Page 45 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop (Vintage Dress Shop Romance #3)
‘Even if I decide to scale up the measurements and yes, think about including it in my small collection of reproduction dresses, which by the way only exists as sketches in my sketchpad and a really beyond basic business plan?’ Cress snapped.
She pointed at the inky blue velvet armchair where she liked to curl up and do her hand stitching. ‘Sit!’
‘I don’t like your tone,’ Phoebe said even as she followed orders and sat.
‘Coming from the queen of tone, that’s quite hypocritical,’ Cress said because it was as if she’d been recently abducted by aliens and had been returned in a much sassier, much snarkier format. ‘Now, I want you to explain something to me.’
‘Explain what?’ Phoebe folded her arms and crossed her legs though it was quite hard to look imposing in a very low-to-the-ground bucket chair.
‘Explain how maybe, a couple of years from now, launching a small capsule collection of reproduction dresses will in any way impact on your life in a negative way?’ Cress asked, her own arms folded, an exasperated look on her pretty face.
‘Because it will stop people buying vintage dresses and new dresses aren’t sustainable.
It’s just kind of unethical to design dresses that look like vintage dresses but aren’t,’ Phoebe said, which was just scratching the surface of why she was so hurt at Cress’s plans.
She already had two side hustles. Why did she need another?
‘Rubbish! Absolute rubbish,’ Cress huffed like a furious little dragon. ‘This from the woman who literally hates selling vintage dresses to people unless those people meet a series of criteria known only to her . . .’
‘That’s hardly fair,’ Phoebe protested but Cress wasn’t done with her.
‘And also, these hypothetical dresses that only exist as very basic prototypes, would be made sustainably in the UK and what copyright am I infringing by designing a little black dress when there are hundreds, even thousands, of similar black frocks that have been designed ever since Coco Chanel first came up with the concept?’ Cress said.
And still she wasn’t finished. ‘You certainly didn’t mind when you asked me to make a replica of your little black dress that was destroyed during your Bastard Moth Infestation of 2019. ’
‘But you could have told me!’ Phoebe spluttered. She’d been so angry when she’d discovered Cress’s sketchpad but now she couldn’t properly articulate why she was angry.
‘I didn’t tell you and Freddy didn’t tell you, because for the umpteenth time, there isn’t really anything to tell but also because oh my God, Pheebs, you get so weird and territorial about anything to do with vintage dresses,’ Cress said as if it was hurting her a lot more to say this than it was for Phoebe to hear it.
Which wasn’t at all true. ‘Weird? Territorial? There’s nothing wrong in being passionate about something.’
‘You take being passionate to a whole new level.’ It seemed as if Cress was finding a whole new appreciation for confrontation.
‘I mean, there have been times when you’ve even argued with me about the correct way to wash vintage clothes as if putting them in a washing machine in a mesh bag on a delicate cycle is an act of cruelty. ’
‘I still say that handwashing is . . .’
‘I HAVE AN ACTUAL DEGREE IN COSTUME CONSERVATION!’ Cress shouted so loudly that from the atelier where she’d been sleeping on one of the couches, Coco Chanel gave a little whimper.
‘I’m not going to do anything that is going to damage a vintage dress.
This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous . . .’
‘I am not ridiculous and you’re going to have your stupid reproduction line and you’re going to leave the shop and I thought we were friends but you kept a secret from me, with Freddy of all people, and you haven’t even named a dress after me,’ Phoebe hissed, which was the ugly truth. Why she’d been angry but mostly hurt.
There was a tense silence. Phoebe angled her body towards the wall so she wouldn’t have to look at Cress though really she should just get up and leave.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cress rest her elbows on her desk, then put her head in her hands.
‘You’re an idiot, Phoebe. An absolute idiot.
’ Her voice was muffled but her tone was soft and gentle.
‘I have no plans to go anywhere for the foreseeable future. I love working here even if my line manager can be a real pain in the arse sometimes.’
‘It’s not funny,’ Phoebe mumbled. It was easy enough to rant and rave about cruelty to vintage dresses but when the cruelty felt personal, it was much harder to talk about it.
It never felt good to get things off her chest. Instead it felt as if Phoebe had crossed a line and soon she’d be asked to pack up all her belongings into bin liners and her caseworker would turn up to take her some place unknown but it would only be temporary because nothing with her was ever for keeps.
‘I know it’s not funny,’ Cress said in the same gentle tone.
‘There’s something about this that feels kind of heart-breaking.
Freddy and I are working together on this, yes, but in a fact-finding way and we didn’t tell you because, again, there’s nothing really to tell and you’d only get upset.
Which turned out to be the case.’ She got up from her stool and stretched.
‘I don’t want you to be upset especially over something that’s really not worth getting upset about. ’
‘I am a prickly person,’ Phoebe said, like that was going to come as a surprise.
‘You are,’ Cress agreed. Then she took the three steps to where Phoebe was sitting and perched herself on the arm of her chair. ‘But you can also be very kind and fun and so, most of the time, I don’t mind if I occasionally get scratched on the prickles.’
Cress rested her hand lightly on Phoebe’s arm.
The touch, Cress’s words, formed a lump in Phoebe’s throat, made her eyes sting.
‘It’s not an excuse,’ she said hoarsely.
‘More of a reason, but I didn’t have a good childhood.
In fact, I learned from a really early age that you can’t rely on other people because they’re always going to let you down.
You can only rely on yourself. I was also moved around a lot, so there was never really an opportunity to make friends.
Which is probably why I’m not very good at it. ’
There was no immediate reaction and Phoebe cursed herself for oversharing and she was going to get up and go and never look Cress in the eye again but then Cress’s hand tightened on her arm.
‘Thank you for telling me that,’ she said simply, and somehow, that was exactly what Phoebe had wanted her to say.
Opening up to people meant opening up to the possibility of being hurt. Again. Of being abandoned. Again. Of realising that you just weren’t good enough. Again.
But sometimes if you found the right person to be open with then the world didn’t end.
‘It sounds very lonely thinking that you can’t trust anyone . . .’ Cress said.
‘I’m not lonely. Against all the odds, I do have some friends,’ Phoebe pointed out because she did have friends. Or did she just have some people in her life who put up with her?
‘I hope you count me as one of them.’ The hand was taken away and then Cress’s arm curved around Phoebe’s tense shoulders. ‘I’ve hated how things have been between us these last few weeks.’
‘These last few weeks have been . . . not good,’ Phoebe admitted heavily.
‘Although there have been times that have been very good.’ Cress nudged her. ‘We all loved hungover Phoebe. And you know what, you were vulnerable and well, very hungover and you let us in and . . .’
‘Since then, Anita has taken shameless advantage of it,’ Phoebe said with the ghost of a smile. She moved away from Cress’s arm. She felt more in control of herself. ‘Well, I’m glad we had this little chat but it’s getting late . . .’
‘Never mind it’s getting late, now what’s going on with you and Freddy?’ Cress asked baldly.