Page 50 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
‘Did any dresses get damaged or destroyed?’ Johnno asked.
‘Well, no but . . .’
‘If the dresses are all right, then everything else will come out in the wash,’ Johnno said because he was the only person who understood how Phoebe felt about the dresses. He never made her feel bad about it either: that she could care for clothes,stuff, so much but when it came to people, she could take or leave them. Mostly leave them.
‘Sophy’s a good kid. You’re a good kid. One day, you’ll both find a way to co-exist and who cares what a bunch of people on the internet are saying?’ He tilted his head again.
‘I don’t care,’ Phoebe insisted because everyone from Mildred to Birdy knew that it was silly to worry about what people said about you, or to have any control over it. But if Phoebe hadn’t said or done the things she’d said and done when people were surreptitiously recording her, then none of these recent unpleasant events would have happened.
‘They don’t know anything about you or your life. What makes you tick. What your story is, so sod ’em, pardon my French,’ Johnno said. He knew more about Phoebe’s life than anyone else. Because he’d known her since she was sixteen, almost half her lifetime, and even though she hadn’t told him the details of how she’d ended up so surly, so displaced and living with Mildred at sixteen, Johnno wasn’t stupid. He pretended that he was just a simple guy, but he was so good at reading between the lines. He’d always understood Phoebe without her saying a word. And, he’d never judged her for it. ‘And as for Freddy . . .’
‘Freddy will be fine,’ Phoebe said sadly. Because it was true. She’d always acted as if she was doing Freddy a huge favour, right from the beginning of their awkward, protracted courtship, but in reality he could do a lot better than Phoebe. Or, at least, find someone who was much less hard work. He’d be much happier for it too. ‘But you’re not to let him sack me.’
‘Nobody’s sacking anyone,’ Johnno said, which should have been a relief but wasn’t. ‘But it sounds like things can’t carry on the way they are.’
‘So, how do I make them better?’
‘I think you already know the answer to that,’ Johnno said, because the other thing about him, which was as infuriating as it was understandable, was that he never took sides. Even when it was quite obvious who was in the wrong. Even when that person wouldn’t even admit it to themselves. ‘It will all come good in the end, Pheebs. Always does.’
‘Does it?’ Phoebe rolled her eyes.
‘I reckon.’ Johnno looked past Phoebe just as she heard a noise behind her. ‘Hey, kiddo, how are you? I know I owe you a phone call.’
With her heart sinking all the way to the soles of her feet, Phoebe turned her head to see Sophy standing there. A Sophy who mustered up a thin smile.
‘You do,’ she said shortly, then her face softened. ‘What are you doing up so late anyway? The sheep causing you sleepless nights?’
‘I’m in Sydney. Had to see a man about a dog,’ Johnno repeated.
Sophy nodded. ‘Of course you did. Are Bob and Jean good?’
‘They’re grand. I’m heading back to the station tomorrow. We’re just heading into lambing season.’
Sophy and Johnno exchanged a few more incomprehensible words as they talked about lambing season on his parents’ (Sophy’s grandparents’) sheep farm or station or whatever it was, as Phoebe tried to assume a neutral face.
It was hard when it was her phone propped up and Sophy was leaning down and across her to see Johnno on the screen. So close that Phoebe could smell her perfume.
‘Anyway, you go and see that man about that completely fictitious dog and maybe we’ll catch up when I call Bob and Jean on the weekend,’ Sophy said, straightening up as Johnno touched the side of his head in a salute.
Then Sophy moved away to fill up the kettle and it was Phoebe’s turn to say goodbye.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Johnno assured her. ‘This too will pass and all that.’
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Phoebe said without much conviction. ‘Let’s speak soon. Oh andSheila’s doing great, by the way.’
‘I knew I could count on you to look after the old girl,’ Johnno said. ‘Right, I’ll be off then. Be good!’
Johnno was never one to prolong a goodbye. The screen went black as he disconnected the call. Phoebe picked up her phone and risked looking over at Sophy, who wasn’t watching the kettle but was staring at Phoebe with her hands on her hips.
‘Since when do you speak to my dad?’ she demanded.
Chapter Twenty
‘Since always,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’ve known Johnno for years. He’s my boss technically.’
She didn’t explain things with her usual heat because she was mindful of Johnno’s advice, such as it was, and also mindful that Sophy’s relationship with Johnno was . . . complicated.
He was her father but in all the years that Phoebe had worked for Johnno, she’d never met Sophy. He talked about her sometimes but as far as Phoebe could work out, or even cared, Sophy was quite happy with her mum and her stepfather.
