Apple was still frowning. ‘This isn’t the yacht race weekend, is it?’
Poppy grinned as though this was the surprise she’d been waiting to reveal. ‘Of course it is! And the Lac Compt Bridal Resort Show!’
‘Shit.’ Apple stopped still on the tarmac.
5
Apple sat tense as their chauffeur loaded their luggage into a buggy. They set off and Apple said, ‘I feel nervous.’
Poppy glanced at her. ‘We’re only going like ten Ks.’
‘Not this, this.’ Apple glanced at the preened jungle green, the tanned visions strolling by – gladiator sandals laced, silk sarongs tied. ‘What if Bernadette is here?’
‘Bernadette?’
‘Bernadette Jones. The editor of Harper’s.’
‘She’s not here.’ Poppy said. ‘I checked the media list. Harper’s Bazaar aren’t covering the Lac Compt show.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Apple, I brought you for you, so you could Zen out, enjoy yourself, be yourself for a change.’
Apple shook her head, sighing as she said, ‘Well, one could be forgiven for thinking you brought me just to see a bridal show.’
‘If it inspires you, it inspires you.’ Poppy said guilelessly. ‘And I only learned it was specifically a bridal show after I decided to bring you. So.’
Apple nibbled her nails.
‘Can you just relax?’ Poppy took her sister’s arm and tucked it under her own.
‘I’ll try . . . but so you know, what happened wasn’t a secret, it was a big deal at the time. It will be as good as common knowledge for anyone in the industry.’
‘It was so long ago.’
‘Don’t think I flatter myself that people think about me. It’s just that if they saw me . . . And all of my peers will have graduated by now, they could be anywhere, probably here, and their knowing gazes would just . . . I’d feel so ashamed, I couldn’t bear it.’
Apple’s mouth was dry as she turned up the collar of her shirt and tried to hide her face behind it. She felt foolish and folded it back down, then nervously swatted her hair.
‘It’s fine,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, P, I’m fine. It will be fine. Thank you, it’s . . . Thank you.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t consider everything you just said. I’m as disturbed by that whole horror story as you are. I’m just trying to be positive, and show . . . I don’t know, abandon, in spite of it all. You shouldn’t have to hide, it’s ludicrous.’
Apple nodded, wanting Poppy to feel okay. ‘I know.’
Their buggy parked in front of a three-storey hotel surrounded by lush, manicured gardens.
‘Ew,’ Poppy said. ‘I should have guessed they’d put us up in the worst of the best. It’s like . . .’ She hesitated with a laugh. ‘It feels like a reception centre in Jurassic Park, circa 1992.’
Apple managed a smile then gazed up at the carved dark timber detailed with bronze, and the vast, palm-filled foyer that opened to the beach on the far side. ‘It could be worse.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t miss a spot?’ Poppy said as Apple applied clear zinc cream to her back. ‘My skin is as white as this damn sand.’
‘You’re slick with sunscreen,’ Apple said. ‘Don’t go near that sand unless you want to be covered in it.’
Poppy peered about then flumped face down on the towel. ‘Do you think all these women are trophy wives?’
Apple sucked on a straw protruding from a coconut. ‘Who knows?’
‘Do you ever fantasise about being a trophy wife?’
‘It’s all I think about.’
‘Is it?’ Poppy’s head snapped up.
Apple laughed.
Poppy rested her head down again. ‘Imagine if you didn’t have to do anything, though. Like you just had to have sex sometimes and work on your tan and get your nails done. I mean, I hate having my nails done, but this right now could be our real life.’
‘It is our real life.’
‘But minus the bit where I have to get up from this towel, wash off my sunscreen, put on a tailored jacket and say things to impress people – using my head brain and mouth words.’
‘Impressing people with your chest boobs and hand nails would be much easier.’
‘Brains and literacy are really hard work.’ Poppy stretched her body into a starfish. ‘Fuck, I just got sand on me.’
She got up and walked down to the shore. Apple rolled over and watched as Poppy splashed into the blue that stretched out from the shore. Yachts skimmed by, sailing across the bay from the marina. Apple sank back against her towel.
‘What shall we do tonight?’ Poppy was soon dripping over her.
Apple gazed up into her sister’s face and, suppressing anxiety, said, ‘I think we should go out. I want to shout you dinner.’
‘See what I mean?’ Poppy said as they climbed the wooden stairs of Flynn’s Lodge, a captain’s-berth-themed bar on the point of the island. ‘This feels kind of like an eighties crab shack thing.’
Apple’s heart sped as they reached the deck over the water and she scanned the crowd. ‘Crab shacks are kind of cool, though,’ she said, not yet seeing anyone she knew.
‘This is not the cool kind.’
Apple kept checking the crowd, feeling calmer each time she saw another face she didn’t recognise. ‘Do you know if most people are here for the fashion show or the yacht race?’
‘I think it’s split,’ Poppy said. ‘Honestly, it’s just a giant corporate networking stew.’
Apple nervously adjusted her loose cream tank, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. The flowing maxi wasn’t helping her feel breezy or elegant like she’d hoped it would.
They moved along the balustrade towards a table and her heart leaped as she recognised a face in the crowd.
‘Apple?’ Poppy said.
‘Sorry.’ She laughed a little, not just recognising the face but knowing it, liking it. She watched as the man’s eyes skimmed past her then tracked back, his face frowning as he seemed to try to place her, a smile spreading when it seemed he had.
‘God.’ Poppy’s voice was low. ‘Who is that?’
He was frowning again, excusing himself as he got up from his table. His smile returning when his gaze found Apple’s and held it until he reached her.
‘It’s you,’ he said.
He reminded Apple of a jersey caramel – arms golden against a clean white T-shirt.
‘It’s you.’ She laughed a little.
He pecked her cheek. Apple’s fingers grazed salt on the hairs of his arm; his smell was sweet like amaretto.
‘There I was just staring into space.’
‘I barely recognised you,’ Apple said. ‘You’re so tanned.’
‘A veritable sea dog.’ He shoved his hand through sun-bleached hair. ‘How strange to see you again, here of all places.’
‘I think the last place was stranger.’
Poppy thrust out her hand. ‘I’m Poppy.’
‘This is my sister.’
‘Charlie Beauchamp,’ he said. ‘Poppy and . . . Apple.’
‘You remembered my name.’
‘How could I forget Apple? So exotic.’
‘Our mum just likes things that grow in the dirt.’ Poppy grinned.
Charlie leaned against the balustrade. ‘I didn’t think I’d see you again. You never called.’
‘I presumed you just gave me your number to be nice.’
‘It was being nice, to me. You made me laugh harder than I had all week.’
‘The ice cream.’ Apple began to laugh.
‘Ice cream?’ Poppy looked bewildered.
‘It was . . . Was the ice cream or the croquet mallet funnier?’
‘I’m not sure either was funny, but both seemed hilarious at the time.’
‘Still confused,’ Poppy announced.
‘It was silly.’ Apple caught her breath. ‘Was it January?’
‘It was hot.’
‘I th
ink it’s when you were away, Poppy, with Lachie. I’d gone shopping near the docks and on the way back the Morris broke down under the freeway there, in that seedy area with dead grass and gravel.’
‘You looked so forlorn!’ Charlie covered his eyes. ‘I didn’t even think your tiny vintage ute was real until I got out of my car. I thought it was scrap metal and you were looking for somewhere to sleep.’
‘I hardly looked that bad.’
‘She’ll never give that car up,’ Poppy said. ‘She loves it.’
‘It has a soul.’
‘I’d almost believe it,’ Charlie said.
‘So the Morris was dead, my phone was too, and it was like thirty-five degrees—’
‘Felt like forty.’
‘And I was standing there, no water, thinking I’d die of dehydration if I had to walk anywhere, then this unbelievable car coasted to a stop and it scared me. I actually thought you’d be a creepy suit looking to score.’
‘You were out in the middle of nowhere scratching around a rusted-out bomb and you were scared of me?’
‘People who drive Aston Martins don’t stop for people.’
‘I do.’
‘Well, it felt scary,’ Apple said. ‘Then I was so embarrassed when you got out! You looked so clean and crisp and cool, and I was sweating and blinking into the sun, face scorching.’
‘You seemed so confused.’
‘I was confused! And scared, then embarrassed. I was expecting some unnerving old man – then there was you.’
Charlie’s smile was coy.
‘Then what happened?’ Poppy said.
‘The ice cream van came,’ Apple said.
‘And you made me laugh because you said that ice cream vans remind you of terrorists.’
‘They do!’ Apple said. ‘Their sweet music is too disarming. In the movies, they’d have the innocent ice cream truck drive past with a happy, tinkling tune, then BOOM, it would blow up.’
‘Everything’s scary,’ Charlie said.
‘Ice cream vans and expensive cars are scary.’
‘This story is so convoluted,’ Poppy said.
‘I can’t remember whether you hit the engine with the croquet mallet or bought the ice cream first?’
‘The heat had made me a bit delirious by then,’ Charlie said. ‘Why did I even get the mallet? I think I’d just played a game.’
‘You looked so dapper.’
‘I think the mallet was the last resort, the only tool I had.’
‘Would we call a croquet mallet a tool?’ Poppy said.
‘It worked.’
‘Miraculously!’ Apple said. ‘I remember you poking the engine with the handle.’
‘Like a pro.’ Charlie was laughing at himself.
‘Then you hailed the ice cream van.’
‘And we were shovelling ice cream down in the shade of the bonnet when some tipped on the engine and we debated later whether that had cooled it or whether it was the mallet.’
‘The mallet, no question.’
‘You honestly started the car with a croquet mallet?’ Poppy said.
‘I think I just whacked it in despair. It worked.’
‘I think the Morris liked you,’ Apple said. ‘You share an old-school charm.’
‘It was very amusing.’
‘It’s actually not that amusing,’ Poppy said.
Charlie folded his arms. ‘And what brings you here now? You don’t like yachting, do you?’
‘Not really. Poppy’s working.’
‘Ah, you’ve lucked out too. Will you be coming to the Lac Compt show?’
‘No—’
‘Yes,’ Poppy said.
‘Great,’ Charlie said. ‘A motley crew will be joining me tomorrow. Work will be done and we’ll be hunting around for some fun. See you there?’
‘Yep!’ Poppy’s smile was wide, too wide, and she grasped Apple’s arm as Charlie walked away. ‘Whoa.’
‘What?’
‘Whoa.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Apple, what the fuck? That man is like a teddy bear dipped in honey, dipped in . . . I don’t know. Surely he’s not a Beauchamp Beauchamp . . . is he?’
‘A what?’
‘He’s not one of the Georgia’s jewellery Beauchamps?’
‘Yes, his parents own it.’
Poppy’s grip tightened. ‘His parents own Georgia’s?’
‘Pretty fancy.’ Apple peered after him.
‘That’s more than fancy! They’re one of the oldest, most acclaimed brands in the country. That’s fucking cool.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Don’t fib.’
‘I had. It was the least memorable thing about the day.’
‘The most being his general deliciousness?’
‘Well, yes, but it was all of it: that he stopped, that he was fairly delicious, then that he tried to help so hard he resorted to his wooden sports toys and ice cream.’
‘Look at your smile.’
‘What?’ Apple wiped it away. ‘I’m allowed to smile.’
‘You’re allowed to do more than that. Run after him!’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘He’s taken, if that’s what you mean. He mentioned her a few times that day – his childhood sweetheart. He was on his way to meet her, or something.’
‘Sickening,’ Poppy said dryly. ‘To be expected, though.’
Apple shielded her eyes, peering out at the sunset. ‘I suddenly feel quite peckish.’
‘Let’s splurge.’ Poppy pushed herself off the balustrade. ‘With oysters.’
6
Thatch palm, curly palm, banyan and pandanus. Apple stopped to kill a mosquito, then tramped on through the jungle.
This was her second hike. Poppy had largely been occupied, and to amuse herself Apple had taken to the rainforest. Most visitors seemed to be clustered around the marina, cafes, restaurants and nicest parts of the beach, making them all places Apple couldn’t go. She hadn’t seen anyone she knew, but wanted to be sure she wouldn’t, and earlier that morning she’d overheard someone at the hotel talking about a hidden lagoon off the beaten track.
She checked her map again then kept on, thwacking spider webs with a stick.
The Lac Compt show was that night. She didn’t want to go. She’d been pretending she was looking forward to it for Poppy’s sake, but the thought of it made her throat tighten. She hadn’t been to a runway show in years; the clothes and atmosphere made her feel helpless, on the outer.
A cobweb plastered her face and she tripped backwards before waving her stick around and continuing on.
A few years after she’d left Emmaline Gray, her mother had offered to remortgage the house and go back to work so that Apple could go to a private college overseas. Apple had declined. The thought of her tired, sweet mother coming out of retirement for her sake had made her feel so awful that she’d lied, telling Ginny that Emmaline Gray was affiliated with every private fashion college in the world worth attending. Apple knew there was somewhere she could have gone, but she had no desire ever to set foot in a learning institution again.
Now she almost wished Poppy didn’t know, wished she wasn’t trying to be so good, to heal it all. Things were too far gone for that.
Apple came to a halt. Foliage had suddenly given way to vivid blue water, pale rocks lining a clear lagoon.
She took off her hat and pushed back her damp hair as she stared into the pool, then walked around the narrow pathway that rimmed the water. When she reached a boulder, she peeled off her clothes and arranged them flat in a crack of sunlight, hoping they’d be less damp when she returned to them.
She slithered onto a rock in her one-piece, fish skimming away as she dipped her feet in. She boosted herself off the rock into the water and felt endorphins release, then opened her eyes under the water – smiling at little fish darting in and out of sprouting plants.
She breath
ed out and watched the bubbles reach the surface before following, gasping.
‘What on earth?’
Apple blinked to find the voice, and found Charlie standing by the lagoon.
He’d seen her too and was striding to the boulder above her.
‘What are you doing out here?’ she panted.
‘You first. I was told this was a secret spot.’
‘As was I.’ Apple was glad she hadn’t skinny-dipped. ‘I wouldn’t have made the trek if I’d known I’d see you.’
‘Likewise.’ Charlie grinned, then slipped. His hands waved clumsily before he snatched at the rock, but he caught nothing except Apple’s clothes as he toppled into the water.
‘Oh! Are you okay?’
He came up gasping. ‘Shit, damn. Are you laughing? Shit.’
Apple tried to stop. ‘Sorry, it just looked, it looked so slapstick – your flailing arms.’
‘Laugh it up, because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a branch I grabbed as I went down.’ He let go of Apple’s sodden clothes.
She swam after them, but Charlie held her ankle. She grabbed him by his T-shirt and their bodies tangled, clothes clinging. Her hands skated over his smooth, wet flesh and she suddenly sobered, looking around for the stability of rocks.
‘Sorry.’ He grinned as he tried to gather her clothes. ‘Oh damn.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘Shit.’
He began heaping Apple’s clothes onto the rock and they heard voices. Apple glanced towards the path, and there was the sound of snapping undergrowth before two men appeared then halted at the sudden edge of the lagoon.
‘You—’ one began, looking at Charlie, then saw Apple and smiled. ‘Well, well. Is this why you ran off ahead, Chuck? Had you planned a rendezvous?’
‘I hardly ran off,’ Charlie said, climbing out of the water. ‘I went to take a leak and neither of you were there when I got back.’
‘We waited fifteen minutes, with mosquitos swarming.’
‘I was only gone five.’
‘Well, either you returned to the wrong spot or you planned what clearly looks like a saucy hook-up.’ The man was grinning as he knelt by the water, his eyes still on Charlie, and only when he reached his hand to Apple did his gaze slowly come to meet hers. ‘I’m Noah.’
The Rules of Backyard Croquet Page 6
