Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (24 page)

“
Well, Sydney and I have been discussing things.” She pauses, looking down, and I can sense she’s a little nervous about what she’s about to say.

Real
ising she’s probably about to tell me they’ve decided to go their separate ways I try to be supportive, despite the dire state of my own current personal relationships, saying, “It’s OK, Mum. He was a nice man, but you’ll meet someone else.”

“
Pardon? Oh, you think we’re breaking up? Heavens no.
Quite
the opposite.” She brandishes a modest sparkling ring at me on her left hand, almost knocking me in the face in her unbridled enthusiasm. “He asked me to marry him! Last night. And I said yes! Isn’t it wonderful?”

My mother is getting
married
? She’s a bridge-playing, pearl-wearing, uptight, badly dressed, slightly plump, fifty-something-year-old woman and she’s managed to do what I’ve failed so abysmally to do – find someone to fall in love with her.

I feel tears begin to sting my eyes as I wallow in my self pity, but try desperately to blink them back, smiling as
naturally as someone who feels like the bottom is falling out of her world can do.

Which
makes me look like I’ve a bad case of gas.

“
Dear? Are you all right?” Mum asks, my fake smile not fooling anyone.

“
Yes, yes,” I sniff, “just taken a bit by surprise, that’s all. I’m really happy for you both. Really.”

I get up from the
table and hug her to prove just how very happy for her I am. She’s too blissed out to take her concern for my fragile emotional state any further. I ask to look at her ring and she tells me all about how Sydney proposed the night before, no doubt at the time I was hanging out at a waterfront bar with the man of my dreams.

Oh, and hi
s beautiful new girlfriend.

“
Look, I’m going to the Church fair this morning with Sydney, helping out on the cake stall.  I’ve baked my famous berry surprise especially. It’s always a hit. Why don’t you come along? It’ll do you the world of good and I know Sydney would love to see you again.”

S
urprisingly, the idea of selling sad old cakes and dried up biscuits to random strangers at a church fair in the ‘burbs doesn’t exactly appeal.

“
No thanks, Mum. You go and have fun with your
fiancé
.”

She smiles like a lovesick teenager at that.

“Think I’ll just hang at home today,” I add.

“
Suit yourself. Oh, and your father rang last night when you were out. And before you ask, no I haven’t told him yet. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“
Thanks, Mum. I’ll give him a call.”

A
pleasant thought pierces the gloom that seems to have taken permanent residence in my brain this morning - I can just see it, lots of little smelly misery critters, living in tents and holding banners shouting, “
Occupy Jess’s brain!”
. Little bastards.

Of
course! That’s where I can go, my Dad’s place in Nelson! He’s so chilled out and Zen these days he could teach the Dalai Lama a thing or two. I’m sure he can take my mind off things.

And anyway, j
ust the thought of getting away from Wellington for a while makes me feel better. No chance of bumping into sweet-talking tennis coaches there. And, more importantly, no chance of seeing Ben all loved up either. Of course I’ll have to rearrange the Estil appointments I’ve booked, but that’s easily done.

Yes!
I have an escape plan, and it includes warmer weather and golden-sand beaches. Ideal.

Ten minutes later I hang up after speaking to Dad, who’s more than happy to have me come and stay with him and his family to “restore myself”, as he puts it. Not sure if there’s going to be much of that going on, but a break away is certainly what I need right now.

I crack open my laptop and am lucky enough to
find a reasonable fare online for later in the day. I pack a small bag, drop by Mum at the church fair to say goodbye, congratulate my new step-father-to-be - Stepfather? Weird. Will file the thought for later analysis - and, after a hair-raising flight being buffeted about by the Cook Straight winds in a small plane, I reach Nelson and the arms of my dear old Dad by late afternoon.

“
Jessie!” Dad gives me a massive bear hug, smelling faintly of incense and clay. “It’s wonderful to have you here.”

“
It’s great to be here, Dad. I should’ve come down earlier, I’m sorry.”

“
Well, you’re here now, and that’s what counts.” He’s grinning from ear to ear as he holds me by the shoulders.

His
warmth and happiness in seeing me is just too much and I burst into tears, burying my head in his Thai-dyed shirt, heaving great sobs of despair.

“
Oh, Dad. I’ve really stuffed up,” I sputter, although I suspect it sounds a little more like, “
Oh, Da, I wheell suff uuuugh
,” complete with exaggerated snivelly noises. Very glamorous, I know.

Even though I’m standing smack bang
in the middle of the airport’s arrivals lounge, with people milling around us, I sob and sob, my shoulders heaving as the tears just roll.

D
ad hugs me close, stroking my back. “It’s OK, Jessie. Just let it out. You’re in a safe place.”

Well, we’re actually
in the middle of Nelson’s bustling airport, surrounded by people giving me odd looks, but I realise he’s probably speaking metaphorically, so I indulge my sadness a little longer.

I’ve been trying my best to hold it all together
with everything that’s been happening since my return to New Zealand, so it feels really good to cry. Here with my good old dad I can just act like a twelve-year-old again, not feeling the need to show any regard for how others might see me, not trying to keep up an appearance of being in control. It’s cathartic, even if it’s a little more public than I would ordinarily have chosen.

Through tear-drenched eyes
I manage to pull myself together enough to spot my bag on the carousel. Then Dad drives me to the outskirts of Nelson where he and Morning live with their son, Orion, on a lifestyle block with a menagerie of assorted dogs, cats, pigs, chickens and Sue Ellen the requisite goat.

After
some initial hesitation, presumably to ensure I’m worthy of his attention, Orion is all over me, climbing on my back and asking for piggie-back rides. I pick him up and swing him around until we both collapse in giggles on the floor. But whereas I’ve had my quota of rough and tumble, it looks like he’s only just begun, as he launches into another attack of ‘Jess the human jungle gym’.

“
He’ll do that as long as you let him, Jessie,” Morning observes as she walks over to greet me with a big bear hug. “Mind he doesn’t break one of your ribs. He’s stronger than he looks, you know.”

Despite the fact her parents were clearly smoking something
very suspicious when they named her, Morning is a fantastic person. She’s so warm and sweet - the sort of person you could tell anything to without fear of being judged. She is, nevertheless, a strong woman, not an airy-fairy type, and a good match for Dad.

When they first got together after the divorce I have to admit I was pretty sceptical about her, particularly after I learnt her name was
Morning Honey. I mean, how can you take someone called Morning Honey seriously? I thought she’d be some hippy throwback, all peace, hemp and tofu. I do admit there’s a bit of that going on, but after I met her when she and Dad got serious, I found out she’s so much more than just some New Age, hippy stereotype.

***

After a long, deep sleep I wake up the following morning to the sound of Orion chatting away to himself as he plays in the room next to me and the clink of dishes being washed as Morning and Dad talk in hushed tones in the kitchen. I notice my phone on top of my suitcase and decide to switch it off.

There’s
absolutely no one I want to hear from right now, I realise with a small jolt.

I hear a knock on my door and Dad’s voice, asking if I’m awake and offering
me a cup of chamomile tea. I get up, throw on my dressing gown, and the two of us go and sit together outside in Nelson’s brilliant morning sun.

They live in
a really beautiful part of the country, about a forty-minute drive from Nelson city. Their aim is to be fully self sufficient, which they achieve for the most part, thanks to their livestock and gardens, but I’ve got to say I’m glad they buy their milk from a local farmer because the only milk they produce themselves is from Sue Ellen, their scruffy looking goat.

“
So what’s going on Jess?” Dad asks in his soft-spoken, kindly way. “Are you ready to talk?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I reply.

After my display at the airport Dad must know I’m not
exactly doing so well, but he’s been respectful of my need for space.

“
I hardly know where to start,” I say.

I take a sip of my cham
omile tea, wish it were brandy - for medicinal purposes only, you understand - and launch into how my life back in Wellington has become one big mess. It all comes out - Morgan’s disappearance, my struggles with Estil, my apparently God-given ability to act as an arsehole magnet in the love department.

Dad listens to me, only talking when he needs me to clarify something,
and thankfully not once passing judgment.

“
You’ve had a few setbacks with your business. Tell me what new business hasn’t? But, Jessie, if you think Estil is your path then you need to pursue it. Don’t be put off by what’s happened. And you’ve proven you can do it on your own too. I’m proud of you.”

“
Thanks, Dad. And when things have gone well, I’ve totally loved it.”

“
You see? Focus on that.” He smiles at me.

“
Yeah, I guess. And something else too. I’d thought I wanted to be a stylist to bring a little bit of London glamour to Wellington. You know, style it up a bit? But what I’ve found I really love about it is helping people.”

“
Really?” Dad looks amused.

I roll my eyes at him.
“I know what you’re going to say - there was always going to be a ‘deeper level of satisfaction’ to this, or something like that.”

“
Me? Never,” he mocks.

“
Well, you were right. Seeing these women transform into much more confident versions of themselves feels great, and it didn’t really occur to me I’d like that aspect of it so much. To be honest, it’s become the main thing for me.”

Dad’s beaming.
“I’m really happy for you, Jessie.”

“
And there’s another thing.” I look at him dubiously, hesitant to put my feelings for Ben into words. “I think I’ve fallen in love with someone.”

As the words fall out of my mouth my stomach feels like it wants to escape through my mouth.
I’m in
love
with him? Wow, that certainly slipped out unexpectedly.

I sit
and think about it for a while, too stunned by my own admission to speak, and realise yes, I do love him. I love Ben. And I’ve loved him for a long, long time, since our incredible, heart-stopping kiss we’d shared in London.

I’d always thought the way I’d felt about him was just as a really great mate, someone I could rely on, have fun with, someone
who ‘got me’. I was attracted to him, sure - I’m not made of wood, you know - but chiefly he’s just the person I feel the most comfortable and happy with in the world.

I feel momentarily elated, but quickly come crash
ing back to Earth when I remember I can’t have him.

“
Oh?” Dad questions, oblivious to the emotional Olympic high jump going on in my head.

“
Yeah. But the thing is, he’s with someone else, seems really happy with her, so I can’t go there. Classic Jess, eh Dad? I sure can pick ‘em.” I manage a weak laugh at the ludicrous state of my love life. “But the thing is… well… this one’s different.”

“
How so?”

“
Well,” I pause, then look away, unable to look him in the eye, and instead announce to the large flax next to the patio, “it’s Ben.”

“
Ben? Your friend from varsity?” he asks.

I nod
, biting my bottom lip.

“
Well, he’s a really centred guy, Jessie. Have you told him how you feel?”

“Hell
, no!” I sputter. Just the thought of it makes me want to shrivel up and die!

“
I don’t want to mess up our friendship, plus, he’s with someone else, Dad. It wouldn’t be right.”

“
Jessie love, it’s noble of you to respect his partner’s feelings. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“
What do you mean? I should tell him how I feel?” I question.

“
Why not?”

“
Why not?
Are you kidding, Dad? What if he gets freaked out and tells me to take a flying leap? I’m not sure I could handle that kind of rejection, not when Scott’s just done the dirty on me. I’m not exactly on top of the world, here.”

“
I know. But Ben’s a decent man. He’ll treat you properly, no matter how he feels about you. Jessie, you know what William Shedd said? “A ship is safe in harbour, but that’s not what ships are for”.”

What’s he going on about? Ships? What’ve ships got to do with Ben and me?

Dad notices me looking confused and smiles good-humouredly. “I mean, you need to have courage, in whatever you do in life. You can’t always choose the easy path, the safe harbour. If you do, you may never end up really living.”

I look out at the view, breathing in the fresh, warm air
, thinking about what Dad’s saying. I suppose he’s got a point, I’ve really got nothing to lose. I can’t stand to be around Ben with Jia, and I’ve always subscribed to the view ‘patience is a virgin’, and who wants to be a twenty-eight year old virgin, even if it is just metaphorical? If I tell him how I feel and he isn’t into me, sure it’ll get weird between us, but it won’t last forever. We can still be mates.

Can’t we?

Dad interrupts my train of thought. “I know it must have been hard for you to come back home.”

“
Yeah, it was. Damned visa. I miss London,” I reply.

My heart aches for
my old, uncomplicated life more than ever right now. Although I have to admit, hanging with Dad in the sun, listening to the birds and smelling the fresh country air has its distinct advantages, despite the ghastly chamomile tea. Give me a Wellywood coffee any day.

“
That’s not what I mean, Jess. I mean coming back to what happened before,” Dad continues.

Before I have the opportunity to ask him what he’s talking about Orion comes charging out onto the patio, hurls himself at me,
screaming, “Jessie! Jessie! We’re going to the beach!”

He’s dressed in his
swimming togs, which are very different from togs in my childhood. We were all about skimpy bikinis and little shorts, getting as much sun exposure as we could. These days kids look like a throwback to the modesty of Victorian times in their full bodysuits for maximum skin coverage.

He bounces up and down on my lap and h
is enthusiasm is so infectious it pulls me out of my self-reflection.

“
Wow, that sounds so cool. Can I come?” I ask him.

“
Yes! You have to! Jessie! Jessie!”

“
Sorry to interrupt your father-daughter time.” Morning is standing in the doorway wearing a huge floppy sun hat and holding a rattan beach bag in one hand. “He’s so excited about you being here and I promised him you’d be keen to come to the beach. Is that good for you?”

“
I would love to go to the beach! Bet you I can build a bigger sandcastle than you,” I say to Orion as I tickle his tummy and he breaks into a fresh wave of giggles.

What is it about kids’ laughter? Watching Orion cracking up and wriggling around on my lap, his head thrown back as he laughs like there’s no tomorrow
, I can’t help but break into a smile myself. Kids are good for the soul, no matter what sort of emotional quagmire your head might be stuck in.

***

As I get my beach things together and pluck up the courage to throw on my bikini, I can’t help but think about what Dad had said about coming back to my old life in Wellington. He must have been referring to Lindsay’s suicide and the aftermath that followed, the different ways in which we all chose to handle it.