Page 14 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop (Vintage Dress Shop Romance #3)
I t was no wonder that Phoebe woke up in such a good mood, despite all the horrible things that had occurred the day before.
Freddy was delighted that Phoebe had bought everything he needed for a decent breakfast. Though bacon and eggs – the bacon the right kind of crispness, the eggs the right kind of runniness – were beyond her rudimentary culinary skills.
Still Freddy was happy to cook as he demolished slice after slice of toast straight from the grill.
He didn’t even point out, as he usually did, that it was weird that Phoebe didn’t have a toaster.
‘Carbs are a part of a balanced diet,’ he’d always say when Phoebe pointed out that bread was the enemy of anyone who wanted to be able to fit into the good vintage.
It wasn’t an argument they had this morning. Phoebe even had a piece of toast with her bacon and eggs, which also delighted Freddy, as he was always gently chiding her for not eating enough.
Then they set off on a Sunday stroll along the canal path. It was bracingly cold. Not even autumn cold but the-promise-of-winter cold, the air crisp, so they could see their breath like clouds of tiny dragon smoke. The October sun glinted off the diamanté collar Coco Chanel was wearing.
Sunday in Primrose Hill, and their little patch of north London, was lovely, especially as there was very little chance of bumping into anyone from the shop while they did their usual Sunday activities.
A long walk was one of them, unless it was raining.
Both Phoebe and Coco hated the rain. Coco, most of all.
Sometimes they’d walk along the canal until they came to King’s Cross and Islington, or head in the other direction towards Little Venice.
Sometimes they stayed closer to home and walked around Regent’s Park.
Then Freddy would buy a stack of Sunday papers and they’d decamp to one of their favourite places for a Sunday lunch, so long and late that it was almost Sunday dinner.
It was six o’clock by the time they left a little gastro pub in Islington.
Phoebe felt unpleasantly full. She’d had roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings then half of Freddy’s apple crumble and custard.
The waistband of her high-waisted reproduction jeans (it was perfectly all right to buy reproduction jeans in a vintage cut, ’cause good luck trying to buy the genuine article) was digging into her.
She was also glad she was wearing Chuck Taylors.
(Old-skool Chuck Taylors were fine but trainers, any trainers, were absolutely not.) A full stomach and high heels were never a good combination.
The clocks were going back in a couple of weeks but dusk was already scurrying in, the sun low and pale orange as it descended behind wispy grey clouds.
The Sunday scaries were also settling in.
Even though it had been years since Phoebe left school, on Sunday evenings she still had that feeling like she hadn’t done her homework.
A creeping dread of what the new week might bring.
It never went away and now she couldn’t help but shiver.
‘Are you cold?’ Freddy asked immediately. ‘I don’t mind getting an Uber home.’
‘I’m fine,’ Phoebe assured him with a smile so Freddy would know this wasn’t one of those occasions when she said she was fine even though she was absolutely fuming about something. ‘Bus or Tube? Or we could walk back. I need to work off that crumble. You’re such a feeder!’
‘Nonsense,’ Freddy said, eyes gleaming in the glow of the streetlights that had just come on. ‘I had to fight you off that crumble. Look! Poor Coco is done in. Let’s get the bus.’
It was true. Coco Chanel had refused to stand on her own four paws and was snoozing in Freddy’s arms after a long walk and well, Phoebe knew that Freddy had been feeding her off his plate when she wasn’t looking and she hoped that there would be no dire consequences to this at three in the morning.
There was quite a wait for the infrequent single-decker 274 and it was packed when it arrived. Standing room only but Phoebe was happy to eke out these last few minutes with Freddy.
Even though when they got off the bus at Gloucester Avenue, with a five-minute walk back to their respective places, he tried to shrug casually. ‘You’re welcome to come back to mine for the night?’
That wasn’t part of the Sunday routine and Freddy knew that. ‘I’ve things to do, places to be,’ Phoebe said though there was a small part of her that would quite like to curl up on Freddy’s sofa and watch another couple of episodes of Mad Men .
‘Worth a try.’ Freddy frowned. ‘I don’t like the thought of you on that boat when these cold, dark nights are coming in. And you must remember to get the wood burner serviced. You will, won’t you?’
Phoebe couldn’t help but roll her eyes. ‘Yes, yes. I said I would.’
Freddy, after all this time, was immune to Phoebe rolling her eyes.
‘Also, thinking ahead to tomorrow and work, all I’m asking for is a little attitude adjustment as we head into our busiest time of the year.
I know the shop is really stressful in the run-up to Christmas, and it would make everyone’s life, especially yours, easier. ’
All those carbs and quite a lot of red wine had mellowed Phoebe out and her hackles refused to rise.
‘Maybe I could do a little fine-tuning of the attitude,’ she agreed and was rewarded with one of Freddy’s best smiles, where his whole face crinkled up and he looked at Phoebe as if she was the reason, the sole reason, that the sun rose every morning and birds sung in the trees.
It was that good of a smile. So she didn’t add, as she’d been planning to, that ninety-five per cent of the time, her attitude was entirely justified.
‘I have every confidence in you,’ he said, earnestly, sincerely.
He was the only person who did, so Phoebe, again, stayed at a steady three. Anyway, she knew that even if adjusting her attitude proved impossible, maybe she could try to make a couple of very small changes.
She let him walk her and Coco to the little street that led down to the canal path and, after both of them looking around furtively, Phoebe kissed him goodbye.
As she watched him stride away, one hand raised in a farewell salute, she couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. But then she lifted her head up, straightened her shoulders ( ‘you really don’t want a dowager’s hump, Phoebe’ ) and headed back to The Sheila .
There was a Sunday evening routine too, although it was less fun and Freddyless. It involved laundry, which also involved a lot of handwashing as Phoebe had a lot of clothes that couldn’t be trusted to a washing machine’s cruel embrace.
Then there was the housework. Phoebe tried to keep the boat tidy (there was a reason why shipshape was an actual word) but on Sunday evenings, she made sure that absolutely everything was in its correct place.
Clothes hung up or neatly folded. She swapped out Coco Chanel’s stinky blankets for freshly laundered ones and deep-cleaned her water bowl, food bowl and beloved Chuckit!
ball. Then she wiped down all the surfaces, hoovered and mopped the floors.
It was a habit that Mildred had instilled in Phoebe.
‘If you start the week in a mess, then you’ll end the week in a worse mess,’ she’d always said as she’d shown Phoebe how to keep a tidy house.
The best way to clean glasses so they didn’t go smeary.
To keep your dusters separate from your dishcloths and how most household problems could be solved with bicarbonate of soda, white vinegar and a hell of a lot of elbow grease.
So when Phoebe woke up on Monday morning to a calm and clean atmosphere, she felt calm and cleansed herself.
What had happened on Saturday at the shop was in the past. It was a new week. A fresh start. A do-over.
As she and Coco Chanel walked to work, she really was full of resolve and a better attitude. After all, what was it that Mildred had also always said? ‘Kill people with kindness.’
When Cress and Sophy turned up ten minutes late, Phoebe didn’t want to kill them at all. Maybe lightly maim them. Neither of them had backed her up on Saturday. Cress had been keeping secrets and it was Sophy who’d brought that influencing, dress-ripping monster to the shop in the first place.
But no! Phoebe was going to be the bigger person. So she managed a smile. A very, very small smile but at least the corners of her lips were in an upward position.
Not that either of them seemed to notice. Cress wasn’t even looking at Phoebe but was staring down at her shoes as if she suspected that she’d tracked something awful in, and Sophy had her phone in her hand, no surprise there, but then she suddenly thrust it in Phoebe’s face.
‘Oh my God, Pheebs, what have you done?’ she exclaimed.
‘I haven’t done anything,’ Phoebe said hotly, taking the phone from Sophy or risk getting a black eye from it.
It was open on TikTok and Phoebe wasn’t quite sure what she was watching. Or rather she hoped that actually she was still asleep and this was all a very bad dream.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
Cress looked up, despair etched into every millimetre of her face. ‘You’ve gone viral,’ she said. ‘And not in a good way either.’