Page 49 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop (Vintage Dress Shop Romance #3)

P hoebe’s plans didn’t get off to a great start. It was very hard to navigate from boat to slippery-with-frost canal path in a long, heavy silk dress and very high heels, especially when she could hear Coco whimpering.

She sent a quick message to Sadie, who was far more reliable than Gunther, asking her to let Phoebe know as soon as they’d released Coco from her very cosy, very warm, very-one-hundred-of-your-favourite-toys-in-close-proximity prison.

It was the kind of chilly, damp night you felt in your bones.

The kind of chilly damp that could ruin a good hairdo even with a heck of a lot of Elnett hairspray holding it in place.

The Hat and Fan was only a five-minute walk but Phoebe slowed her steps down.

Not just because her shoes were hard to walk in but because she didn’t know what to say when she pulled back the heavy door of the pub to see everyone, her friends, her colleagues, her . . . Freddy sitting there.

Probably she’d have to start with an apology.

Possibly even grovelling. Phoebe placed a hand on her stomach, which was quivering with nerves, even as she shivered with cold, and eked out at least another two minutes by standing under a streetlight so she could scrutinise her make-up in her compact mirror.

She looked the same as she always did. But the perfect make-up – the armour of arched eyebrows, perfect cat’s eye flicks, flawless alabaster skin and the boldest of red lips – couldn’t hide the hesitation that Phoebe felt.

She could manage perfectly well on her own.

Then again, perfectly well wasn’t the same as being happy.

Full of resolve once more, Phoebe tucked her mirror back into her bag and started walking again. She took a deep breath as she turned the corner and The Hat and Fan came into view. The warm glow from its steamed-up windows was a welcome sight on a dark night.

‘Don’t slouch, Phoebe,’ she whispered under her breath as she crossed the road and even the ringing of her phone wasn’t going to distract her from her mission. It would only be Sadie to say that she had Coco.

Another deep breath as Phoebe opened the door so the still night was drowned out by the hum of lively chatter and laughter, the smell of beer and bar snacks, and in their favourite corner, the staff of The Vintage Dress Shop plus their significant others and the most significant other of them all, Freddy, were gathered.

They were all dressed up in their best, even Miles who Phoebe had never seen in a suit, and so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t even notice Phoebe approach. Then Sophy lifted her head just as Phoebe’s phone began to ring again. Not just ring but beep and chime too.

She lifted her hand to wave at Sophy who, not surprisingly, didn’t look too thrilled to see her. Phoebe reached for her phone, which had stopped ringing but, as soon as her fingers closed around it, started again.

Phoebe stopped in her tracks when she saw she had three missed calls from Sadie, plus messages from Sadie, Gunther, Emma and Sean on the other boat and . . .

‘Hi, Sadie,’ she said as she answered this latest call. ‘Have you got Coco?’

‘Phoebe!’ Sadie’s voice was shrill with panic. ‘ The Sheila is on fire! We’ve called the fire brigade but . . .’

‘But Coco . . .’

‘Gunther’s using our fire extinguisher but he can’t get the flames out and I can hear Coco . . . You have to come . . .’

Phoebe didn’t need to hear any more. Panic ripped through her like an earthquake and she gasped out loud. Her bag fell to the floor as she pressed a hand to her heart, which was thumping hard and fast enough to break free.

‘Phoebe, there you are!’ said a voice behind her. As if she was in a dream, she turned around to see Charles, impeccable in black tie and tails, coming from the bar with a tray full of drinks. ‘A sight for sore eyes!’

‘I have to go,’ she said, her voice a hoarse, croaky thing. ‘Oh God, Coco! There’s a fire and she’s all alone and she must be so scared and she needs me . . .’

She pushed past Charles so the tray went flying, drinks going everywhere, people shouting and swearing, the sound of glasses breaking.

Phoebe didn’t even feel the liquid soaking her hair, her cape, her dress.

She stumbled through the crowd, not caring who she knocked into.

Behind her, she could hear someone call her name but there was no time to stop.

No time to do anything but shoulder open the door and run back out into the night.

Phoebe picked up the heavy skirt of her dress as she raced through the streets. Then she stopped only to wrench off her stupid, slippery shoes. She could still hear the echo of her name but she ignored it as she began to run again.

The pavements were hard and unforgiving under her feet. The cold, cold night snatched the breath from her lungs, but Phoebe barely noticed. She ran as if the devil himself was at her heels.

Then came the acrid scent of smoke and Phoebe was sure she could hear the crackle of flames as she came to the narrow path that led down to the canal.

Finally she was on the towpath and in the near distance she could see the people gathered around The Sheila , which was lit by a fierce orange glow as Gunther and Sean aimed fire extinguishers at the bow of the boat where the fire was concentrated.

Sadie and Emma were scooping up canal water in buckets and flinging it at the boat but . . .

‘Coco! Where’s my baby?’ Phoebe screamed as she reached the terrible scene.

Sadie said something to her, but it was lost in the commotion. Phoebe didn’t ask her to repeat it but instead ran to the other end of The Sheila , which wasn’t on fire but the boat was made of wood and it was only a matter of time. She might already be too late.

‘Coco? Coco?’ she shouted again. She was sure over the commotion at the other end of the boat, over the ominous hiss and roar of the fire, she could hear the sound of barking. The short, offended barks that Coco always gave like she couldn’t believe that she needed to raise her voice.

Phoebe tore off her cape and hitched up her skirt so she could leap on to the back of the boat where her bedroom was and beyond that the fuel tank. If the fire reached the fuel tank, then there was no hope.

You had to have hope. Without it, life would be absolutely unbearable.

And for now, there was hope. Phoebe gathered herself, tried to summon all her strength but suddenly there was an arm round her waist, hauling her back from the boat.

‘Phoebe!’ It was Freddy. ‘It’s not safe.’

For one fleeting second, she let herself rest against him, her hand covering his.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for ruining everything.’

‘It doesn’t even matter,’ he mumbled into her hair. ‘It’s not important.’

But some things were important. Some things were a matter of life and death. Even though Phoebe could hear the sound of sirens getting nearer, there wasn’t time.

‘Coco needs me,’ she said and she pulled free of Freddy, using her elbows to knock him down because she knew he’d try and stop her again. Then she jumped onto the side of the boat, clinging on to the rail as she inched along until she reached the stern, where the fuel tank was.

‘Phoebe! Come back!’ Freddy shouted, but he was just one more voice in the crowd that had assembled and who collectively gasped as Phoebe hoisted herself up the side of the boat so she could climb onto the roof where the little vegetable patch was.

She lay belly down in the soil so she could lean over the other side of the boat and see into the little window by her bed, which she gazed out of every morning.

Over the sound of people shouting to her, she was sure she could hear Coco. Yes, she could definitely hear Coco barking and she sounded royally pissed off.

Phoebe knocked on the glass. ‘Coco! Get on the bed! On the bed! Please, get on the bed.’

Usually Coco needed help getting up and down from the raised bed; she only had little legs. Phoebe realised that she’d have to break the window to get to Coco. She hoisted herself up so she was standing again and looked around wildly for something heavy that she could aim at the glass.

‘Phoebe! Please come down!’ Freddy shouted. ‘The fire brigade are here now. They’ll get Coco out.’

It was just her. The only person she could rely on was herself. The only person Coco had to rely on too.

Phoebe gathered up the skirt of her dress once more and ripped it in two. Then she wrapped the heavy silk around her hand several times and lay down again, her torso hanging over the side of the boat.

‘Coco! Are you on the bed? I’m here!’

Phoebe took the deepest breath she’d ever taken, clenched her fist then smashed her hand against the window. It took three goes before the glass shattered and she could push her upper body through the small window.

Immediately smoke, thick and noxious, swirled around her. Phoebe’s first instinct was to rear back; she could hardly breathe, but she tamped down her fear and blocked out the noise from outside and listened for Coco’s imperious barking.

There was nothing. She was too late. It had all been in vain.

‘Oh, Coco . . .’ Phoebe moaned, smoke curling into her open mouth. But then she felt it. The faintest damp touch against the hand that wasn’t covered in silk, then something warm and furry press against her wrist.

Phoebe grabbed Coco by the scruff of her neck and pulled her through the window, trying to avoid scraping her precious little body against the shards of glass that were still embedded in the window frame.

They lay there for a second, both panting and shaking, Phoebe pressing kisses all over Coco’s face.

‘Phoebe! Please! I am begging you, get off this bloody boat!’ she suddenly heard Freddy shout.

It was hard to move. Phoebe’s limbs felt like lead and she could hardly catch her breath but she managed to crawl over the roof of the boat, cradling Coco to her with one hand. Then she lowered her legs and suddenly there was an arm around her waist again, pulling her and Coco to safety.

Coco wriggled frantically in Phoebe’s arms, panic seizing hold of her, and just as they were pulled to freedom, she felt Coco slip from her grasp.

She landed on firm, solid ground at the same time as Phoebe but clearly disorientated the little dog ran haphazardly along the path, until she missed her footing and fell into the murky water.

Phoebe tried to scream but she had no voice left. Before she could gather what little strength she had left, the arms holding her up were gone and Freddy pushed past her, toeing off his shoes so he could dive into the greasy, dark, freezing depths of the canal.

‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Phoebe wheezed, limping over to where Freddy’s head was bobbing above the water.

‘Phoebe! Are you OK? Of course you’re not OK,’ a voice panted in her ear and then Cress was hugging her tightly, Sophy launched herself at Phoebe from the other side while two men in fancy suits, Charles and Miles, lay down on the bank with their hands outstretched to pull Freddy from the water.

Freddy and Coco. Freddy lay on the path on his back, Coco splayed out on his chest and, over Sophy’s shoulder, Phoebe stared in horror.

The two halves of her heart were still.