Page 82 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
A version that was learning to compromise. To appreciate the people in her life instead of insisting that she didn’t need anybody. To prioritise what was really important. Coco. Freddy. Her friends. Her shop and yes, the dresses were always going to matter to her and that was OK too.
‘Pheebs, we’re ready for you,’ she heard Sophy call down the stairs and Phoebe, who’d been sitting in the back office, hidden from sight of all the guests who’d assembled in the atelier, stood up.
She checked her reflection one last time in the changing room mirror, then she lifted up Coco Chanel, who as well as being chief bridesmaid was doubling up as her bouquet, and walked through the empty shop.
Past the three rails of rental dresses. Valentine’s Day notwithstanding, it was a quiet time of the year. People not quiteso keen to splurge on a new dress so it made sense that maybe they’d prefer to rent one instead.
Past all the other dresses on their padded hangers. Past the red hearts that Sophy and Anita had stuck all over the shop when Phoebe had agreed that maybe this year they could decorate for Valentine’s Day.
She reached the foot of the stairs, hefted Coco to her other side because her ribs were still a little sore and looked up to see a familiar face gazing down at her.
‘Oh my God, what are you doing here?’ she gasped.
‘Had to see a man about a dog,’ Johnno said, with a shrug. ‘And while I was in the neighbourhood, I thought I’d swing by.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Phoebe said, widening her eyes because she wasn’t going to cry. It would absolutely wreck her make-up.
‘Did you really think I was going to miss your wedding?’ he asked as Phoebe slowly walked up the stairs towards him. ‘There isn’t an aisle and you’re your own woman who’s here of your own free will so I’m not giving you away, but if you want to take my arm, then that would be cool.’
‘I’d like that,’ Phoebe said.
It was a very narrow, very twisty staircase so it was quite hard to walk arm in arm with Johnno, especially when you were also holding a wriggly French bulldog, but Phoebe managed it.
Then she was in her happy place. Surrounded by all those dresses that had their own stories, their own memories, there to bear witness to one more story, one more memory, as Phoebe walked towards the spot where so many other prospective brides had stood.
Freddy was the first bridegroom to stand on the dais, nervously shifting from foot to foot. But as he caught sight of Phoebe and Coco, he stilled and a slow smile crept on to his face, banishing the clouds of uncertainty.
He was there to hold out a hand to Phoebe as she let go of Johnno and stepped onto the platform. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘Coco too.’
‘We do,’ Phoebe agreed, because there was no point in being modest about it. She brushed away a speck of lint from the lapel of his exquisitely cut charcoal Italian wool suit. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
And as Phoebe looked at the many Phoebes reflected back in the mirrors that lined the room, she didn’t think any of them had ever looked as happy as she did now.
