the distance tonight and hope she accessorizes properly.

Ah, that reminds me. I have a spare
ticket, the one Morgan was meant to have. Who can I invite? After this morning’s grilling it’s pretty safe to say Laura’s not talking to me, and of course Morgan’s not here. How about Ben? I decide to call him as I jump back in the car to head to Lex’s place.

He answers within the first two rings.
“Hey, Jessie. What’s up?” He sounds genuinely pleased to hear from me, which makes me feel all warm inside.

“
Just wondered if you’d like to come to the Wearable Arts tonight? It’s meant to be awesome and I’ve got a spare ticket. How ‘bout it, Tiger?”

“
Oh. Thanks.” He doesn’t exactly sound overly excited. I guess he thinks it’s more of a chick thing, maybe?

“
Hey, no worries if you’re not into it. If it’s not your thing then it’s fine.”

“
It’s not that, Jess. I’m actually already going tonight. Jia got us some tickets.”

“
Oh, no prob,” I reply. I feel a bit deflated and slightly embarrassed that I’d just assumed he’d be free and happy to go with me, forgetting this new girlfriend of his.

“
Guess I might see you there then, and get to meet the famous Jia,” I laugh, hoping he doesn’t pick up on my disappointment.

“
Yeah, great. I’ll look out for you. See ya, Jess.”

“
See ya.”

I hang up
. Why do I feel a little crushed? Ben’s entitled to see someone. It’s not like we’re in a relationship. I’m just still a bit sore over the whole Scott debacle, I suppose.

Anyway, I’m sure Mum will want to go with me.

I call her. “Oh yes, dear, that’d be wonderful. But what on Earth will I wear?”

“
Well, lucky for you your daughter is a stylist, Mum. I’ll be home in about an hour and we’ll get you dressed in something divine.”

“
Lovely,” she replies uncertainly. “See you soon.”

Pushing the thought that I’ve had to resort to taking my mum out
, I call around to Lex’s place. Her mother, Portia, answers the door.

“
Oh hello. How can I help you?” She smiles at me vaguely, clearly not recognising me.

“
Hi Mrs. Moss, I’m Jessica Banks, Estil stylist?”

“
And what can I do for you?” Still no recognition.

“
Well, I have Lex’s dress for the gala dinner tonight,” I respond.

“
Oh yes, of course. Quite slipped my mind.” She smiles at me in what can only be described as a condescending fashion and it immediately annoys me.

After an awkward silence
in which she doesn’t move I enquire, “So, um, is she here? Lex? Sorry, Alexandria. Is Alexandria here? I’d like to give her the dress.”

“
No, she’s out. Why don’t you give it to me and I’ll ensure she gets it.” Posed as a question but most definitely a statement, she takes the dress clean out of my hands. “If that’s all, then?”

Taken aback
, I reply, “Ah, yes, thanks.”

“
Good bye.” She closes the door on me.

What is with these women today? Stephanie’
s too busy and uptight to let me help her get her outfit ready and Mrs. Moss doesn’t even remember me. Actually, come to think of it, even when she knew who I was and what I was doing there she was rude to me.

Poor
Lex, having a mother like her.

***

To say my mother’s wardrobe is a throwback to the Seventies is a bit of an understatement. Sadly it’s not at all in a cool or retro way.

S
he’s much more Margot from
The Good Life
than Farrah Fawcett Majors in her
Charlie’s Angels
days.

Nevertheless, it’s a challenge to me as a stylist to make something of the shock of frills and floral prints before me
in her wardrobe. I start by putting anything vaguely appropriate on her bed in order to size it up.

Luckily for me we’re not attending the formal dinner so
we don’t need to be in black tie as Mum’s floor length dresses are exclusively black velvet and lace. I know they sound kinky but believe me when I say these dresses are positively
light years
from being even remotely sexy.

“
I really don’t know why you think you have to do this, Jessica dear. I’m a grown woman and quite capable of dressing myself, you know. Have been doing so for years.”

“
Yes, and in the same clothes, by the looks of things, Mum. Look, just humour me. Think of this as my Estil homework. And Sydney will love your new look. Trust me.”

“
Well, if it’s going to help you, then why not?”

How
kind of her, I think, as I team a shirt that can really only be called flouncy with a black pencil skirt and peep-toe heels. Tightening the shirt in at the waist with one of my belts minimises its somewhat billowy nature and makes Mum look reminiscent of a Fifties screen siren.

“
Damn, Mum, you look hot!”

“
Goodness gracious dear. What a thing to say.”

She examines herself in the mirror
, suppressing a small smirk. “Oh but I do look good, don’t I? And I think you’re right. Sydney will just love this.”

“
You do, Mum. And he most definitely will.”

We smile at one another in the mirror.

“I’d better get myself dressed, then let’s head out for a quick bite at Wagamama’s before the show,” I suggest.

I’m in the mood for some satisfying, tasty noodles and
Waga’s certainly fits the bill. We used to go there loads in London as it was easy, cheap, and significantly healthier than greasy gammon steaks, chips and beans (ugh) at the local pub, so I have a bit of a soft spot for the place.

“
Hmm?” Mum replies absent-mindedly. She’s too busy admiring herself in the mirror to have heard what I said.

This feels good, helping Mum look nice. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps my reason for getting into personal styling back here wasn’t to bring g
lamour into people’s lives, even though I’m sure I’ve been doing a bit of that.

No, I think it might be because helping other people makes
me feel good about myself. Ha! Wait until I tell Dad. He’ll think I’ve ‘grown’ or something equally spiritual and New Age-y.

Well, maybe I have. Just a bit.