Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (27 page)

But unlike Cindy
, who looks pretty much the same as she did when I last saw her four years ago, Todd Whitman looks ten years older. His then slightly greying hair is now completely salt and pepper, he’s lost a considerable amount of weight and his eyes look positively sunken in his face.

In fact
, despite the elegant packaging, he looks ill.

“
Darling, look who’s here. It’s Jessica Banks,” Cindy says brightly.

He stops in his tracks and the smile drops quickly from his face
, replaced by a look of sheer alarm. It takes a moment for him to recompose himself, as he pastes on a broad, fake smile, and walks towards me with arms outstretched.

“
Jessica. It’s lovely to see you.”

I stand up to greet him and he hugs me
uncomfortably, pulling away extremely quickly and immediately diverting his attention to his wife.

“
Hi, Mr. Whitman. It’s great to see you again,” I say brightly, pretending not to notice how shocking my presence seems to be to him

“
Oh, Jessica, call him Todd,” Cindy says, smiling good-naturedly.

“
Sure.” I look at ‘Todd’ who appears to want to be any place else except standing here on his balcony with his wife and me.

“
Cindy, I have to go out. I’ve got that meeting, remember?” Todd asks Cindy as I continue to stand, feeling a little self-conscious. 

He’s clearly
been caught off guard by my unannounced arrival and looks really uneasy about me being here. I almost feel like offering to leave in order to relieve the awkward atmosphere. But I haven’t done what I intend to do yet, so I hold tight, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“
Meeting? Can’t you have a quick catch up with Jessica while I make us all a nice pot of tea?”

“
I’d love to darling, but I really have to go.” Turning to me, he says, “Great to see you, Jessica. Take care, bye.”

“
Bye,” I murmur at his retreating back, not believing him for a moment. He certainly couldn’t get away from
me
fast enough.

“
Don’t mind him, Jessica. He’s found it all rather hard, you know. Seeing you probably brings memories back.”

“
Oh.” I nod at Cindy, feeling bad my presence has elicited such difficult emotions for him. “I should’ve called ahead to say I was coming. Sorry.”

“
Nonsense. It’s just so nice to see you. How about that cup of tea?” she offers.

“
That’d be really great. Thanks Mrs., errr, Cindy.”

She winks
at me, smiling, and walks towards the kitchen. “That’s the girl, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Yeah, maybe by the time I’m fifty.

Cindy chit chats about the house redecorating (dreadful experience, you know: the dust! But all worth it in the end), the state of the family business (things are starting to look up following the recent downturn, we have great hopes with this new deal with China) and how wonderful Peter Jackson is (very, apparently).

“
Now, tell me all about London. Where did you live?”

“
In West Hampstead.”

“
Oh, I know it. Gosh, that brings back memories. We lived in Swiss Cottage when we were first married. Dreadful flat, freezing cold, draughty, but we didn’t care. We loved it.” Her eyes glaze over temporarily as she recalls the happy time.

“
You know, I think Lindsay would have liked to have lived in London.” Although she’s obviously finding it hard to talk about Lindsay she undoubtedly wants to keep doing it.

My heart races.
It’s now or never, Jess.

“
Yes, I think you’re right. She’d have loved it.”

I smile weakly and look down at my hands, feeling suddenly awkward
as Cindy turns her back on me to fill the kettle with water from the tap.

“
You see that’s why I’m here. Because of Lindsay.” I force myself to look up at her and see her put the kettle down on the bench, pausing before she turns to face me.

“
I never really came to talk to you, you know, after it happened, after she died. I’ve felt really bad about it, because, I mean, you’re her mum and it must’ve been so awful for you, and well… what I guess I’m trying to say is I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t stay here, that I, well… just left, I suppose.”

She looks at me as I bumble through my apology and I’m struck by how gaunt
and old she suddenly looks. You know how with some people you can read exactly what they’re thinking on their face? Well, Cindy’s face is a virtual tragic novel right now, standing in her kitchen, listening to me babble on ineptly about her dead daughter.

After what feels like three years o
f silence she finally croaks, “Thank you, Jessica. It was a hard time for us all.”

Although I decide a hug is probably in order right now I feel
utterly rooted to the spot, as awkward as a thirteen-year-old boy asking the girl he’s had a crush on since Year Four to dance at his first high school social.

Luckily for me Cindy continues,
“Laura said you had a hard time, Jessica. We all had to deal with what happened as best we could, as devastating as it was.”

You’ve got that right.

Feeling as though I deserve more of a negative response - I don’t know, more anger? More disapproval? But certainly not kindly understanding - I continue to plead my case.

“
But I just took off to London. I didn’t even come to
see
you after the funeral or anything. I didn’t really think about anyone but
me
. You should be angry with me for being such a crap friend. I mean, I virtually lived here while my parents were getting their divorce. You really should be angry with me!”

Tears well in my eyes as it hits me afresh how selfish I was
and that I have to point this out to the mother of my dear, sweet, dead friend. This woman lost her only daughter in a truly horrific way and I hadn’t even given her a passing thought over the last four years. Well, that’s not entirely true - I hadn’t
allowed
myself to have a passing thought about her in the last four years.

If I
’d found my mind wandering to Lindsay and the aftermath following her death I’d do whatever I could to get the thoughts out of my head. That’s where a stiff gin and tonic or three came in very handy, I found. Or a night on the mojitos with Ben.

“
Jessica, none of that matters any more. I know how much you loved her. And what matters is you’re here now,” she says.

I hang
my head and let the tears roll down my face. She’s being so gracious, so understanding and I know she’s finding this conversation really difficult too. I think if the roles were reversed I’d be running her sorry arse out of town right now. But lucky for me, they’re not, and she’s proving herself to be a much better person than I am - or was.

“
It’ll always be there,” she continues. “The hurt, the loss. But we find ways to carry on. There are things I would have done differently, if I’d had my time again, but who’s to know whether they would have made any difference to Lindsay? Jessica, I thank God every day we had her in our lives for twenty-four wonderful years. It’s all I can do.”

She
shrugs and smiles weakly at me in an attempt to mask the obvious pain our conversation has brought up for her. “And you know, there was nothing you could have done, either, Jessica.”

She smiles at me and
I finally ‘grow a pair’, as Americans can so graphically put it, and get up to give her one of the more awkward hugs I’ve experienced in my twenty-eight years on the planet.

She’s
so bony and angular it feels like I’m hugging an anorexic emu, a thought that, under the current circumstances, quite surprisingly makes me feel like laughing out loud. It’s just an anxious reaction to the highly charged atmosphere in the room, but I’m guessing maybe Cindy might not appreciate it. I turn away from her, and ask her for a tissue.

She returns
a moment later with a box of tissues and I take one, eternally thankful my inappropriate urge to giggle has dissipated.

As I go to leave half an hour and two cups of very strong black tea later Cindy says,
“Thank you for coming today, Jessica. You and Lindsay were such great friends, and I know she thought very highly of you.”

“
Well, I thought very highly of her too. Thanks for being so great.”

Despite her slightly brittle appearance Cindy seems really pretty together, considering what she’s been through, and I find myself admiring her
- for her kindness, for her pragmatic approach to Lindsay’s death, and even for her emu-esque hug.

“
Take care of yourself,” she says with a genuine smile. “And thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”

I nod and smile at her. There’s n
ot much more I can say, except, “You too. Oh, and thanks for the tea.”

“
You’re welcome. Bye, Jessica.”

As I walk past the
orderly plants along the path outside the Whitman’s home I’m struck by how much calmer and lighter I feel. It could be the caffeine from the strong tea but I’m guessing it’s the fact I’ve finally done what I should have done a long time ago.

I’ve been carrying around this
murky, unarticulated feeling of guilt and shame for more than four years now, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m atoning for my behaviour, that I can let those feelings go.

I’m starting to find peace.

So life’s beginning to get back to normal: no more stray American cads trying to tempt me into a life of debauchery and lies; no more running around in an absolute head spin trying to be Super Stylist on my own and, of course, failing spectacularly; but most importantly, no more avoiding Laura, the Whitmans or anyone else who had anything to do with Lindsay.

Well, that’s not entirely true.
It’s fair to say I’m not exactly all over Ben and his new girlfriend, Jia. I mean, why should I be? Every time Ben pops into my head - which I regret to report happens far too many times in any given day - I think about how I can’t have him and how he’d never go for someone like me.

I don’t exactly need it rubbed in my face he’s with the highly successful, clever and almost impossibly gorgeous
Jia. Come on, I’m not a masochist. Sure, I’ve replied to his texts, passed the odd comment on his Facebook page, but I haven’t actually talked to him let alone
seen
him since my trip down south to sort my head out.

Call it self-preservation, but
maybe it’s more like cowardice.

T
he jury’s out right now.

So
when he calls me on Mum’s home line to invite me to join them to have a drink and watch the stars walk the red carpet at The Hobbit movie premiere in Courtenay Place, it’s fair to say I don’t exactly leap off my mother’s beige living room carpet in my Nine West flats at the opportunity.

“
Oh come on, Jess. I haven’t seen you for ages,” he pleads down the phone. “And you’ve only met Jia once. She’s really keen to get to know you better. You’d like her, you know. She’s really great.”

I bet she is.
Little Miss Perfect. Blech.

“
In fact, just last week she told me how good looking she thinks you are.”

“
Really?” I splutter. Maybe I’ve misjudged her. The woman is clearly discerning.

“
Yeah, really. You all right? You sound like you’re choking.”

“
All good. Sorry, just a bit surprised. I didn’t think she particularly took to me when I met her at the bar that night.”

“
She told me she thought you were great. Look, Jess, it’d be a favour to me if you came. Jia’s a little jumpy about you.”

“
Jumpy?” I squeak.

T
here’s only ever one reason why a guy’s girlfriend is threatened by one of his female friends, isn’t there? She must think Ben fancies me. My heart races instantly at the suggestion.

“
Yeah,” he laughs. “I don’t know why. It’s a chick thing, isn’t it?”

“
Yeah. Chicks, eh?” I laugh nervously, but Jia’s comments have unwittingly sown a big fat seed of hope in me.

“
Who else is coming? Or will I just be the loser third wheel in your loved-up couple-y-ness?” I ask, trying to sound blasé as I silently plan how I’ll sympathetically break the news to Jia her boyfriend is in fact in love with me. Of course I’ll tell her how sorry I am it didn’t work out between them, saying I’m sure there will always be a special place for her in his heart and could we possibly be friends?

“
No, it’s a bunch of people from the office and some of the old university crowd. Remember Shane? And Cameron? They’re coming too. Come on Jess, say yes.”

What
just felt like the worst possible scenario a few moments ago has been miraculously transformed by Ben’s inadvertent admission about Jia into an opportunity for me to see him.

“
Text me the details,” I reply.

It’s not polite to make a man beg
, now is it?

“
Awesome. Hey, and I know I’ve been pretty dark on him in the past and what he did to you, but seriously, Jess, bring Scott. If you really want to.”

“
What? Scott? Why?” I ask in shock.

What’s he talking about? He knows it’s all over with Scott. Hell, he was the one who scraped me up off the floor after he’d dropped
his clanger the morning of the stupid life-coaching thing.

But instead of answering me he replies,
“Sorry, gotta go. Will text you.”

And
with a click he’s gone, leaving me feeling completely confused. One minute I’m getting all hopeful Ben might actually want to be with me, and the next he’s suggesting I’ve got such low standards and self-respect I’m apparently still seeing the man who treated me like I was shit.

Talk about a head spin.

And all that in a three-minute phone conversation in my mother’s living room.

***

My confusion is interrupted by Mum wandering into the room wearing her pink rubber gloves, cleaning cloth in hand, humming a show tune to herself. It turns out Sydney shares his fiancée’s love of show tunes and consequently it seems they will feature heavily in their upcoming nuptials. Date yet to be determined.

“
Oh there you are, dear. Who was that on the phone?” she asks as she lifts her collection of Swarovski glass animals from the top of the mantle one by one in order to clean them, despite the fact they already look impeccably clean and sparkly.

It’s painstaking work as she has a
virtual Swarovski
menagerie
, thanks in no small part to many a no-brainer Christmas and birthday present from yours truly. I know you’re not meant to feed someone’s addiction, but she does love them so and they’re not going to bankrupt her, throw her in jail or make her ruin her health like other addictions could.

“
Hey, Mum,” I reply, yanking myself out of deep thought. “It was Ben. I’m going to meet up with him and some others tomorrow night. We’re going star spotting on the red carpet at the premiere.”

“
How exciting.”

Thinking more about the small glimmer of hope I have Ben might be into me I reply,
“I know! I can’t wait.”

“
Now, dear, Sydney is here for dinner tonight and he’s planning on staying the night.”

“Great,” I squeak.

Think of a wa
rm, safe place, Jess. Dispel any images of Sydney and Mum in bed together far, far from your head.

As if by some psychic agreement the doorbell chimes
and Mum chirps, “That’ll be him,” and heads to the door to let him in.

“
Hi Sydney.” I kiss him on the cheek in greeting.

I’ve been getting to know him over the last few weeks and he’s actually a very nice man, albeit a bit dull. He’s the predictable, dependable type, really. The antithesis of Scott, but maybe a bit like Ben, although the comparison between hot, athletic Ben and dumpy, jowly Sydney has me
sniggering quietly to myself.

“
Hello Jessica. Lovely to see you again. You seem happy.”

We all sit down in the freshly spruced living room once the usual agreement to open a
nice, crisp sauvignon blanc has taken place.

I should’
ve known something was up as they sat together on the sofa, him with his hand on Mum’s knee, both with very erect, formal postures, looking like they’re about to pose for one of those tacky ‘ye oldeee worldeee’ photos tourists get conned into buying.

“
Jessica,” Sydney begins after he’s taken a deep drink from his glass, “your mother and I have been talking about how things should be now we’re getting married. Where we should live, that sort of thing.”

Mum smiles at him, nodding encouragement, then turns towards me
, picking up the mantle. It all feels a little rehearsed and an image of them planning who’s going to say what in this clearly premeditated conversation flashes into my head.

“
Dear, what we were thinking is it’s just silly for us to continue living in different houses. After all, we
are
engaged to be married.”

They smile
shyly at each other as though they’re in the fresh throes of first love.

“
So,” Sydney continues in this game of conversational tennis, “we’ve decided we will sell my house and I’ll move in here. Your mother wants to keep this house, and I’ve fallen almost as in love with it as I have with your mother, so it’s what you young people might call a ‘
no brainer’
?”

I giggle at his use of the term. I guess he’s ju
st trying to relate to me. “Sounds good to me,” I reply.

I can’t see a problem with that.
I’d have to be swimming deep in the river of denial not to realise they’d be moving in together once they’re married. Married people do tend to do that, don’t they? It’ll take a while for Sydney to get his place ready for sale and then actually sell it, so we’re probably looking at a good few months before it happens, by which time I’ll easily have enough money together for a deposit on a flat. I’d never planned on living in the same house as them once they’d moved in together, in any case. The thought is just too weird.

They dart a
look of concern at one another.

“
The thing is, dear, I thought, or I should say
we
thought it best we move in together… alone,” Mum says tentatively.

“
Sure, I get it. You want to start your ‘new life together’,” I reply, bobbing my fingers in air quotations. “Without me hanging around, getting in the way.”

Sensing they’re
both relieved to hear me say this and suspicious I’m not at all put out, I continue, “It’s fine. Really. I was never going to stay here indefinitely, so I’ll start looking for a flat in January.”

Estil
is doing well, especially now Morgan’s back. I’ll just pull my plans forward a month or two.

They
share another look and this time it appears it’s Sydney’s turn to speak. They’re like a comedy duo, these two. Made for each other.

“
We were thinking a little earlier than that, actually, Jessica. You see it’s all very exciting but I’ve sold my house and the new owners want to move in next week,” Sydney says.

“
Oh. I see,” I reply.

Next week?
I do a mental tally of my finances. No, not enough for a deposit and the first month’s rent. My heart sinks. Even though I’d hated being here when I first got back to New Zealand, Mum and I have managed to get into a pretty good rhythm now and I’ve really been feeling as though my life’s getting back on track. Having to go through the palaver of finding a place to live feels like the proverbial rug being pulled from beneath my feet.

“
Dear, if it’s not too much to ask, and you can say no of course if it’s too hard for you, but do you think you could find another place to stay? Until you find a more permanent place? I mean, I wouldn’t ask you, it’s just…” Mum trails off, looking pleadingly from me to Sydney and back again.

“
Sure. I can ask Laura or someone if I can crash for a while. It’ll be fine. No stress.”

Major s
tress!!

“
Or I could lend you some money?” Mum offers, clearly feeling a tinge of guilt at turning her only child out onto the streets. And rightly so in my opinion.

“
No, no. I’ll be fine. But thanks,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

The
y both heave a sigh of relief as I decide the best way forward is to guzzle my glass of wine in one fell swoop and get up to pour us all another. So where can I crash? I don’t relish the idea of staying with Laura and Kyle and their nocturnally demanding children - a busy stylist needs her beauty sleep.

Of course
Morgan has moved out of her and Dave’s palatial Mt Vic pad into Pabla’s tiny studio apartment, so there’d be no room for me there. Plus they’re in the new lust phase of their new relationship and no one needs to witness one of their friends in that.

That leaves Ben, I guess. Ha!
I almost laugh out loud. Imagine if I crashed at his place for a while? That’d really freak Jia out.

It also makes my tummy do a little
involuntary flip at the thought of spending time with him. Alone. I’d be able to work out if he has feelings for me, without the annoying complication of his girlfriend hanging around.

I can’t help but smirk at the thought
, feeling like Dr Evil plotting a juicily nefarious plan in my underground lair.