Noah had thick, ginger, curly hair and broad shoulders, a self-assured smile and faint freckles on a stubbled face.
‘This is Apple,’ Charlie said.
‘Apple?’
‘Apple,’ she confirmed.
‘Apple.’ His grin was full, grasp firm, unrelenting. ‘What a . . . juicy name. Do you need a hand out?’
The other man was laughing. ‘He’ll either have to help you out or you’ll have to help him in because either way, he’s not letting go of you.’
Noah kept smiling, unperturbed.
‘Thank you.’ Apple let him help.
‘This is Kurt,’ Noah said as the other man came to shake Apple’s hand.
‘Sorry for losing you,’ Charlie said. ‘I thought I’d retraced my steps but I must have popped out ahead.’
‘You never were much of a boy scout, Beauchamp. And I see you couldn’t wait to get in.’ Noah looked him up and down, amused.
Charlie slid off his wet shirt and threw it over his shoulder. ‘I think I’m the only one who knew how to tie a knot yesterday.’
‘On the yacht? That was rubbish, the rigging was rigged.’
‘Standard reef knot was all it needed.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Noah ripped off his shirt, dived in and shouted for Kurt.
‘Sorry.’ Charlie glanced sheepishly at Apple. ‘You were probably looking for some solitude. We’ll be gone soon.’
‘I wasn’t, actually – looking for solitude. It’s, um, nice to see you again.’
‘Little old me?’
Apple laughed. ‘You know how to make me smile.’
‘I know how to make you laugh at me.’
‘With you.’
Noah was climbing from the pool, shaking his hair like a dog. ‘I hope they’re not your favourite fancy-boy shoes.’ He grinned at Charlie’s sodden footwear.
Charlie smiled. ‘I’ll survive.’
They started back to the resort, Charlie and Kurt a few strides ahead, Apple and Noah behind.
‘Such a show pony.’ Noah eyed his friend ahead.
‘Charlie?’
‘He has it all, then surprises us by showing he has some more.’
Apple glanced up at him and he peered down at her.
‘You,’ he said. ‘Where’s he been keeping you?’
Apple squeezed water from her hair. ‘What, like a pet?’
‘More like a considerably attractive woman who’s being hidden from his single friends who like considerably attractive women.’
‘Maybe I should thank him.’
‘Armie Hammer and his harem,’ Noah muttered.
‘What?’
‘He looks like that Hammer guy.’
‘Charlie has a harem?’
Noah looked amused. ‘Of course not. You think that straitlaced boy would indulge in anything so lewd?’
‘Would you?’
‘Would you like that?’ Noah’s eyes twinkled.
Apple laughed, strangely enthralled by the flirtation.
‘You seem an unlikely friend,’ she said.
‘To Charlie?’
‘I don’t know him very well, but you’re not the kind of friend I’d expect him to have.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Would you like that?’
Noah grinned. He grabbed a stick before hurling it into the trees. ‘I like you already,’ he said. ‘You’re different.’
‘That sounds dubious.’
‘Beauchamp’s flanked by private-school brats. You’re not one, I can tell.’
Apple adjusted her wet dress, feeling self-conscious.
‘That’s a good thing,’ he said. ‘You can tell when someone isn’t choking on a silver spoon. Don’t know what it is, but you can. You have a sense of humour.’
‘Where’s your silver spoon?’
‘Does it look like I have one? Fuck no. I met these boys at uni. Beauchamp and I shared some elective, hit it off right away. Took him to my family farm, changed his life. It was a real eye-opener for him to see how real people live – he’d never touched dirt in his life.’
‘That’s an exaggeration.’
‘Let me rib the guy. He’s a fucking king, needs to be taken down a peg.’
‘You are good friends, then.’
‘Very, which is why I’m shocked he’s never told me about you.’
‘Not because he’s hiding me. This is only the third time we’ve met.’
‘I’d hide you if I were him. Have you met his girlfriend?’
‘Heidi?’
‘Even her name gives me chills.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Apple said.
Noah looked ahead towards Charlie then said quietly, ‘Unfortunately not.’
Apple appraised the bare back of Charlie Beauchamp: his wet tailored shorts stuck to his thighs, his sandy hair, his well-formed shoulders that he suddenly thwacked with a wet T-shirt before an insect buzzed away.
Noah cleared his throat as they reached the marina.
‘I hope this isn’t the last time I see you.’
Apple tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his attention making her feel both wary and curious. He smiled, and she decided he was handsome, alluring in a Highlander-made-good-at-Oxford kind of way.
‘May I arrange a time to see you later?’ he said, and his formality, his attempt to enact some version of himself he thought she’d prefer, made her grin.
‘I’m sure we’ll run into each other,’ she said.
‘Can we make it very sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I—’ he began, but she was already walking away up the beach, waving.
‘Bye, Kurt, Charlie!’
Apple was lying out on the balcony of their room when Poppy returned, some hours later.
‘Why are you up here?’ she said, taking off her shirt and throwing it down. ‘Why aren’t you on the beach?’
Apple peered down at the myriad of bodies on the shoreline. Even at a distance she could see that there wasn’t a child in sight, nor a single patterned, gaudy towel. The prevalence of navy, black, white and fawn gave away the refinement of the beachgoers. She replied, pressing her sunglasses back on her face, ‘They’re just the people I need to avoid.’
Poppy sighed, reclining on a daybed. ‘I just had a milkshake with Charlie Beauchamp.’
‘What?’
‘We just had a date.’
Apple turned her head. ‘You did not.’
‘We did. He was having a meeting next to the table where I was having a meeting. My meeting finished, his finished, he ordered me a milkshake. It was delicious.’
‘The milkshake?’
‘And Charlie.’
‘What on earth did you talk about?’
‘Stuff. He got us front row seats to the show tonight.’
‘At—’
‘Lac Compt. I’m so much better at milking your contacts than you are. We can ditch the crappy seats the organisers gave me; we’re sitting front row. You’re welcome.’
Apple peered down at the people on the beach, the monochrome crowd of style-lovers. She rolled onto her side, eyes closed.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. That’s great about the seats.’
‘Are you still scared?’
Apple sat up and sighed as she wiped sweat from her face. ‘Actually, I’m not sure I want to sit courtside. It’s asking to be seen.’
Poppy’s face was pitying. ‘This has to stop.’
Apple stared down at the tiles, hunting for the strength her sister expected. She was smiling when she looked up. ‘It’ll be a great show.’
Poppy laughed and came over to give her a hug. ‘Fake it till you make it, hey?’
Apple adjusted her shades on her face. She wasn’t a fan of wearing sunglasses inside but right now she appreciated the anonymity they offered. She took Poppy’s hand and they wove through the crowd to the thatched pavilion up on the hill.
‘Did you know that every year
an architect partners the show to build a temporary venue?’ Poppy’s neck craned to see the bamboo roof. ‘This year it’s Amy Elders.’
Apple didn’t like the idea of looking up or around.
‘What have they put on the underside of the ceiling?’ Poppy said. ‘It looks insane.’
The awe in her sister’s voice made Apple look, and she saw a trick of the eye – a constellation of stars above them as they moved inside.
A wooden hand-fan flared in front of Apple’s face and she found Noah standing before her, smile restrained, gaze charged. ‘A drink, and moving air.’ He gave the fan two more waves before handing it over to her, with the drink.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m Noah.’ He shook Poppy’s hand.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Poppy. Can you excuse me? Have to talk to those two over there, sorry. I’ll be back.’ She flitted away.
‘Something wrong with your eyes?’
Apple adjusted the sunglasses. ‘Not particularly.’
‘Is it too bright in here?’
‘It’s fine, I just—’
‘Are you trying to hide from me?’
Apple let herself smile. She hadn’t seen anyone she knew, could barely see at all, but the sunglasses would remain; seeing well took second place to her desire not to be seen. ‘I wasn’t hiding from you, no.’
Noah looked about. ‘What do you think of all this? The posturing, the fancy dress.’
‘The fashion . . .’ Apple began, but even the word made her adrenaline spike. ‘The clothes mean something.’
‘Do they? You’ll have to educate me.’
Apple wanted to see him better and slid off her glasses, blinking as she tucked them away.
‘I like your eyes,’ he said, and Apple cleared her throat, pressing her arms to her body as though she was cold. ‘This isn’t your industry, then.’
‘You can tell?’ Noah grinned. ‘I’m a property developer.’
‘Architectural work?’
‘On occasion, but it’s a headache. Rectangular towers are more my scene: four straight sides.’
Apple shifted so she could see the door. ‘I work in a clothing store.’
‘Huh. This really is your scene. Do I know the store?’
‘Loom. It’s an old boutique.’
‘Loom? That sounds . . . spooky.’
‘Not a looming tower, a loom.’
‘What’s a loom?’ Noah swigged his drink, widening his stance.
‘You can google it.’
‘No, I want you to educate me.’
‘You want me to articulate old machinery to you?’
‘I’d like you to articulate anything to me.’
Apple held in a smile, taking in the room. ‘Is Charlie here? Heidi?’
‘As if Heidi would come. Not up here.’
‘What? To the island?’
‘Way too relaxing. She’s wound tighter than a snare.’
‘She can’t be that bad. I can hardly imagine Charlie choosing—’
‘He didn’t choose.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I guess he chose at some point, but it’s a betrothal if you ask me.’
She smiled, dubious.
‘I’m not kidding.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘It sounds silly, but it’s true. Their parents were best friends. Charlie and Heidi started out when they were, what? . . . Sixteen? Maybe she was okay then, I don’t know, but as long as I’ve known Beauchamp I haven’t been able to understand it.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You will. She’s a Huntington – retail moguls. It should be a match made in heaven but looks like hell if you ask me. A good man can be too loyal.’
Apple felt a hand on the small of her back.
‘Beauchamp.’ Noah cleared his throat.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Charlie said. ‘But I’d like to steal you for a moment if I could, Apple.’
‘You can’t.’ Noah grinned. ‘You’ve been trying to hide her from me but no more – she’s found.’
‘Settle down. Shall we?’
‘I don’t want to settle down,’ Noah called as Charlie led Apple away.
A group of suited men stood talking just beyond the perimeter of the pavilion and one glanced back as Charlie said his name.
‘John. This is Apple March, the woman I was telling you about.’
John’s handshake was rough, his hands thick.
‘John Summers is one of the shareholders of Lac Compt.’ Charlie raised an eyebrow at Apple, his smile pointed.
Her skin prickled and she knew any minute now someone would say, ‘You’re that wannabe fashion girl who fucked that magazine editor’s husband and got expelled from Emmaline Gray.’
‘Forgive me, John, because I’m putting Apple on the spot, but her sister was the one who said hello to us today – showed us those photos of Apple’s work. I had no idea Apple was interested in designing. I was impressed, so were you.’
‘Oh yeah, they had something.’ John scratched his chin. ‘But let’s be honest, design isn’t my forte, I’m a numbers man, and I tell you, the number of young wannabes I have tapping me on the shoulder these days, it seems every girl and her tutu wants to sew sequins. Am I right?’
Charlie frowned but clapped John’s arm. ‘Well, I saw the designs and Apple’s pieces certainly weren’t “every girl”. Tell her about the internship.’
‘That Lac Compt’s offering? Sure, the girls have set one up. It’s not public, but believe you me it’ll be a bun fight.’
Apple wanted to run away, but she held John’s gaze as she slid her hands into the pockets of her shorts. ‘What an amazing opportunity. How cheeky of Poppy to show you those photos without my permission.’
‘I was blown away.’ Charlie was beaming.
‘That’s kind.’ Her fingers were shredding an old tissue in her pocket.
‘Gifted’s what you gotta be if you want to make it in this game,’ John said. ‘Big highs, bigger lows. But head to the interviews, and if you’re worth your salt, you might be designing with Genevieve and Mimi before you know it.’
John dug a scrap of paper from his pocket. Charlie gave him a pen, and he scribbled then handed the note to Apple.
‘Be there, then.’
‘That was very thoughtful, Charlie,’ Apple said, scrunching the paper in her fist as they walked away.
Charlie’s smiling eyes met hers. ‘It’s not what you know, as they say.’
Apple smiled, gratitude genuine, dread too.
Back inside, Charlie parked her in the front row and Poppy glanced up from her seat as he walked away. ‘Oh did he—’
‘You showed Charlie my clothes?’ Apple said.
‘You’ve met the Lac Compt guy?’ Poppy beamed. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I overheard them talking about the internship – it’s perfect!’
‘Poppy, I love that you’d think to do that, but please don’t, just please don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just . . . just please don’t tell people about me. I love that you’re so thoughtful, that you believe in me, but I don’t believe in any of this anymore. Give me your phone, I want to delete those photos.’
‘No!’
Apple tried to take her phone but Poppy gripped it tight, and suddenly the loud thud of a drum silenced the crowd. Apple’s hand fell.
Another thump seemed to come from deep in the jungle and the sound of a bird sprang up, then another, and the air was soon filled with the sound of a hundred birds before another drumbeat landed and the birds vanished. Tribal rhythms began, layers upon layers. Bass pounded through Apple’s soul as the lights dimmed. She was captivated.
A recorded voice announced: ‘The spaceship landed on an island in that far but not too far away place that had been forgotten, though never found. The astronauts came, as did the tribes, and they were wed, in the jungle.’ Then the tribal sounds resurged, floor lights lit the
runway, and the simulated starry sky glimmered overhead. ‘They called themselves the galactic tribes, they were of down here and out there, of earth and heaven, and together they became: interstellar.’
A beat dropped and a model appeared, striding down the runway in a high-tech silver quilted A-line maxi-dress, a huge colourful lei around her neck. Another followed in a grass luau skirt, topless except for an astronaut’s harness – like high-tech braces – that covered her nipples. The next was wrapped in what looked like a silver space blanket, sewn into a complex minidress, and the next wore a spherical Perspex and lace headdress that seemed to reference both a space helmet and a veil.
They came, one after the other, and the music ground deep into the earth, the jungle, Apple’s heart, and the world and the crowd were dark except for the glimmer in the ceiling and the shimmering of the textiles as the models pounded the strip.
A tear fell and Apple brushed it away. Another came, and she swiped that too, but the sounds kept coming, thumping their way into her as tears ran out.
She got up from her seat, hunched low, almost tripped as she lunged through the rows and over feet, desperation guiding her out into the cool night air. She skittered down the hill, the music fading behind her, before she collapsed onto the ground, weeping.
‘Apple?’ Poppy was panting beside her, words tumbling out. ‘I know it was outrageous – they call that bridal? – but not worth crying over!’ She ventured a laugh, trying to catch Apple’s gaze.
Apple did laugh, faintly, as she threw her head back to look at the sky and let out a small, despairing cry. Poppy held her.
Finally she sniffed and gasped, ‘It was outrageous. It was beautifully outrageous, it was overwhelmingly imaginative and free and everything I want and don’t want anywhere near me.’ She wiped tears angrily away. ‘Fuck, I’m a mess. Get me out of here.’
7
‘I still can’t believe you were there.’ Jackson peered down at the computer, elbows on the counter.
‘Ella Jackson, your rump is in my face.’ Veronica didn’t sound altogether displeased as she shimmied past. ‘Oh, Apple, nice of you to join us.’
‘See where Apple’s been? Myrtle Island.’
‘Myrtle . . .’ Veronica sounded uninterested before she doubled back, peering at the screen. ‘Where? At the yacht race?’
‘Yes.’ Apple switched on the steam wand. She pressed the trigger and mist filled the air.
The Rules of Backyard Croquet Page 7
