Page 63 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
Still, she had a spring in her step as she came out of Chalk Farm station to find a very pale, very trembly Cress waiting for her, eyes obscured bya massive pair of sunglasses that were almost identical to the ones that Audrey Hepburn wore in the opening sequence ofBreakfast at Tiffany’s. Even hungover, Cress couldn’t be faulted for her choice of accessories.
‘Good morning, sister-friend!’
‘Please keep it down,’ Cress whispered. ‘My head is pounding. My hands are shaking. I’m not sure I should operate heavy machinery today.’
‘Does a sewing machine count as heavy machinery?’ Sophy wondered aloud, but then decided it was best to shut up when Cress threw her a reproachful look that circumvented even the gigantic sunglasses.
Because Sophy felt at least fifty per cent responsible for Cress’s hangover, she treated her to a large coffee and a fried egg sandwich even though Cress said that she couldn’t manage solid food. Still, she managed to horse it down in three bites and decided that she was feeling a lot better.
‘We’ll talk at lunchtime,’ she said ominously before heading up the spiral staircase, even though Sophy had been sure they were done talking about Charles. And Australia. She couldn’t think of any other subjects that would necessitate Cress’s ominous voice.
Sophy unlocked the door and turned the shop sign over toOpen. Because it was Saturday, they didn’t have to wait long for their first customer, and soon the shop was so busy that she didn’t have time to think about anything other than dresses and if they had anything in a size fourteen in a red that would go with a pair of Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes that a customer had brought in with her.
Sophy didn’t have a chance to take a lunch break, and it wasn’t until gone three that she even had a moment to sit down in one of the office chairs while she waited for the kettle to boil. Then, because it had been on her mind, she opened the YouTube app on her phone and searchedfor sheep-shearing videos.
She watched in horror as an Irish farmer positioned a sheep between his legs, tucked one of its front legs out of the way and started shearing off its fleece like it was no big deal at all.
Sophy would never be able to do that. She always, but always, cut herself when she was shaving her legs. Who even knew what damage she could do with a pair of scary sheep-shearing clipper things? What if it hadn’t been a nightmare that had made her sit bolt upright in bed but a prophetic dream of things to come—
‘Bloody hell, kiddo!’ Sophy dragged her attention away from the Irishman and the admittedly quite chill sheep to see Johnno standing behind her.
‘We don’t normally see you on a Saturday,’ she said, though it was only her seventh Saturday in the shop so it wasn’t like she was an authority on how often Johnno appeared over the weekend.
‘I was passing and Chloe said that you were boiling a kettle and I’m gasping for a cup of tea,’ he said, eyes fixed on Sophy’s phone screen. ‘What the hell is that?’
Sophy put her phone face down on the counter and turned the kettle on again. It had boiled minutes ago. ‘Actually, now that you’re here, I need some advice.’
Johnno puffed out his chest, which strained the buttons on his very tropical Hawaiian shirt (Sophy could only hope that he didn’t plan on going upstairs because there was no way that Cress would be able to cope with that kind of garishness in her fragile state). ‘You want advice from your old man?’ he clarified with a strange note of pride to his voice. ‘Well, isn’t that a turn-up for the books.’
‘I’ve asked for advice before,’ Sophy said a little defensively, because she had. Though, admittedly, not in recent years. Anyway, they were getting off-message.‘How hard is it on a scale of one to ten, with one being easy-peasy and ten being so impossible that I shouldn’t even attempt it, to shear a sheep?’
Johnno’s mouth hung open. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said again but this time it was a lot louder and with a lot more feeling.
‘So, it is very hard then?’
‘There’s nothing to it,’ Johnno said but he didn’t sound that convincing. ‘So, you’re going to shear sheep when you get to Australia? I reckon Mum and Dad would have something to say about that.’
‘Well, they did say they’d had a chap who lost a finger…’
‘They wouldn’t make you shear a sheep, love, not unless you really wanted to.’ Johnno hooked the nearest swivel chair and sat on it the wrong way round so he could rest his chin on top of the backrest. ‘Anyway, they shear in autumn, so they should be done with all that now. Why? You’re not going now until next autumn? That sounds like a more sensible plan.’
‘No, no, no.’ Sophy shook her head. ‘I’m going soon. In fact, I’m glad you’re here because you’ve saved me a phone call…’
The kettle clicked off and so she could turn away from Johnno, who was looking like the very disapproving father that he’d never actually been. She busied herself making tea. Then she had to ask Johnno how he took it because although he was her father, she didn’t even know that he liked a lot of milk and four sugars.
‘You were saying you were going to phone me,’ he prompted once he’d taken a sip of his milky abomination.
‘I’m probably going to Australia at least a month earlier than I planned. It’s practically mid-April now— Oh my God, it might take much longer than that to get my citizenship,’ Sophy said, the panic rising in her voice. ‘I’ve been asking you forweeksfor your paperwork. Have you found it all yet?’
‘So you really are emigrating rather than just visiting?’ Johnno asked mildly.
‘I plan to spend at least a couple of years there, so maybe I’m emi-visiting,’ Sophy said, as she chucked the used teabags in the bin.
‘The thing is… I’m not sure I know where my passport is.’ This bombshell was punctuated by an enthusiastic slurping of tea.
Sophy turned round. ‘What? What do you mean?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Why are you only telling me this now?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you looked for it properly?’
‘I might have to apply for another one,’ Johnno said, a little too vaguely for Sophy’s liking. Also, he’d only decided to tell her thisnowwhen her deadline had suddenly become urgent? ‘Don’t know how long that might be. In fact, it takes the Australian muckety-mucks ages to get their arses into gear when it comes to bureaucracy.’
