Page 49 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
‘Of course I know what to do,’ she said. ‘You were very good at explaining things. And as we’re so busy, I think we’d better engage our emergency protocols.’
The emergency protocols were Bea on the door to only let people in, once she’d let people out. Anita policing the changing rooms and only allowing customers to try on three dresses or fewer and Sophy on till.
When Phoebe wasn’t one of the most hated women on the internet and hadn’t been cancelled for a second time, she’d supervise the operation, but that wasn’t currently a viable option.
‘I’ll be in the back office if you need me,’ she said, although she did have to venture onto the shop floor a couple of times to look for dresses that had been ordered online.
The second time, as Phoebe pulled a navy blue knit dress from the rail, the two young girls standing next to her nudged each other. ‘It’s her,’ she heard one of them hiss with glee. ‘That absolutely mental woman from TikTok.’
Keeping calm and carrying on was not in Phoebe’s nature. How she longed to turn round, tell the pair of them off and then ban them from the shop for life. She didn’t though, but once she’d finished doing the website orders, only four of them, which took no time at all, Phoebe was glad to have an excuse to pop out and go to the post office.
She still had no intention of apologising but she did offer to fetch lunch for them and Cress, who’d been called downstairs to help out.
They refused Phoebe’s request with varying degrees of politeness and although The Vintage Dress Shop was meant to be her safe place, she couldn’t wait for Bea to unlock the door and let her escape.
There wasn’t even a long queue in the post office to delay her, nor in the little café where she liked to go to get her lunchtime salad. Coco Chanel wasn’t in the mood for a long walk either and kept tugging on her lead in the direction of the shop.
All too soon, Phoebe had to return to a shop that wasn’t quite so crowded but the atmosphere still had teeth and claws.
‘I’ll be in the office if you need me,’ she said brightly and someone, either Anita or Sophy, Phoebe couldn’t be sure which, muttered, ‘Like I need a hole in the head,’ in response.
Turning the other cheek was almost as hard as keeping calm and carrying on. As it was, Phoebe had no appetite for her chicken salad. For a moment, she wished she was the sort of person who ate carbs because her inner turmoil really needed something bready to squash it down. Possibly a doughnut.
Instead she found herself mindlessly scrolling through her phone. Or rather mindlessly scrolling through Birdy’s Instagram feed and her colour-drenched, quirky pictures, which told a story just as well as the slightly breathless and gushy words that accompanied each post.
Phoebe was very careful with her fingers. She didn’t want to accidentally like a picture from two years ago and have Birdy think that she was some crazed stalker. She’d rather that Birdy didn’t think about her at all. Although Phoebe couldn’t find fault with the two pieces of #sponcon for The Vintage Dress Shop that she’d posted already. One was a reel of Birdy running her hand over the rental rail and a commentary about how to rent dresses and the other was a series of pictures of Birdy frolicking on one of the pink sofas in the silver lamé minidress, which Phoebe had pulled for her.
They both had hundreds of likes and lots of comments, although a couple advised Birdy that they were unfollowing her becauseI can’t believe you’d do ads for a shop that employs BULLIES.
Phoebe was saved from having to read any more uncomplimentary comments by the ping of her WhatsApp. Her heart lifted just a little to see a message from Johnno.
It was a photo of a fawn-coloured French bulldog frolicking on a beach, with the caption:Coco is cuter.
Phoebe was very much the sort of woman who kept her own counsel. But she never had to do that with Johnno.
Are you around for a bit. Fancy a FaceTime?she wrote back and her message had barely been in the ether and landed on the other side of the world before her phone rang.
She accepted the call, propped up her phone against the fancy tin that had once stored tea bags but now held a motley collection of pens, pencils and a manky pair of scissors, and smiled as Johnno’s weatherbeaten face, sporting a huge grin, appeared on the screen.
‘Love the hair,’ Phoebe said, a smile on her face for the first time in days. ‘Aren’t you worried you’ll scare the sheep?’
Johnno’s close-cropped hair was currently neon green, which clashed with his ruddy cheeks. ‘Had to leave the sheep for a week or so to come to Sydney to see a man about a dog,’ he said with a grin. ‘Talking of which, how is Madame Coco?’
At the sound of her name, Coco who’d been lying at Phoebe’s feet in the hope of some chicken, raised her head. Phoebe scooped her up and sat her on her lap. ‘There’s your uncle Johnno,’ she said and Coco’s ears twitched as if she understood.
Then once Coco was back on the floor with a small piece of chicken for her trouble, Johnno launched into a long story involving a man he’d met in a pub, a darts match and how Johnno had ‘won the fella’s ute, fair and square, then he reported it stolen to the police. Thought they were going to bang me to rights but turns out the bloke has form for this kind of thing.’
Phoebe nodded and smiled and once Johnno had come to the end of his tale of woe, it was her turn to speak. Thoughevery time she tried to think of a suitable opening statement, her words failed her.
‘Everything’s terrible,’ she heard herself suddenly blurt out. ‘There’s a horrible atmosphere in the shop. Sophy and I argued, though she overstepped and took liberties with the dresses and people keep taking videos of me and posting them on the internet so that other people who don’t even know me call me vile names and . . . and . . . and Freddy and me. There is no Freddy and me anymore.’
Johnno didn’t say anything for a while. Phoebe always liked that about him. When it really mattered, Johnno listened and considered what he’d been listening to before he commented.
Now, much like Coco Chanel, he tilted his neon green head and processed everything that Phoebe had to say.
‘It sounds like you’re having a rough week,’ he summed up.
‘The absolute roughest,’ Phoebe agreed.
