Page 51 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
Phoebe’s life would have been so much better if Sophy had never come into it. Right from the start, Phoebe was sure that Sophy, who’d worked for BelleGirl, an awful fast-fashion high-street chain that had gone bust, had designs on her shop, her job, but the reality had been even worse than that.
First, she’d set her cap at lovely Charles then she’d broken his heart by emigrating to Australia and her grandparents’ sheep farm. (No matter what anyone said, it was a farm. You didn’t have sheep on a station.)
Phoebe had been delighted for Sophy to go and live on the other side of the world but she’d never dreamed that Johnno would decide to go with her. Then when Sophy had returned, it had been minus Johnno and with a few months’ experience of working at Clive’s bloody Closet, so she thought she was now a vintage clothing expert. Phoebe hadn’t wanted heranywhere near the shop but back she came for an ‘indefinite’ period of time and with notions about renting out dresses and still she showed no inclination to leave.
So, she had good reasons for not liking Sophy but Phoebe could understand very well how difficult families could be. Especially families that weren’t a one-size mum, dad, two kids fits all.
‘He’s my father,’ Sophy said in a voice loaded with feelings. Lots of confusing, warring feelings. ‘This is justweird. Are you doing this to get a rise out of me?’
‘No! Johnno is . . . He’s just the person I can always go to when I need advice,’ Phoebe admitted, though it was the very last thing she wanted to tell Sophy. That there were times that she needed help and Johnno was the only person she trusted enough not to hold her weaknesses against her. ‘He’s your father but in some ways, a lot of ways, he’s always been a father figure to me, you know.’
Sophy clicked the kettle so it would boil again as she’d now missed the peak hot water window. ‘No, I don’t know. Yes, Johnno’s everyone’s friend, and I’m glad that we have a relationship now, but just because he’s a great guy, it doesn’t mean that he’s a great dad. He’s so unreliable.’
‘I don’t know why that’s such a problem.’ Phoebe shrugged. ‘He doesn’t claim to be reliable. He’s always been really upfront about his absolute flakiness. All that going to see a man about a dog when he’s trying to wriggle out of something.’
‘Thanks for explaining the ways of my own father to me,’ Sophy snapped as the kettle clicked off and she picked it up.
Phoebe tried not to flinch. Sophy had a temper on her – all that red hair – but she hoped that she wouldn’t start flinging scalding-hot water about. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to dadsplain.’
Sophy, thank goodness, put the kettle down. ‘Oh my God, did you actually just apologise?’
‘Only sorry for . . .’
‘And then did you really crack a joke? Jesus. It’s the end of days,’ Sophy exclaimed, picking up the kettle again.
‘I’m notthatbad,’ Phoebe said crossly, except she didn’t even sound cross. She was tired mostly. She’d been cross now for what felt like weeks. Maybe months. Years. Her entire life. It was exhausting.
‘But, Pheebs, you really are that bad.’ Sophy sounded exhausted too.
‘This thing with Johnno and his unreliability . . . I get that it’s a very different situation for you but for me, well, I always expect people to let me down so he’s never disappointed me in that way,’ she explained as delicately and as diplomatically as she could, though neither of those adjectives were really in her wheelhouse. ‘I’ve known him for years, Sophy. You think I’m bad but Johnno has seen the absolute worst of me and he’s never judged me for it. He’s come through for me, time and time again, in so many different ways. I owe him everything and I’m not saying that to upset you but . . .’
It was impossible to say what she wanted to say.
The tension between the two women, always there, shimmering like a force field that separated them, was almost visible.
It felt to Phoebe as if neither of them even dared to blink. ‘But . . . ?’ Sophy prompted very gently.
‘If Johnno had been my father, not just a father figure, then . . . then I wouldn’t have minded that and when you turned up, out of the blue, Johnno’s actual daughter, oh God, I was so jealous of you I couldn’t even stand it,’ Phoebe said bitterly. ‘And you don’t appreciate him at all.’
‘So, is that why you’ve always hated me?’ Sophy asked flatly. Then she lifted up the kettle again. ‘Do you want coffee?’
‘Yes please and I don’thateyou . . .’
‘Dislike me intensely then. Potato potarto.’ Sophy spooned coffee granules into Phoebe’s mug, which Cress had got her for Christmas. A vintage Wedgwood mug from the late queen’s coronation in 1953. Almost too nice to be used but Cress had insisted and Phoebe had been touched that Cress had given her such a thoughtful on-brand gift.
Cress was another one of the very small group of people that Phoebe had welcomed into her world. Yet now Cress was someone else who counted Phoebe as one of her least favourite people. But of those people, Sophy was the one who was currently in her eyeline and giving her grief.
Grief that was maybe just a little bit justified.
‘Look, it’s not my fault that we didn’t become instant best friends,’ Phoebe said, which probably counted as explaining but at least she wasn’t complaining. ‘I had no idea you were going to be working here. Even Freddy didn’t know until Johnno sent him a message asking him to collect you from the station. Then you were very disrespectful about the dresses. For weeks you kept saying that people had probably died in them.’
Was that the ghost of a smile on Sophy’s face as she held up the milk carton. ‘Black or a splash of milk?’ She’d remembered that Phoebe took her coffee in two different ways depending on her mood.
‘Just a splash, please.’
‘The odds are that at least one of the dresses that we’ve sold did have someone die in them,’ Sophy muttered.
‘Why would you say that? Are you deliberately trying to wind me up?’ Phoebe demanded as Sophy handed her the mug.
