Page 43 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop (Vintage Dress Shop Romance #3)
I t was only slightly awkward on Monday morning. Mostly because Phoebe had to return Sophy’s trainers, which she’d borrowed the day before because drinking two nights on the trot had meant she was hungover again and couldn’t do heels.
‘It will be our little secret,’ Sophy said. She cast her eyes to the ceiling of the back office. ‘But only because I didn’t have the foresight to take a picture of you yesterday morning in your tight little black dress with a pair of green Adidas Gazelles on your feet.’
‘I hate you,’ Phoebe told her but Sophy just laughed because Phoebe’s power was no longer absolute. Her authority had been completely undermined with very little chance of ever returning.
‘Actually, you don’t. In fact, I think I’m growing on you,’ Sophy said, which was sort of true but Phoebe just rolled her eyes.
‘Stop talking nonsense and let’s get the Monday morning meeting done and dusted,’ she said and soon they were all gathered on the pink sofas to plan the week ahead.
The plan was much the same as ever: to sell dresses. A lot of dresses. It was now just touching December, their busiest month, and time for Phoebe to broach the subject of the shop opening late night Wednesday through Saturday and even opening on Sundays too.
There was a collective groan as Phoebe announced the extended hours. ‘Yes, it’s a lot of extra work but it makes sense to stay open longer. Not that the shop is in financial trouble, not at all, but there is a cost of living crisis and I’m sure all our outgoings will increase in the new year.’
‘Oh my God, are our jobs in trouble?’ Anita exclaimed with what seemed to be genuine panic. ‘Who else would employ me?’
It was a very good question. Who else would employ Anita, or Phoebe for that matter?
‘Everything’s good,’ Bea said firmly. ‘But they’ll be even better if we’re making as much profit as possible. Especially when it comes to our annual bonuses.’
Johnno, bless his heart, always made sure there was a decent bonus in their last pay packet of the year, which was very welcome when January seemed to last forever and they’d all overspent on Christmas.
‘Also, opening for slightly longer means that there will be overtime and the undying gratitude of a lot of disorganised women who’ve left their party outfits and Christmas presents to the last minute,’ Phoebe said.
‘I’d much rather have the overtime,’ Anita muttered, her questionable work ethic back in the room with them.
‘Well, I think that’s everything,’ Sophy said as the door opened and the first customer of the week walked in.
Except it wasn’t a customer, but Freddy.
It used to be that Phoebe saw Freddy every day. Messaged back and forth constantly.
Now, it wasn’t the case that absence made the heart grow fonder. Rather, just seeing him, standing by the door, hands in his trouser pockets, made her heart ache.
‘Don’t mind me,’ he said, although all Phoebe could do was mind him. ‘Just pretend that I’m not here.’
It was an order that Phoebe was happy to obey but Coco didn’t have to hide her feelings. She went barrelling over to Freddy and did a drop and roll to get his hands on her belly.
Over the sounds of Coco’s contented little grunts, Phoebe realised that Bea was saying something to her.
‘Sorry, Bea, I didn’t catch that.’
Bea held up her phone. ‘I was just saying we’ve hit thirty thousand followers on Instagram, which is immense but also there’s a lot of media requests coming in.’
‘What kind of media requests?’ Phoebe asked in alarm. ‘Do they want to do a piece on the shop?’
Bea’s smile drooped. ‘Actually, they want to interview you.’
Phoebe didn’t even have to think about it. She knew where her strengths lay and also what her many weaknesses were. ‘I really don’t think I should be doing interviews.’
Bea couldn’t hide her relief. Her shoulders, which had been up around her ears, went back to their usual position.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Freddy, even though he was meant to be a silent presence.
His words were just a little more hurt to add to the pile of hurts Phoebe had already accumulated over a lifetime.
Which was one of the reasons why she didn’t want to go anywhere near a journalist. Not just because she was bound to say the wrong thing.
Many wrong things. As soon as she got on to her favourite topic of vintage dresses, all bets were off.
But also she didn’t want anyone prying into her life. Ferreting out all the secrets that she’d buried. It’s not as if she was Kardashian famous but people seemed to end up in the papers and all over the internet for not very much.
‘Maybe we could make a fun reel with Phoebe in it?’ Sophy suggested. ‘Give the people what they want without saying anything.’
‘Like Kate Moss,’ Cress added before Phoebe could analyse Sophy’s statement for hidden meanings then take offence at them. ‘She’s had a whole career without giving interviews.’
‘Phoebe’s hardly Kate Moss,’ Anita snorted as if the camaraderie of the weekend had already been forgotten. ‘But you are ridiculously photogenic and you wear a little black dress like nobody else.’
‘Are you after a pay rise or something?’ Phoebe asked because old habits died hard.
Anita shook her head. ‘Dude, learn how to take a compliment.’
Phoebe could feel herself blushing both from the compliment and because she was so aware of Freddy’s presence, his gaze on her. It was as if the top layer of her skin had been removed, leaving her exposed and sensitive.
‘Maybe Birdy might have some ideas,’ she mumbled and she’d never been so glad to see the door open, hear the tinkle of the bell as an actual customer came in to the shop. ‘Right, OK, I think we’re done. Great work, team!’
‘Are you still drunk?’ Anita said teasingly as they dispersed, and that was another thing that happened when you let your guard down: people stopped taking you seriously.
Or maybe the lines between friends and colleagues had become so blurred . . .
‘Phoebe, can I have a word?’ Freddy asked.
That was no longer the cue for the two of them to hide in the basement and not actually do anything because of the fear of being discovered but there’d still be some low-level flirting.
‘The back office?’ Phoebe suggested because there was going to be no low-level flirting so Freddy might as well say whatever it was he had to say in plain sight.
Freddy followed Phoebe through the shop, then he closed the door of the back office behind him, so it was just the two of them.
‘How are you?’ he asked earnestly.
‘I’m fine,’ Phoebe said.
‘Because you didn’t come to the pub on Friday night. Is that a new thing then?’ he wanted to know, which was none of his business anymore.
Not that Phoebe could tell him that. She wanted to but also she was tired of lashing out.
She didn’t want to be that person anymore.
‘Marianne had her Christmas shopping evening,’ Phoebe said.
Then she blushed again because even though it was still a slightly throbbing ache on her wrist, she’d forgotten about the tattoo.
Just like she’d forgotten about it until she got home from Saturday night’s sleepover. She’d been desperate for a shower so she hadn’t even been paying any particular attention as she peeled off the bandage that was covering the tattoo then she’d glanced down at it and . . .
Well, it certainly wasn’t her favourite Coco Chanel quote.
‘I was walking past the boat last night and it was quite early, but you were out,’ Freddy said casually.
Maybe if he wasn’t so casual. If he was a little desperate. A little ‘I can’t live without you, Pheebs’, then Phoebe could allow herself to soften.
‘It was Saturday night. People do go out on Saturday nights. It’s not unprecedented,’ she said. ‘Why were you even walking past the boat?’
‘I just wanted to check that you’d had someone in to service the flue on the wood-burning stove,’ Freddy said, suddenly finding the toes of his white Puma Roma trainers absolutely fascinating.
Why was it that Freddy cared more about her domestic heating arrangements than he cared about her?
‘The flue on my wood-burning stove is no longer any concern of yours,’ Phoebe told him gently.
But then the hurt reasserted itself. ‘Remember? You don’t want to be with me anymore because I’m a horrible person. ’
‘That’s not what I said. I would never say that,’ Freddy protested indignantly. ‘But you are bloody impossible, that’s for sure.’
‘I’m going to stay that way,’ Phoebe said, drawing herself up so that with her heels on, they were almost the same height. ‘I’m not going to let anyone change me. I like being impossible.’
‘That must be why you’re so good at it,’ Freddy said. He turned away but not before Phoebe heard him mutter under his breath, ‘I don’t know why I bother.’
‘I don’t know why you bother either,’ Phoebe said and she wasn’t even being unkind.
It was the absolute truth. She couldn’t be the person that Freddy wanted her to be, so the sooner he got that message and looked for someone who’d actually make him happy, instead of someone who made him sigh and dim his light, the better.