Page 7 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
She took a measly half-hour for lunch at one, though Phoebe acted as if she couldn’t believe Sophy’s audacity at wanting to take thirty minutes to grab a sandwich and think hard about her recent life decisions. Mind you, that was nothing compared to Phoebe’s incredulity when Sophy offered to take over in the shop when she went on her own lunch.
‘You can’t do that,’ Phoebe said coldly. ‘You don’t know anything about vintage or our customers or… No. Back to the basement with you.’
Sophy spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through more dead people’s clothes (some of them were really, really whiffy) and it wasn’t until six o’clock that she was released from her pongy purgatory by Phoebe. ‘Oh, you’re still here?’ she said, feigning surprise, as she appeared at the top of the basement stairs. ‘I’d completely forgotten about you. We’re closing now, unless you wanted to put in some overtime.’
‘I really don’t,’ Sophy said, gathering up her bag and jacket.
She was still fuming about Phoebe and her snotty, snooty attitude when she got off the tube at Hendon Central. Her misery was compounded when she reached into her bag for her phone and saw she had a message from Egan, her ex.
Loads of your stuff is still here and you owe me £323 for your outstanding share of the bills. He was obviously not missing her, Sophy thought as she walked the short distance back to her mum’s and the little three-bed house that Sophy at twenty-one had been so pleased to leave for a houseshare in Manor House with a couple of friends. Now Anjula and Kate were both married, had a child apiece and had gone from London to green and leafy places where it was possible to buy a small house without having to sell both kidneys.
Whereas Sophy was right back where she started: living with her mum and feeling that she really hadn’t achieved anything since the days when she was a sulky teenager skulking in her room and dreaming about all the adventures she’d have when she was a proper grown-up.
Now she was the big three-oh and it felt like, apart from the odd mini-break, she hadn’t had a single adventure. No wonder it was hard to put a smile on her face as she opened the front door.
Caroline and Mike were in the kitchen and there was something lovely and garlicky and herby cooking. They were standing over the hob with their heads together, laughing about something, but both looked round when Sophy dropped her keys on the hall table and padded down the hall towards them.
‘How did it go, love?’ Caroline asked, her pretty, pale face flushed from slaving over a hot stove.
‘Yes, hard day at the office?’ Mike added.
Despite the whole thing about her childhood bedroom being turned into a home spa, they’d welcomed Sophy back, though they’d got used to having the place to themselves.Maybe that was why Sophy felt as if she was intruding. She also mourned her independence. She’d spent five years living in various houseshares with various friends. Then she’d lived with Egan for four years and now she was back in Hendon. Though she tried to be cheerful and put a brave face on it, there were times, like right now, when all Sophy wanted to do was lie on the beige tufted-wool carpet, hug Lollipop, her mother’s cat, to her chest and cry and cry and cry.
Instead she tried to make her smile look convincing. Also, Lollipop wasn’t much of a hugger. ‘Yeah, it was great,’ Sophy said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which wasn’t very much. ‘I’m quite tired.’
‘Well, you would be, being on your feet all day again.’ Caroline nodded, scanning her daughter and seeming to miss nothing, from the shadows under Sophy’s eyes to the way she shuffled from side to side because her feet were throbbing in her knock-off designer trainers. ‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Why don’t you go into the lounge and I’ll do you a tray. Special treat.’
Itwasa very special treat. Caroline had a very dim view of people eating in the lounge. If Sophy wanted a bowl of microwave popcorn as they watched a movie, her mother would moan about getting popcorn kernels down the side of the sofa and how it would attract mice.
‘Actually, Mum, I really need a bath. I’m covered in the stench of dead people. Can I take a raincheck on dinner?’
It wasn’t until Sophy was in the bathroom, door locked and taps running, that she let herself do what she’d wanted to do since approximately ten o’clock that morning. She burst into tears.
She only stopped crying when she was finally submerged in rose-scented bubbles and realised that she could stop a good third of her current agony by simply not turning up at The Vintage Dress Shop the next day.
Chapter Three
It wasn’t that anything looked brighter the next day. On the contrary, the sky was as grey and overcast as Sophy’s mood when she walked to the tube station for another eight hours toiling at the coalface of retro fashion. It also hadn’t helped that she’d woken up to a WhatsApp message from her old schoolfriend Radha, now living the sunny expat life in Sydney.‘Hurry up and get here soon, Soph! Surf’s waiting!’It was accompanied by a photo of Radha on a sandy beach, her tan and eyes glowing, as the sun set spectacularly in the background.
Sophy wanted the glowing tan (though she wasn’t sure that her milk-white skin possessed even trace amounts of melanin) and the spectacular sunsets. Although she was going to start her new Australian life at her grandparents’ sheep station in Southern Australia, Sophy was definitely considering relocating to Sydney after that. She’d have Radha to show her the ropes and she couldn’t wait to sign up for surf lessons from some chiselled, tousle-haired surfie who looked like one of the Hemsworth brothers. Then she’d remembered that she couldn’t pay the airfare to Australia in chocolate buttons. She needed money. And that was why shewasgoing to turn up for her second day at The Vintage Dress Shop, and not let the horrible Phoebe scare her away. She was also going to turn up because she wasn’t a quitter – but oh, how Sophy longed to be a quitter!
To cheer herself up when she got to Primrose Hill half an hour later, Sophy stopped at a charming little bakery for a coffee to go and a flaky pastry. The astronomical price of these two items made her feel a lot like crying again. Then, her feet dragging with every step, she made her way to the shop.
Sophy took a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders and opened the door with a bright smile on her face. ‘Good morning, everyone!’
‘Everyone’ was Anita, who mumbled something that might have been ‘Good morning’ back, and Phoebe, who was sitting behind the ocean-liner desk, like she was sitting on a throne, and not bothering to dial down her furious expression.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.
‘I’m here to work, just like you,’ Sophy said evenly, though she felt pretty bloody far from even. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘Do I have a problem?’ Phoebe echoed incredulously. She rose gracefully to her feet, so she could stand there with her hands on her hips. ‘Yes, I have a problem. Can’t you read?’
As accusations went that was pretty out there. Of course Sophy could read. Then she realised that Phoebe was pointing at a sign with one perfectly manicured red nail.
Food and drink are forbidden on these premises by express order of The Management.
‘What? I can’t even have a cup of tea every couple of hours? There is a thing called workers’ rights, Phoe—’
