Page 13 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop (Vintage Dress Shop Romance #3)

‘I understand that things have been difficult for you so far, but I’m not one to make many allowances,’ Mildred said.

‘I expect you to be polite at all times. Here, please and thank you are mandatory, not optional. As are attendance at school, a high standard of personal hygiene – your nails are filthy – and you’ll have responsibility for doing chores every day. ’

‘I’m not here to be a fucking skivvy,’ Phoebe snarled because she’d had placements like this before. Next to her on the sofa, Sangeet groaned but Mildred, who was sitting in an armchair, simply crossed her legs and eyed Phoebe over steepled fingers.

‘Sit up straight,’ she’d said. ‘If you keep slouching like that you’ll have a dowager’s hump before you’re twenty.’

Phoebe didn’t know what a dowager’s hump was but she also knew that she didn’t want one. She found herself straightening her spine, then wished she hadn’t when Mildred had allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.

‘Yes, I think we might rub along together quite well,’ she’d said and, strangely, they had.

Even during those first few weeks when Phoebe had pushed every button, strained against every boundary, because Mildred was going to kick her out sooner or later. Might as well be sooner. No point in delaying the inevitable.

But Mildred didn’t kick her out. She never even raised her voice. Not even the time she’d had to pick Phoebe up from the local police station after she’d been caught shoplifting.

‘Though why you’d want to steal that simply horrid piece of tat that you call a skirt is beyond me,’ she said as she marched up Kilburn High Road, her old-fashioned handbag looped over one arm.

‘Stealing from Selfridges or Harrods is one thing but from that dreadful little shop, Primark, well, really!’

‘So, I can steal from Selfridges then?’ Phoebe had scoffed.

‘You can but you’ll probably get caught again.

’ Mildred had slanted a look at Phoebe. It might have been a trick of the light but it seemed as if there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

‘You don’t seem to be very good at it. Besides, that skirt.

My dear, you shouldn’t wear pastel colours when you’re very clearly a true winter. ’

Now, Phoebe smiled as she thought about that moment when something had shifted in her relationship with Mildred. When she went from being a stuck-up old bat to well, maybe more than just a stuck-up old bat.

Her trip down memory lane was interrupted by her phone ringing.

She glanced down to see Freddy’s name flash up on the screen and her heart lifted because Freddy always had that effect on her and also she was so pleased to be back in the present and not the miserable, wretched past that she’d come from.

Then she remembered the unkind things Freddy had said to her earlier.

The phone stopped ringing. And not ten seconds later, it pinged with a message from Freddy: FFS Pheebs, pick up!

Then he rang again and with a deep sigh, Phoebe answered his summons but only so she could ask him coldly, ‘Did you want something?’

‘Phoebe,’ he said again, both exasperated and tender. ‘How long are you going to be mad at me?’

It wasn’t a FaceTime call but Phoebe just knew that his eyes were twinkling and that his smile was verging on a grin.

‘I don’t even know why you’re calling,’ Phoebe said stiffly. ‘Surely you’ve already said everything you wanted to say. Or is this part two of hauling me over the coals?’

Mindful that only a short flight of stairs and an open door separated them from the other members of staff who had to be tidying away at the end of the working day, she tried to keep her voice down.

‘What happens at work is one thing, what happens outside work is something else,’ Freddy said. ‘Separation of Church and State and all that. You were the one who insisted on that, remember?’

Phoebe had been quite right to insist on it too. What happened in the shop stayed in the shop, and what happened in Freddy’s attic flat very much stayed in Freddy’s attic flat. Because otherwise it would undermine Phoebe’s authority . . .

Talking of which . . . ‘Forgive me for not wanting to talk to someone who humiliated me in front of my staff.’

Freddy sighed again. Even before this, it seemed to Phoebe that Freddy had been sighing a lot lately when they were together. But she was how she was. He’d always known that.

And right now she was still furious but mostly hurt and she couldn’t see that changing any time soon.

‘I called to see if you wanted to come round tonight,’ he said because that was the thing about Freddy. He never stayed angry for long. Whereas Phoebe could stay angry for days, weeks, even whole decades. ‘It’s getting colder at night. I hate thinking of you and Coco on that boat.’

‘It’s perfectly warm on the boat if I light the wood burner,’ Phoebe whispered because she also didn’t want people, her colleagues, not even Cress, to know that she lived on a boat, rather than in a proper house.

‘I’ll come to you then.’

‘Why? So you can tell me off again?’

‘Phoebe, give me something to work with.’ Freddy was sounding really annoyed now and Phoebe hated it when Freddy was really annoyed.

‘OK, you can come round. I’ll cook,’ she offered, which was very generous of her given the circumstances.

‘You’ll cook?’ He was definitely grinning now. She’d bet an entire week’s worth of wages on it. ‘I guess I’m still in your bad books then.’

‘You are impossible,’ Phoebe said and she didn’t want to, but she was smiling too as she ended the call. Then she went up the stairs to check that order had been restored to the shop.

As the staff went about their usual closing rituals, not a word was said about Rosie Roberts or the dress she ruined.

In fact, everyone was a little subdued, which suited Phoebe just fine.

They all said their goodbyes and, as Freddy was coming over, Phoebe stopped at her local corner shop to get provisions.

Dogs weren’t allowed in the shop but Phoebe was a regular and Katya behind the counter turned a blind eye. There was absolutely no way that Phoebe was leaving Coco tied up outside like some unwanted parcel so someone could steal her.

She picked up some ingredients for dinner and a couple of bottles of red wine. Then because it was Freddy and he was always hungry and would be starving by morning, Phoebe added bacon, eggs and a loaf of bread to her little pile of groceries.

‘You haven’t got a bag for life?’ Katya asked, because although she pretended never to notice Coco Chanel tucked under Phoebe’s arm, she was always appalled if Phoebe didn’t have a bag for life.

‘Sorry, I forgot,’ Phoebe said meekly and though she wanted to point out that charging her 20p each for two very flimsy carrier bags was daylight robbery, she kept that thought to herself.

Katya was quite fond of banning people from her shop.

In fact, Phoebe had nothing but respect and admiration for the way that Katya established strict boundaries with her customer base and stuck to them.

Phoebe was relieved to climb onto the boat and ease out of her shoes and her work dress. If only it were as easy to shrug off all the stresses and strains of the day. She pinned up her hair and tied it in a vintage Hermès scarf – her best ever charity shop find – then set about making dinner.

She could only cook one thing. Pasta with pesto.

Pesto from a jar, not made from scratch.

Mildred had insisted that if Phoebe learned to cook, then some ‘feckless man will always expect you to be tied to the kitchen stove and you’ll never harness your full potential.

’ Which was why Mildred had tended to live off cup-a-soups and finger sandwiches, but Phoebe liked to think she had a more adventurous diet, though like Mildred she tried to avoid carbs.

Tonight, though she really needed carbs.

I’m putting the pasta on , she messaged Freddy, and not five minutes later, almost as if he’d been doing nothing but waiting on her summons, the boat rocked slightly as someone stepped aboard; then there was a light double knock at the door.

Their signal.

‘It’s open,’ Phoebe called out over Coco’s excited barks, because she also recognised that double knock.

Freddy brought the cold night air in with him. ‘You should lock the door,’ he said, as he always did. ‘It’s not safe.’

Phoebe paused from pouring Pinot Noir into two glasses. ‘It’s perfectly safe. Nothing and no one gets past Sadie and Gunther.’ It was true. Her yoga-loving neighbours seemed to be on a permanent lookout for ne’er-do-wells.

Freddy shrugged off his navy peacoat and hung it on the hook that Phoebe kept free for him. ‘Have you had the wood burner serviced like you said you would?’

Phoebe hadn’t. And also: ‘Are you trying to start an argument. Another argument?’

‘I’m not.’ Freddy rubbed a hand over his eyes. In the muted light of Phoebe’s big standard lamp and a couple of smaller table lamps, he seemed muted too. ‘I’m allowed to worry about you and Coco. It’s not a crime.’

She was perfectly capable of looking after herself and Coco and saving them both from the dangers of strangers and dodgy wood burners.

‘If you let yourself rely on a man, then you’ll be doomed to disappointment and you won’t be able to stand on your own two feet when he leaves.

Because, mark my words, Phoebe, nine times out of ten he will leave.

It’s not in most men’s natures to stay faithful.

’ It was another one of Mildred’s pieces of advice that Phoebe had taken to heart.

After all, it wasn’t just men who left, but pretty much everyone else in her life.

Until she’d come to stay with Mildred, who’d taught her how to look after herself, so Freddy didn’t need to worry about her.

But even though Phoebe didn’t need Freddy, she liked having him around. She liked it far more than she should. And now it was just the two of them (three, including CC) out of shop hours, the vibe was a lot more friendly than it had been earlier.

‘Oh, Freddy, please don’t look at me like that. Do you want a hug?’ she asked, holding her arms aloft, a wooden spoon clutched in her hand.

Freddy grinned and he was back to being her Freddy.

‘Babes, I know you hate hugging, but I really, really appreciate the offer.’ He took the few steps that had him standing next to Phoebe in her sliver of a galley kitchen so he could peer over her shoulder at the pan on the tiny hob.

‘I think that pasta is the perfect consistency between too hard and overcooked sludge.’

Because, contrary to popular opinion, Phoebe didn’t love arguing with people and also because she found it very hard to get pasta to the correct pasta-ness, she shot Freddy a grateful smile before she drained the pan.

Even remembering to keep a tiny bit of the pasta water to add to the pesto so it wasn’t too thick.

That was something Johnno had taught her.

It seemed to Phoebe that although she’d had very few people in her life who mattered, they’d all taught her important lessons.

Her mother had shown Phoebe that there was something utterly unlovable about her, and that people couldn’t ever be trusted or relied upon.

Then Mildred, the biggest influence on Phoebe, had shown her that it didn’t matter if people let you down, the important thing was to not let yourself down.

To wear your clothes and your make-up like armour and never forget your own worth.

Johnno was one of those men Mildred had warned her about.

He was completely unreliable; you could never count on him to be where he said he would be at any given time.

But he was still an inherently good person without a bad word to say about anyone.

Sophy might not have appreciated him but he’d given Phoebe a job, even a home, and good advice, which she never knew whether to take because usually it contradicted the advice that Mildred had given her.

Then there was Freddy. It didn’t matter what Phoebe threw at him – had literally thrown at him; there’d been that one time when he’d tried to coax her into a pair of trainers and she’d thrown them across the room – he put up with her.

He didn’t just put up with her, but accepted that she was who she was, in all her prickly, walls-up glory.

Phoebe didn’t know why he’d stuck around for as long as he had and she knew that one day, he’d leave.

Or rather he’d find a woman who was as cheery and sweet as he was and he could have a nice, uncomplicated sort of life with her.

It was one of the reasons why she still held back from being fully committed.

Freddy deserved so much better than the half relationship, which was all Phoebe could give him.

But for now, he was here, with Phoebe. It was after dinner – though she’d left the pasta in the colander too long while she faffed about with the pesto and it had clumped together – and they were doing what Phoebe secretly loved to do.

Which was to put on some music – tonight it was ‘Julie London’s Greatest Hits’ – so they could slow dance, Coco Chanel wedged between them, her paws resting on Freddy’s shoulders.

Then Freddy took Coco out for her last wee walk and they waited until she was tucked up in her own bed and snoring gently (or rather snoring like a cement mixer) before they retired to Phoebe’s bed.

It was another of Freddy’s most endearing qualities that when they made love, he never made Phoebe feel exploited or used. He made her feel as if she was precious and cherished, but also there was a thing he could do with his tongue that made her eyes roll back in her head.

He was the perfect blend of fun, faithful and absolutely filthy. Which was why she was so . . . that word again, fond of him.