Page 55 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
It was always easier to pour her emotions into inanimate objects, her dresses, herstuff.
Instead, Phoebe just shrugged helplessly. Hopelessly. ‘Well, if we have nothing to say to each other then you should probably go. It’s getting quite late.’
Indeed it was far too late for the both of them.
Phoebe’s phone chimed as Freddy left without another word, his face impassive even as Coco Chanel barked her displeasure at his departure.
She glanced at the screen impatiently, only to see that she had a message from Birdy.
Sorry that the internet/Rosie Roberts is still being vile. Would you and Coco like to come round on Sunday for a tea party/doggy date?
Phoebe’s first, second, third and quite a few instincts after that was to refuse. She hardly knew Birdy. They’d met three times now and that was hardly enough times to go round to her house to hang out. Like they were friends or something.
Then Phoebe thought of how after work tomorrow, the rest of the weekend stretched out before her with nothing to do and no one to see. Before Freddy, she was perfectly happy with her own company or seeing people from her very small and carefully selected friend group. Then it had happened that when she wasn’t at The Vintage Dress Shop, she was with Freddy. His presence and his plans for the two of them filling up every minute. Also, she knew that Marianne and Claude had gone to see his parents in Scunthorpe for the weekend so she couldn’t throw herself on their mercy either.
The thought of a Sunday spent on her own with nothing to do but housework and replaying all her past mistakes of the last few weeks was too awful to contemplate.
That would be great. Would you like me to bring anything?
The reply was almost instant.
Just yourselves. See you at three. Location pin attached.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Phoebe was never late. She was never too early either, which was another kind of rudeness altogether. If you had friends coming round and they turned up thirty minutes before the agreed time while you were still in the shower, well, that was just inconsiderate.
‘Punctuality is the politeness of kings,’ Mildred had been fond of saying, so at exactly five minutes to three, even though the bus from Camden had taken ages, Phoebe rang the bell to Birdy’s basement flat in a quiet tree-lined road in Upper Clapton.
She didn’t know why her stomach felt like it was on the floor and her hands were clammy inside her gloves. Like she was nervous or something.
There was the sound of yapping, which made Coco, who was waiting patiently at her feet, squirm and give a warning bark.
‘Company manners, CC,’ Phoebe said sharply, as she heard footsteps and the sound of a key turning then the door opened and Birdy was standing there with a delighted smile on her elfin face.
‘You came,’ she said as if she hadn’t been sure that Phoebe would.
‘I came,’ Phoebe agreed.
They stood there for a moment, each sizing the other one up. Birdy was clearly one of those people who dressed strictly for comfort at home. She was bare-faced, her hair curling upat the ends and she was wearing a onesie. It was leopard print but it was still a onesie.
Phoebe was in one of her weekend outfits. Vintage-cut, indigo denim dungarees, a black and white polka dot rayon silk blouse with pussy cat bow, biker boots and her hair caught up in a black and white polka dot silk scarf, only her fringe visible. And of course full make-up. Phoebe never went anywhere without a red lip.
The sizing up was interrupted as Coco Chanel made an attempt to push past Phoebe probably because she could sense that Peggy Gug was near.
‘Oh, you can just let her off the lead,’ Birdy said. ‘I think she and Peggy are going to be fast friends.’
Phoebe doubted that very much. There was every possibility that Coco might eat Peggy but she released the catch on Coco’s pink leather lead so Coco could shoot through Birdy’s legs.
‘I got you this,’ Phoebe said when she’d straightened up and handed over a stiff cardboard box, which had become a little squashed on the bus. ‘For tea.’
There was a very fancy, very expensive bakery in Primrose Hill, which mostly specialised in cupcakes but cupcakes were so early 2000s and a triumph of frosting over actual cake. Instead Phoebe had brought a Victoria sponge. Classic, timeless, the little black dress of cakes.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have,’ Birdy said, sniffing with a little rapturous sigh. ‘It smells delicious.’
‘I could never turn up to someone’s house empty-handed,’ Phoebe insisted, another useful life lesson from Mildred and now that greetings had been exchanged, she stepped through the door and hoped this wasn’t a big mistake.
Birdy’s flat was on the lower ground floor of a Victorian house. From the outside, the house looked very done up. It’s paintwork grey, its wooden trims and doors black as wasfashionable, but the separate little basement flat wasn’t as smart as its exterior.
