Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (25 page)

Moving to London had felt like leaving all those feelings behind,
moving onto a new chapter in my life. Man had it worked. As far as denial is concerned, moving to one of the most distracting cities in the world is a pretty darn good option. I’d barely given Lindsay a second thought while I’d lived there, I was too busy with my new friends, having fun and being a twenty-something singleton, living the life.

B
ut Dad’s right, coming back to Wellington has brought it all back up to the surface again, whether I want it there or not. Although I think Laura’s been pretty harsh on me over the whole Scott thing, she has a point. I didn’t want to stick around and face the effect Lindsay’s death had on all of us. It was so much easier to get on a plane and move away. And not just to another city, but to a whole other country on the other side of the world.

Man, how
transparent can I have been? I’d may as well have just stuck some big feathery wings on, poked my head into the sand and been done with it.

“
Ready to go?” Dad knocks on my open door, breaking my train of thought.

“
Yeah. It’ll be nice to have a day at the beach. Where are we heading? Tahunanui? I love that beach.”

“
Then Tahuna it is,” he replies. “Hey, Jess. I hope things are all right after our chat. You looked unsettled by my reference to how you coped with Lindsay’s passing.”

“
Yeah, I was a bit, but I know what you mean. And I know you of all people will see this is totally crap, Dad, but I hadn’t even thought about it. I was too busy hating being back in Wellington because it wasn’t London. I hadn’t exactly joined the dots.”

“
That maybe you were unhappy because of a lack of closure on Lindsay?” he asks.

I laugh.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, but yes, you’re right. Unfinished business, I guess.”

“
Well, you can’t undo what’s been done, love. But what you can do is face up to it.”

“
How’d you get so wise, Dad?” I laugh, shaking my head.

“
Years of living with your mother.” He rolls his eyes and we both laugh. “Come on, let’s get going. Orion is already in the car and it’s a decent drive to the beach. And Jess, you know I’ll never think you’re “crap”, as you put it.”

“
I know, Dad. But you’re a completely deluded old man, you know that?”

We walk arm in arm to the car where Orion is perched on top of his booster seat, yelling excitedly at us to hurry up
so we can get to the beach to build sandcastles. I sit next to him in the backseat and listen as the family chats away happily about the beach and general, random stuff of little consequence, feeling happy to be immersed in family life, all the while thinking about how things could be different for me back in Wellywood.

After the best part of a week in Nelson - playing with Orion, swimming at the beach, relaxing in the sun, and eating
a
lot
of fruit - I begin to feel as though I can go home. Although I’m not big on the whole self-reflection malarkey and never will be, my talks with Dad have really made me think.

It’s time to go back to Wellington and face the music as they say
. I have things to do and people to see and none of them are at my Dad’s lifestyle block. So I buy a flight back to Wellington online and start to formulate a plan of attack to pull my life back together and make a real go of it in Wellywood.

“
It’s been so wonderful having you in our home, Jessie. We all hope you come back soon and stay for longer next time.”

The whole family has come to the airport to see me off and Dad is saying his final farewell as we stand at the gate where my flight has already started boarding.

I hug him, feeling a couple of disobedient tears welling in my eyes.

“
Thanks, Dad. I love you. And thanks Morning. It’s been so great hanging out with you guys.”

“
It’s our pleasure, Jess. You know you’re always, always welcome, don’t you?” Morning hugs me, wrapping her brightly coloured kaftan around me. She doesn’t realise just a few seasons ago she was the height of fashion. But somehow I suspect she wouldn’t really care much about that.

“
Remember, Jess. Ships shouldn’t just anchor in harbours,” Dad says to me.

“
I will, Dad. Thanks,” I laugh.

Dad
and his ships.

They all wave at me as I walk out towards my plane, feeli
ng hot in the baking Nelson sun, dressed ready for the Wellington weather onslaught. I wave back and turn towards the plane on the tarmac.

This is it, Jess. It’s time to make my life
back in Wellington work.

***

Switching my phone back on as I wait for my bag at Wellington airport I receive a slew of emails, texts and voicemails. As I scroll through them I notice quite a number are from Ben asking where I am and if everything’s all right. I send him a quick text telling him I’d been at my Dad’s and there’s no coverage there (lie), I’m doing fine (partial lie), and will catch up with him soon (the thought of seeing him makes my stomach do backflips).

I
’m then surprised to spot a text from Morgan.

Hey Jess. Sorry
about Doreen’s Bakery. Can explain. Call me!

And another one.

You OK?

And then another.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Please call.

Feeling calm
I decide I’ve really got nothing to lose, so I dial her number and she answers immediately.

“
Jess! Oh I’m so glad you called! Where’ve you been?”

At the utter irony of this question I alm
ost laugh out loud. “In Nelson with Dad, Morning and Orion.”

“
So are you back? Can we meet? I’m so, so sorry, Jess. I’ve been such a bitch. But I can explain. Please.”

A small part of me wants to make her
beg for my forgiveness after what she’s put me through, but, almost against my will, I feel myself warm to her. She wants to apologise and explain - I should give her that, in the very least.

“
Sure, Morgs. I’m just at the airport waiting for my bag so maybe later?”

“
Perfect! I’ll jump in the car and come and get you. I’ll meet you upstairs at the Mojo in fifteen minutes.”

“
Sure, why not? I could do with a coffee,” I shrug.

Although I’m feeling
generous I’m not exactly looking forward to seeing her, especially after the way I stood up to her on the phone the night of the Wearable Arts gala dinner. I’ve actually never done that with Morgan before.

Without really consciously
being aware of it, I’ve always let her be the one to call the shots, and we’ve both been comfortable with the arrangement. But she left me holding the proverbial baby, so I’m keen to exercise the new, revised Jessica. So Mojo in fifteen minutes it is.

True to her word, Morgan arrives at the café fifteen minutes later.
She looks just the same as always - totally put together in her black chiffon top, skinny black pants and killer heels.

She
looks so much like she did the last day I saw her it’s almost like she hasn’t even done a disappearing act for the last few weeks. But then I’m not quite sure how that should look.

She approaches the table I’m sitting at.

“Hi, Jess,” she says tentatively. She looks at me hopefully, no doubt wondering if we’re going to have a repeat of our last conversation.

“Hi
, Morgan.” I give her what I hope is a self-confident, calm and in control look while a small group of circus performers do silent cartwheels in my stomach.

She sits down at the table and has the civility to look ashamed.
“Jess, I know I left you in the lurch with Estil, and I’m so, so sorry, but I had to get away. Things got too bad and I needed some space.”

She looks so
truly sorry I want to forgive her there and then and the old Jessica would have, but I really have changed. I’m no longer just the underpaid, undervalued assistant, eager to learn. I’ve been running the show for some time now, all by myself.

T
here are a few things that maybe haven’t gone as well as planned - drunk middle-aged women in inappropriate short sequined dresses perhaps being the highlight - but I’ve been gaining in confidence and really feel like I can do this styling gig for real now.

“
Thanks for your apology. So, tell me about it. I think I deserve to know what’s been going on.”

“
That’s fair. But you have to promise me you won’t freak,” she says.

How can anyone promise they won’t freak about something when they don’t know what it is? But I think making this point may be somewhat counterproductive right now, so I nod and
reply, “I promise.”

“
The reason I’ve been gone for a while and I left without telling you or Dave or anyone is …. well… I’ve met someone.”

“
Oh. Who?” I enquire.

“
It doesn’t really matter
who
, Jess. The fact of the matter is I fell in love and was so blindsided by it that we decided the best thing for us was to leave Wellington for a while, to work out what we were doing and how we could make things work.”

“
But what was with all the secrecy? I mean, you didn’t even tell Dave you’d left, just sent him a one-word text saying you were sorry. I went to see him, Morgs. He was destroyed.”

She looks down at the table
, ashamed. “I know. I’ve been over to talk to him now and he understands why I’ve left him, and I’ve apologised for being so…”

“
Selfish?” I offer.

“
Yeah. I deserve that. I know I was selfish. I was just not expecting to fall in love, Jess.”

That strikes a nerve
. Yep, there’s certainly a bit of that going around right now.

“
But what about Dave? I suppose it’s over now?” I ask.

She nods grimly.

“Did you just fall out of love with him, or what?”

“
I know this is going to sound really lame, but I don’t think I was actually ever
in
love with him. At the time he was such an easy option, you know? He was kind and caring, had a great place in Mt Vic. I know that sounds shallow but I needed some stability, a sane influence in my life.”

“
But you were together for four years, Morgs. That’s a really long time.”

“
I know. I think I needed him, the sort of person he is. But now I don’t. I think I’m more ‘me’ than I’ve been in years. Maybe ever. Does that make sense?”

“
I guess.” If she’d said this just a few days ago I would have thought she was talking out of her arse, but I get it now.

We all had our ways of coping with Lindsay’s death. This was just hers.

“
So you met this other guy, fell madly in love and decided to bail on Dave, on me, on Estil and skip the city for a while? Why did you need to do it? I’m your
friend
, Morgan. You could have talked to me about it. I’d have understood. You didn’t need to just bail like that.”

“Well, here’s the thing,”
she states, clearly nervous.

She pauses,
leaving me hanging and wondering what
the thing
could possibly be.

“
I left Dave, skipped out on you because I’d fallen for Pabla.”

“
Pabla? Like Pabl
o
? Is he Mexican?” I ask.

“
No, Jess,
she’s
not Mexican. She’s Spanish. Catalan, to be precise.”

I do a double
take, dropping the spoon I’m stirring my coffee with.
She
?

Undeterred by
errant cutlery, she perseveres with her explanation. “I fell in love with a woman, Jess. Her name is Pabla.”

She stops and looks intently at me
, clearly anxious and I don’t know quite what to say. I’d always expected I’d be as cool as a cucumber if any of my friends or family told me they were gay, congratulating them on their coming out with hugs and tears of happiness for them, thinking my social currency just went up a notch.

But
Morgan is the last person I’d expected to be in a relationship with another woman. To say she was popular with the opposite sex would be the understatement of the century - she had men eating out of the palm of her hand within moments of meeting them.

“
Well, say something,” she implores and I realise I’ve been sitting there, holding my cup half way up to my mouth, looking agog at her.

I finally rediscover the po
wer of speech.

“
Let me get this straight, Morgs. Sorry, no pun intended.” Feeling embarrassed at my unintentional faux pas I clear my throat. “You’re in a relationship with Pabla. From Spain. Pabl
a
.”

“
Yes, Jess!” She laughs. “I’m trying to come out to you!”

I think because
I’ve been pushed completely off balance by her confession, and it seems so utterly preposterous to me Morgan could be anything but straight, I burst into laughter. Luckily Morgan sees the humour in it and we both sit at our table laughing, grabbing our sides as they begin to ache, tears streaming down our faces.

After several amused looks from the other café patrons we finally pull ourselves together, wiping our eyes.

“You have to tell me everything. Where you met her, how you knew, how it feels. But first of all, I need to ask one thing.”

“
No Jess, I don’t fancy you. Never have. You’re so not my type.” Morgan rolls her eyes and smiles at me good-naturedly.

“
Good to know. It’s just you’re not made of wood,” I joke.

She read me like a book. I’d been thinking about the number of times we’d been in our knickers together, skinny-dipping with Lindsay, and assorted other potentially lesbian scenarios.
I know it’s a cliché but I needed to check.

“
Oh ha ha. You may be cute, Jess, but I’m not going there. Anyway, I’m absolutely one hundred per cent in love with Pabla. So you want to know the story?” she asks eagerly and I nod encouragingly at her.

“
Well, we met when she delivered a parcel to me. You see, I’d ordered these gorgeous shoes online and was just getting out of the shower when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there she was.”

“
Oh, please don’t tell me you dropped your towel and went for it on the kitchen floor,” I protest.

“
Ah, no. But thanks for lowering the tone to a pornographic level there, Jess,” she laughs.

“
Sorry. Go on.”

“
Well, I was kind of blindsided by it. I’d always thought women were sexy, you know, but other than the odd drunken snog I’d never really thought I’d be seriously attracted to a woman.”

“
So what happened?”

“
I ordered a hell of a lot of clothes online, that’s what happened.”

“
And Pabla delivered them all and you fell in love?”

“
Pretty much. We started seeing each other just before you got back from London. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it, Jess. It’s just I was so blown away by it all. I didn’t expect it to happen. Oh but she’s totes amazing. You’ll love her,” she gushes.

Something just occurs to me.
“Did she have anything to do with you having to run out of the appointment with Stephanie?”