Page 68 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
‘Are youstilldrunk?’ Anita said teasingly as they dispersed, and that was another thing that happened when you let your guard down: people stopped taking you seriously.
Or maybe the lines between friends and colleagues had become so blurred . . .
‘Phoebe, can I have a word?’ Freddy asked.
That was no longer the cue for the two of them to hide in the basement and not actually do anything because of the fear of being discovered but there’d still be some low-level flirting.
‘The back office?’ Phoebe suggested because there was going to be no low-level flirting so Freddy might as well say whatever it was he had to say in plain sight.
Freddy followed Phoebe through the shop, then he closed the door of the back office behind him, so it was just the two of them.
‘How are you?’ he asked earnestly.
‘I’m fine,’ Phoebe said.
‘Because you didn’t come to the pub on Friday night. Is that a new thing then?’ he wanted to know, which was none of his business anymore.
Not that Phoebe could tell him that. She wanted to but also she was tired of lashing out. She didn’t want to be that person anymore. ‘Marianne had her Christmas shopping evening,’ Phoebe said. Then she blushed again because even though it was still a slightly throbbing ache on her wrist, she’d forgotten about the tattoo.
Just like she’d forgotten about it until she got home from Saturday night’s sleepover. She’d been desperate for a shower so she hadn’t even been paying any particular attention as she peeled off the bandage that was covering the tattoo then she’d glanced down at it and . . .
Well, it certainly wasn’t her favourite Coco Chanel quote.
‘I was walking past the boat last night and it was quite early, but you were out,’ Freddy said casually.
Maybe if he wasn’t so casual. If he was a little desperate. A little ‘I can’t live without you, Pheebs’, then Phoebe could allow herself to soften.
‘It was Saturday night. People do go out on Saturday nights. It’s not unprecedented,’ she said. ‘Why were you even walking past the boat?’
‘I just wanted to check that you’d had someone in to service the flue on the wood-burning stove,’ Freddy said, suddenly finding the toes of his white Puma Roma trainers absolutely fascinating.
Why was it that Freddy cared more about her domestic heating arrangements than he cared about her? ‘The flue on my wood-burning stove is no longer any concern of yours,’ Phoebe told him gently. But then the hurt reasserted itself. ‘Remember? You don’t want to be with me anymore because I’m a horrible person.’
‘That’s not what I said. I wouldneversay that,’ Freddy protested indignantly. ‘But you are bloody impossible, that’s for sure.’
‘I’m going to stay that way,’ Phoebe said, drawing herself up so that with her heels on, they were almost the same height. ‘I’m not going to let anyone change me. I like being impossible.’
‘That must be why you’re so good at it,’ Freddy said. He turned away but not before Phoebe heard him mutter under his breath, ‘I don’t know why I bother.’
‘I don’t know why you bother either,’ Phoebe said and she wasn’t even being unkind. It was the absolute truth. She couldn’t be the person that Freddy wanted her to be, so the sooner he got that message and looked for someone who’d actually make him happy, instead of someone who made him sigh and dim his light, the better.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There was no rest for the wicked. Or no rest for the heartbroken.
Phoebe had thought that Bea’s idea to have her star in a reel was just idle Monday morning chat. But no. If it came to doing a stocktake, Bea was the queen of procrastination but on Monday evening when Phoebe was back on the boat scrutinising the flue of the wood burner to see if it really did need a service, Bea messaged her.
Had a great chat with Birdy. I’m going to shoot three Reels with you tomorrow when the shop is quiet. Daytime to night-time. Let’s try and do a jump transition. It should be fun. Don’t forget your make-up bag.
Phoebe had no idea what a jump transition was. It didn’t sound like fun but it had to be better than answering a journalist’s probing questions.
She turned up for work the next morning with her full make-up case and a much better idea. ‘I think we should all do a day-to-night look,’ she stated in a tone that would tolerate no arguments, once everyone was assembled. Even Anita, lately, was managing to get to work on time. ‘A Reel each. Because we all work here. Otherwise three Reels of just me? Well, that really is just showing off.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I want to do that,’ Cress demurred.
‘You have to,’ Sophy insisted. ‘No woman left behind. I’ve got some lovely rental dresses in your size that you’d look gorgeous in.’
It turned out that Anita was an old hand at a jump transition so she volunteered to go first, heading up to the atelier with Bea while the others welcomed the first customers of the day.
