Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
EVIE
Weeping all over your personal stylist was possibly not the done thing but Debbie took it all in her stride. I suspected I was not the first client to do this. She sat me down with a cappuccino and took the seat opposite.
After a moment, I told her about my mum and the silly reason I’ve been so resistant to thinking about clothes.
‘It sounds so stupid,’ I said, snuffling into a tissue she’d handed over from a small travel pack, in exactly the same way my mum used to.
‘I was so mad that she died and that she’d put so much effort into looking well turned-out all the time, and it hadn’t made any difference to life.
She still died. And isn’t that the stupidest thing you ever heard? ’
‘Not at all, I understand that,’ said Debbie, standing up and crossing to a rail of clothes. ‘Here,’ she said and held out a pair of wide-legged trousers in a dark navy. ‘Try these on.’ She ushered me to the curtained-off changing room.
As soon as I was inside, she passed through a white top and the cutest little boxy cashmere jumper, that was so soft I immediately stroked it across my cheek. A minute later, she handed me a pair of chunky loafers in studded black leather.
I assumed our conversation was done, but as I was buttoning the trousers in the cubicle, she started talking again.
‘You were trying to take control of a part of your life that you felt you could control. It’s a very normal response.
Clearly, clothes and her appearance were important to your mom, and a big part of who she was – if your reaction is anything to go by.
I think perhaps you’re avoiding thinking about your clothes, and the way you present yourself, so that you’re not constantly reminded of her.
It sounds as if you are deliberately hurting yourself.
If you don’t care, then you don’t have to care. ’
I swallowed a lump in my throat, so hard that it was painful. If you don’t care, then you don’t have to care.
The thought settled in my brain, and when I pulled the sweater over my head and slipped on the shoes, it was as if the movement of my body coordinated with my mind and when I stepped through the curtain, it all made sense.
I stared at her, struck by her point. She was right.
I’d deliberately stopped caring – not just about clothes, but lots of things – because …
what was the point. Nothing lasted. Good things got taken away from you. Lives, homes, security.
‘Do you have a degree in psychology or something?’ I asked her, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror and suddenly standing a little taller.
It made a change from feeling like the world around me was just a little too big and I was just a little bit too small.
For once, the image of me in the mirror looked like she had a place in the world and was worth noticing.
Debbie’s smile was soft, her eyes gentle. ‘Or something. There’s more to this job than colour wheels.’
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the mirror.
The colour of the jumper suited me, and the long, wide-leg trousers accentuated the length of my legs. Even though it was the simplest of outfits, I felt I could face anyone in this.
‘Lovely,’ said Debbie. ‘Now you dress this up or down.’ She held up a big, chunky gold necklace that mirrored the neckline of the jumper, folded the sleeves back a couple of turns, added a row of boho bracelets and then threaded a contrasting belt through the trouser loops and tucked one corner of the jumper into the belt.
‘Wow,’ I said.
‘Now, how do you feel?’ There was a directness in her bird-bright gaze that told me nothing less than honesty would do.
I huffed out an exasperated sigh. ‘Amazing.’ I turned and looked at myself over my shoulder. I sighed with pleasure. The shape of the soft wool outlined my broad shoulders and flattered my less-than-stellar boobs, giving me a bit of shape and femininity. It also felt so soft on my skin. I loved it.
She smiled, but it was a warm ‘I’ve got you’ smile rather than holding any sense of triumph or smug satisfaction. I got the impression she wanted me to be happy.
‘I’m thinking that you don’t like fuss or to look as if you’ve made too much effort. I think you want to keep your look clean and simple. And this look really suits you.’
I nodded, because she was right on all counts.
‘So, I’d suggest carrying this style through by adding another couple of sweaters in a different colour.’ She held up two very similar boxy-style jumpers, one in a deep russet colour with a twisted cable running down the middle and the other in a bright kingfisher blue. Both were gorgeous.
‘This gives you three basic outfits for everyday wear, that you don’t need to think about too much and if you need to be a bit fancier you accessorise with jewellery. I’ve got a selection here we can go through.’
For the next hour, she showed me how different colours and shapes looked, as well as making me try on costume jewellery that I’d never have picked in a million years.
I did a final twirl in the mirror, thrilled with what I saw.
‘You’re really good at this, and also the psychology stuff,’ I said.
She beamed at me. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. I’d been doing the job for six months when I decided to become a qualified counsellor. That was six years ago.’
It made perfect sense. She’d made me so at ease.
‘Now, you’ll need some smart clothes for evening wear, and you need a showstopper.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You should always have at least one of those in your wardrobe,’ she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. ‘And you need a dress for Christmas day. Lunch at The Plaza is quite a chi-chi occasion. You’ll want to look the part.’
While I tried on some black, wide-leg crepe trousers and the cutest little black, sleeveless waistcoat in the same fabric, Debbie disappeared, telling me she’d be right back.
As soon as I looked in the mirror, I loved the outfit, but looking at myself in it saddened me. Had I really let my grief control me so much?
When Debbie came back with an armful of more clothes, I found myself blurting out:
‘I went to a grief counsellor, a few times.’
I let it hang in the air for a minute. Debbie clearly picked up on the few times, I saw the quick quirk of her eyebrow but in that clever counsellor-y way she left me to fill the gap.
‘I couldn’t go back. I felt my grief was wrong, like I was wallowing in it, and I knew my mum would have hated that.’
Debbie stood behind me and gave the beaded top a little tug, making it sit better as she said, ‘There’s no such thing as the wrong sort of grief.
’ Her eyes met mine in the mirror. ‘I’m sure your mom would have understood that.
We all process things in different ways.
There are also different styles of counselling.
It takes a while to work with a counsellor for you to build trust.’
‘I didn’t want to forget my mum and I thought that’s what the counsellor wanted me to do. To carry on functioning when inside part of me felt dead and that it would never grow again.’
‘And how do you feel now?’ She hung a pendant around my neck.
‘There’s that same barren patch.’ I felt ashamed that I’d not been able to move on or at least reseed it. I missed my mum all the time. I clutched the pendant as if it was a talisman.
‘It might always be there but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the other things around it,’ said Debbie.
‘I’ve always wanted to come to New York. It was our dream.’
She did that eyebrow-lift thing again.
‘I wanted to come,’ I said, just a little defensively. ‘But maybe…’ I nodded in acknowledgement of the truth, ‘I felt I had to.’
I rubbed at the necklace. ‘I thought about making the trip loads of times but never quite got around to booking anything. When I won the competition, I thought it was a sign, reminding me that my trip was long overdue. I should have come before. I’d been delaying.
So, I wasn’t thinking straight. When the competition organisers – scammers, I realise now – said I had to pay upfront for the flights and hotel, I didn’t even think about it.
I just booked them before I could chicken out and let my mum down.
It never occurred to me that they wouldn’t reimburse me.
’ I swallowed back the shame of my stupidity, but Debbie gave me an understanding look.
‘You thought by not coming before that you were letting her down?’
I nodded miserably. ‘Taking the money from my flatmates was honestly a moment of madness. I told myself I was just borrowing it. I’d get it straight back.
But then, of course, it was a scam. And worse still, I should have realised because I’m a financial journalist for fuck’s sake.
I paid them back as soon as I could but it was too late.
Even though they took the TikTok reel down, by then the story had gone viral and everyone made their judgements about me.
I got suspended from my job. It’s not really a great look when you go to see the CEO of an investment bank and you’ve been very publicly exposed for borrowing money without asking. ’
Debbie winced in sympathy. ‘You have had a tough time. So, what are you going to do about it?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Are you going to lift your chin, learn a lesson and come back fighting – or are you going to take it on the chin and try to stay under the radar?’
‘Come back fighting,’ I said without a second thought.
‘I thought you’d say that.’ Debbie’s nod was approving.
‘And that’s where I come in. I’m going to give you some armour and a bit of advice.
’ Her expression became stern. ‘You talked about not being respected by the people you interview and work with. But I’d ask if you don’t care about your appearance and dress the way you do now, what sort of impression would that give.
It’s probably one of the few places of work where people of both sexes are still expected to be smart: suit, shirt and tie, dresses or pant suits.
You walk down Wall Street, you’ll see it. ’
‘But the way I dress doesn’t affect my job,’ I protested. She gave me the eyebrow treatment again.
‘It affects how people perceive how well you can do your job. If I was wearing overalls, spattered with food, would you consider me as qualified to be your personal stylist or if the guy serving in the canteen was dressed like that, how would you feel about the canteen’s hygiene standards?
‘Clothes can also shift a perception. One moment, forgive me for being blunt, you’re the ugly-sobbing girl in sweats, with a mascara-streaked face and wild hair.’ She steered me back to look in the mirror. ‘But you don’t look anything like her now.’
My heart sank. ‘You’ve seen the video?’
Debbie nodded. ‘I can tell you straight, now I’ve met you, you are not that girl. You’re so much more and you need to start showing people. You’re smart, intelligent, funny, sweet and kind and thoughtful.’
‘Wow, you got all that already?’
‘Seven seconds.’ She winked. ‘Body language tells a lot, too. And,’ she looked at her watch, ‘we’ve been doing plenty of talking. I had something in mind originally but,’ she shook her head, ‘I had to make a quick adjustment because that’s not who you are or who you want to be.’
Intrigued, I asked, ‘What did you have in mind, originally?’
‘I thought you’d be an influencer, keen to show off that you’re on top of the latest trends and want to be showy, but that’s not you at all.
So, I put back the winter high fashion and went for something more subtle.
At work, you want them to take you seriously and you need a new job …
so you need something else entirely. You’re tall, with long legs and those broad shoulders.
You can really pull off a pant suit and I have just the designer for you.
One suit, a couple of really severe white shirts and a handbag that pops with colour. Come on. We’ve only just got started.’
* * *
Debbie also insisted on taking me to the hair salon where they braided my hair into a cool fishtail, which looked great with my new wide-leg trousers, chunky cream sweater and a fabulous pair of thick-soled black ankle boots.
By mid-afternoon, a manicure and a pedicure later – my nails scarlet, with the cutest little holly leaves on the tips of my index finger – Debbie declared her work was done.
I had a pile of new clothes and a special dress for Christmas Day.
As she packed everything up, my stomach had taken to vociferously complaining with loud, very unladylike rumbles, which made her giggle – though that could have been because she was happy with her work.
Not long after, I swanned into the hotel lobby like I was Julia Roberts, a fistful of expensive shopping bags in hand.
‘Somebody’s been shopping,’ said Danny opening the door for me. ‘Can I give you a hand with anything?’
‘I’m good, thank you,’ I said with a broad grin, giving him a little twirl and showing off my fabulous new Burberry trench coat.
I was just opening my room door when Noah’s opened. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, and it was gratifying when he did a double take.
‘Where’s Evie Green and what have you done with her?’ he asked.
‘Have you considered stand-up if the football doesn’t work out?’ I asked sweetly.
‘No.’
‘Just as well,’ I replied with a faux smile. ‘You’d starve.’ I swanned through the doorway without looking back and closed the door behind me, grinning at scoring yet another point.