Page 13 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, as she did every morning, as if she hoped that Sophy might just stop turning up. ‘And is that… who is that?’
‘Obviously the sensitivity training workshop wasn’t that successful,’ Charles murmured over the rim of his teacup, which made Phoebe glare at him, then turn her glareback to Sophy and…
‘This is Cress, my stepsister and a clothing restoration genius,’ Sophy said in a voice that was almost a growl and which she hoped implied that if Phoebe was mean to Cress then Sophy would end her. ‘She’s got a degree from Central Saint Martins and she’s spent nearly ten years working at a museum restoring very important ecclesiastical garments—’
‘Well, that sounds far too niche for us. We don’t get a lot of popes popping in,’ Phoebe said, but subsided when Sophy narrowed her eyes so much it was a wonder that she could still see out of them.
‘As I was saying, Cress has tons of experience and she knowseverythingabout vintage fashion and she makes the most amazing clothes and she can repair and alter things that were fit only for the bonfire. You should have seen what she did with my aunt’s wedding dress, which had fag burns on the bodice and a rip in the skirt, so my cousin—’
‘Yes, yes, we get the idea,’ Phoebe said and Sophy stopped. Not because of Phoebe but because Cress was looking as if she wanted to burst into tears and flee for the hills. Not necessarily in that order.
‘Sounds like a very impressive CV,’ Charles said kindly and Sophy threw him a grateful look, but then her attention turned back to Cress, who was staring at the rails of dresses with trepidation.
When Cress got really freaked out, she tended to shut down, and now it really didn’t seem like a good idea to have dragged her out of her comfort zone, away from her musty cardinals’ robes, and put her in front of Phoebe.
‘You all right?’ Sophy asked softly.
Cress didn’t answer but started delving in her black tote bag, which she’d made herself and had embroidered the words ‘Cross-stitching is my superpower’ on it in pink thread.
Was she after her phone so she could request an urgent exit? Or tissues because she was about to start crying? Neither. Cress fished out a pair of white gloves, the gloves she wore when she was handling religious cloth and which always made Sophy imagine that Cress was about to perform a mime.
Cress pulled on the gloves, Phoebe and Charles staring at her in bemusement, then approached the blue rail. ‘This… This…’ She carefully gathered up the skirt of a jaunty white dress adorned with blowsy blue cabbage roses. ‘This is a Horrockses!’
‘It’s not horrid,’ Sophy hissed. ‘What are you like?’
‘I said Horrockses, not horrid,’ Cress said with a little tinge of exasperation. ‘Oh my goodness, I’ve never seen one in the flesh. I went to the Horrockses exhibition at the Harris Museum in Preston, and there is that range they’re doing for ASOS, but this,this, is something else.’
‘It is a Horrockses,’ Phoebe confirmed as Cress nodded, vaguely, because she hadn’t needed confirmation. ‘They are really hard to come by.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Cress said, running a reverent hand along the dresses hanging up. She stopped when she got to a bright blue number. ‘And of course, this is Biba. Unmistakeable.’
‘Isn’t it fantastic? Practically in mint condition.’ Phoebe smiled as she stood up. She was pretty even when she was glaring, sniping and generally being thoroughly unpleasant, but when she smiled she was unmistakeably beautiful.
‘How exciting,’ Cress decided, looking around the room again at the many rails. Sophy was surprised that her eyes weren’t flickering rapidly as she cross-referenced the dresses with the encyclopaedic knowledge of vintage clothes that she had stored in her head. ‘I know that you only have Sophy’s word for it, but I really do love vintage.’
‘That’s clearly obvious,’ Phoebe said, warmly, because by now she’d melted like ice cream spilled on a hot pavement.
‘I should have brought some examples of my work but I just thought— I only came because I knew you wouldn’t let it go if I didn’t, Sophy…’ Cress tailed off with an apologetic smile. ‘But now I’m so glad I came just to be in the same room as a Horrockses.’
‘Prepare to be amazed because I haven’t even shown you the atelier yet,’ Phoebe said eagerly, rushing over to the stairs and unclipping the velvet rope. ‘We have a Courrèges up there.’
‘Stop it!’ Cress was beaming, all teeth and gums, as she practically ran to the stairs.
‘And two 1950s Jacques Griffes,’ Phoebe said, as she led the way, Cress hot on her heels.
Sophy was left with Charles, who was cucumber cool as he finished his tea, while she felt like she usually did when she was in this shop with these people: flustered and out of place.
‘That went better than I expected,’ she muttered, more to fill the silence, which felt a little awkward.
Charles gave her another of those kind smiles and gazed up at her. She was suddenly painfully aware that she still hadn’t figured out a suitable work outfit for the shop. There was no way she could spend all day in the fitted dresses that Phoebe (and Chloe and Anita whenever they were rostered) wore and she couldn’t spend all day in heels either. Phoebe could trip up and down the stairs in her five-inch heels without even breaking a sweat but until about five minutes ago, Sophy had suspected that Phoebe wasn’t even human.
Sartorially speaking, Sophy had had to branch out on her own. She stuck to all black but, one day she’d trialled black trousers and shirt and Phoebe and Chloe had looked at her like she’d sprouted two heads overnight. She needed clothes that she could move around in, so she’d resorted to whatEgan used to refer to as her ‘sack dresses’. Today she was wearing a loose-fitting black trapeze dress with her knock-off Veja trainers. Not that it mattered what she wore as she still wasn’t really allowed on the shop floor anyway.
Charles didn’t seem that perturbed by Sophy’s non-vintage outfit. He unfolded himself from the pink velvet sofa and gestured at the stairs. ‘Shall we?’
‘I’m not meant to go up there,’ Sophy admitted, flushing because somehow, along with her job, her boyfriend, her home, she’d also lost her backbone in the last couple of months. ‘Not without fumigating myself and putting on a hazmat suit first.’
‘Her bark really is much worse than her bite,’ Charles said, taking Sophy’s elbow so he could guide her firmly to the stairs. ‘But let’s make sure that she hasn’t barked or bitten your stepsister. After you.’
