A Vintage Affair (29 page)

‘Doesn’t she have to
do
anything in return?’

‘What – like wash the car or pull up weeds?’

‘Yes. That sort of thing – or just work extra hard at school?’

‘I don’t operate like that,’ Miles said. ‘Roxy knows how much it cost and she’s grateful to me for buying it – I feel that’s enough. And the school fees are a lot less now that she’s not boarding, so I don’t actually begrudge it. And I was prepared to spend quite a lot at Christie’s, remember?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘How could I forget?’ As I gave Miles some salad I thought of the wonderful column of white silk jersey with its chiffon trains and wondered whether I’d ever wear it. ‘But don’t you want Roxy to feel that
she’s
earned
the dress – or at least contributed something towards it?’

Miles shrugged again. ‘Not particularly. No. What’s the point?’

‘Well … I suppose the point is …’ I sipped my wine ‘… you’re letting everything drop into Roxy’s lap – without any effort from her. As though the things she wants are simply hers for the taking.’

Miles was staring at me. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

I flinched at his tone. ‘I meant that … children need an incentive. That’s all.’

‘Oh.’ Miles’ face had relaxed. ‘Yes. Of course …’ Then I told him about Katie and the yellow prom dress.

He sipped his wine. ‘So
that’s
what’s prompted this lecture, is it?’

‘It probably is. I think what Katie’s doing is admirable.’

‘It
is
. But Roxy’s in a different situation. I don’t feel guilty about spending this much on her because I …
can
and because I give generously to charity, so I’m not entirely selfish in how I spend my money. But it’s my right to dispose of what the taxman leaves me in the way I choose – and I choose to spend it largely on my family – and that means Roxy.’

‘Well …’ I shrugged. ‘She’s your child.’

Miles fiddled with his wine glass. ‘She is. And I’ve parented her alone for ten years – and that’s no easy task, and I hate it when other people tell me that I’m getting it wrong.’

So others had noticed Miles’ indulgent parenting of Roxy, I reflected as I walked up to the shop on Saturday
morning. But then it was impossible not to notice. As I unlocked the door I wondered whether, if Miles and I ever had a baby, he’d be the same with that child too. I wouldn’t let him be, I decided. Then I found myself wondering what our family life would be like. Presumably Roxy’s attitude towards me would soften over time, and if it didn’t … She’s sixteen, I told myself as I took off my coat. She’ll soon be making her own way in the world.

As I turned over the ‘Closed’ sign I wished I had someone to help me as Saturday is always my busiest day. I’d talked to Annie about it but she said she preferred not to work at weekends as she usually went down to Brighton. I’d dismissed the idea of asking Mum if she’d help out as she’s not interested in vintage, plus she works full time and needs to relax.

I had eight customers in the first hour alone. The purple prom dress sold, and a Burberry trench from the menswear rail; then a man came in looking for a present for his wife and ended up buying a few pieces of Aunt Lydia’s lingerie. After that there was a lull, so I leaned against the counter and took a moment to enjoy the view of the Heath. There were children cycling and scooting; there were people jogging, pushing prams and flying kites. I gazed at the sky with its cloudscape of massive white cumulus and lowering nimbus, with wisps of cirrus far, far above. As I craned my neck I could see planes glinting in the sun as they stitched their trails across the blue. Lower down, a vast underlit cloud with curiously smooth sides seemed to hover over the Heath like a spaceship. Now I imagined the fireworks that would fill this sky a week hence. I love the Blackheath
display and it would be nice to be there with Miles. Suddenly I heard the tinkle of the bell.

It was Katie. She blushed as she came in, then she glanced at the wall and saw the yellow dress hanging there, flanked by the new prom dresses. ‘So you’ve put it back,’ she said despondently.

‘Yes – I couldn’t hold it for any longer.’

‘I understand.’ She sighed. ‘And I’m
really
sorry.’

‘So … you don’t want it then?’

She sighed with frustration. ‘I
do
. But I had my mobile phone stolen last week and Mum said that I’d have to pay for the new one as I’d been careless. Then I had two babysitting bookings cancelled because the wife had forgotten that it was half-term, so they’ve gone away; and I’ve been laid off at Costcutters as I was only covering for someone. So I’m afraid I can’t buy the dress as I’m
£
100 short.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d been putting off telling you because I hoped something would turn up.’

‘That’s a shame – but what will you wear instead?’

Katie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There’s a ball dress I’ve had for ages.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s apple green polyester moiré.’

‘Oh. It sounds …’

‘Hideous? It is – it should have a matching sick bag to go with it. I might run up to Next and get something, but I’ve left it all a bit late. I’m probably not going to
go
to the ball.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s just … too difficult.’

‘Is there anything else here, a bit cheaper, that you might like?’

‘Well … possibly.’ Katie riffled through the evening-wear rail, then shook her head. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘So you’ve earned
£
175?’ She nodded. I looked at the dress. ‘Do you
really
want it?’

Katie gazed at it. ‘I adore it. I dream about it. The worst thing about losing my mobile was losing the photo I’d taken of it.’

‘That answers my question. Look – you can have it for
£
175.’

‘
Really
?’ Happiness had lifted Katie on to her toes. ‘But surely you could sell it at full price.’

‘I could. But I’d much rather sell it to you – as long as you genuinely want it. That’s still quite a bit of money – to most sixteen-year-olds at least – so you’ve got to be sure.’

‘I
am
sure,’ Katie said.

‘Do you want to ring your mum first?’ I nodded at the phone on the counter.

‘No. She thinks it’s lovely too – I showed her the photo. She said she couldn’t buy it for me, but she did give me £30 towards it, which was decent of her.’

‘Right.’ I took it down. ‘It’s yours.’

Katie clapped her hands. ‘
Thanks
.’ Then she opened her bag and took out her Maestro card.

‘What about shoes?’ I asked as she put in her pin code.

‘Mum’s got a pair of yellow leather sling-backs and I’ve a necklace made of yellow glass flowers – and I’ve got some sparkly hair slides.’

‘That sounds perfect. Have you got a wrap?’

‘I haven’t, no.’

‘Just a moment.’ I went and got a lemony silk organza

evening stole with silver threads running through it and held it to the dress. ‘This will work – but if you could let me have it back afterwards.’

‘Of course I will. Thank you.’

I folded the stole into the bag with the cupcake then handed it to Katie. ‘Enjoy the dress – and the ball …’

‘A scary evening last night for the dinosaurs at London’s Natural History Museum,’ the Sky News presenter announced the following morning. Miles had the kitchen TV on and we’d been half watching it over breakfast. ‘A thousand teenagers descended on the museum for the Butterfly Ball, in aid of the Teenage Leukaemia Trust. The black-tie event was sponsored by Chrysalis, hosted by the ever youthful Ant and Dec, and the revellers, who included Princess Beatrice’ – now we saw Princess Beatrice smiling at the camera as she swept into the museum in an orchid pink silk gown – ‘enjoyed champagne and canapés, danced to tribute band the Bootleg Beatles, and were entertained by the cast of the stage production of
High School Musical
. iPhones, digital cameras and designer goods were raffled, along with a trip to New York to include tickets to the US premiere of
Quantum of Solace
. A total of
£
65,000 was raised.’

‘I wonder if we’ll see Roxy,’ Miles said as we stared at the screen.

She was still in bed, recovering. She’d been dropped off by a friend’s mother just before one. Miles had waited up, but I’d gone to bed.

‘Did you tell Roxy that I’d be here?’ I asked Miles as I spread marmalade on my toast. ‘You said you would,’ I added anxiously.

‘I’m afraid I didn’t. She was a bit the worse for wear, so she just crashed.’

‘I hope she’ll be okay about it.’

‘Oh … I’m sure she will.’

Suddenly Roxy appeared in her dove grey cashmere dressing gown and pink bunny slippers. My knees began to tremble so I pressed them against the underside of the table. Then I reminded myself that I was twice her age.

‘Hi, sweetheart.’ Miles smiled at Roxy, who was looking at me with an expression of insolent, studied puzzlement. ‘You remember Phoebe, don’t you, darling?’

‘Hi, Roxy.’ My heart was thudding with apprehension. ‘So how was the ball?’

She went over to the fridge. ‘All right.’

‘I know some kids who went to it,’ I said.

‘How fascinating,’ she replied as she got out the orange juice.

‘Were many of your friends there?’ Miles asked as he passed her a glass.

‘Yeah – a few.’ She heaved herself wearily on to a stool at the breakfast bar and poured herself some juice. ‘Sienna Fenwick, Lucy Coutts, Ivo Smythson, Izzy Halford, Milo Debenham, Tiggy Thornton… oh, and good old Caspar – von Schellenberg, that is, not von Eulenberg.’ She yawned, cavernously. ‘I met Peaches Geldof in the loo. She’s really cool.’ Roxy took a piece of toast from the rack.

‘And was Clara there?’ Miles asked.

Roxy picked up her knife. ‘She was. I cut her dead. The bitch,’ she added casually as she spread butter on her toast.

Miles sighed. ‘But apart from that, you had a wonderful time?’

‘Yes. I did – until some idiot ruined my dress.’

‘Some idiot ruined your dress?’ I repeated idiotically.

Roxy gave me a level stare. ‘That’s what I just said.’

‘
Roxanne
…’ My heart leapt. Miles was about to rebuke Roxy for her rudeness – and about time. ‘That dress was
so
expensive. You shouldn’t have let that happen, darling.’ I felt my spirits sink.

Roxy bristled. ‘It wasn’t
my
fault. This stupid girl stepped on it as everyone went upstairs for the judging of Best-Dressed Guest. Having a rip in the back of my gown didn’t exactly help.’

‘I could get that repaired for you,’ I said. ‘If you show it to me.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll get it sent back to Lacroix.’

‘That’ll cost a lot. I’d be happy to take it to my seamstress for you – she’s brilliant.’

‘Can we play tennis, Dad?’ Roxy said.

‘Or I could even mend it myself – if it’s a straight forward matter.’

‘I really want to play tennis.’ She took another piece of toast from the rack.

‘Have you done your prep?’ Miles asked her.

‘You know it’s been half-term, Dad – I haven’t had any.’

‘But I thought you had a geography essay to write. That one you should have done before half-term started.’

‘Oh yes …’ Roxy tucked a hank of sleep-tousled blonde hair behind her ear. ‘That won’t take me long – maybe you could help me.’

He sighed with an air of exaggerated tolerance. ‘All right – and then we’ll play.’ He looked at me. ‘Why don’t you join us, Phoebe?’

Roxy snapped the toast in half. ‘Tennis doesn’t work
with three.’ I looked at Miles, waiting for him to rebuke Roxy but he didn’t. I bit my lip. ‘Plus I want to practise my serve, so I need you to hit balls to me, Dad.’

‘Phoebe?’ said Miles. ‘Would you like to play?’

‘It’s okay,’ I said quietly. ‘I think I’ll get back. I’ve got lots to do.’

‘Are you sure?’ Miles said.

‘Yes. Thanks.’ I picked up my bag. One step at a time. It was enough that Roxy knew I’d stayed in the house…

On Monday morning I asked Annie to nip up to the bank to get some cash for the till. She came back holding a copy of the
Evening Standard
. ‘Have you seen this?’

In the centre pages was a big spread about the ball with a photo of the Best-Dressed Guest – a girl in a kind of futurist crinoline that she’d made herself, using overlapping circles of silver leather – it was beautiful. There was also a group photo of two boys and two girls, one of whom was Katie. She was quoted as saying that her prom dress came from
Village Vintage, in Blackheath,
where you can get glorious vintage dresses at affordable
prices
.

‘Thank you Katie!’

Annie was smiling. ‘It’s fantastic PR. So she
did
go to the ball, then.’

‘She nearly didn’t.’ I told Annie what had happened.

‘Well, you just got your
£
100 back, Phoebe – with interest,’ she added as she put her jacket in the office. ‘Now, is there anything happening today that I need to know about?’

‘I’m going to look at a collection of clothes in
Sydenham. The woman’s retiring to Spain and is getting rid of most of her stuff. I’ll be out for two hours …’

In the event it was nearly four hours because I couldn’t get Mrs Price – a superannuated sixty-something in animal prints – to stop talking. She gabbled away while she pulled out garment after garment, explaining in minute detail where her first husband had bought her this and her third husband had bought her that and why her second husband hadn’t been able to bear seeing her in the other and what a nuisance men were when it came to clothes.

‘You should have worn what
you
liked,’ I said teasingly.

‘If only it had been that easy.’ She sighed. ‘But now I’m getting divorced again, I
will
.’

I bought ten garments including two very pretty cocktail dresses by Oscar de la Renta and a Nina Ricci ball gown of black silk with white silk roses at the shoulder, and an ivory crepe gown with scalloped edging made by Marc Bohan for Dior. I gave Mrs Price a cheque and arranged to collect the clothes in a week’s time.

As I drove back to Blackheath I worried about whether or not I’d have enough space to store them – the stockroom walls had developed a bulge.