Apple covered her mouth. ‘Oh God, I called you? I . . . Where’s my phone? . . . It’s still under the stairs. Oh, God, I forgot, oh no, I’m so so sorry . . .’ She ran to grab it and frantically ended the call.
‘Clearly you forgot.’ Charlie was beginning to look amused.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ Apple said. ‘There were voices and I thought I was being burgled.’
‘But you’re okay?’ Charlie’s concern lingered.
‘I’m fine. I’m so sorry. It was just Poppy.’
He began to smile. ‘What were your last words? “I can take care of myself”?’
‘I can. I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry.’
Charlie nodded by way of saying she was forgiven, but Noah remained silent, his expression hard.
‘Well, my little sister is probably running rampant now. Better get back.’ Charlie waved and started back down the street, and Noah said nothing as he followed.
When Apple was back in her room, a message appeared from Noah: You think I wouldn’t have come?
Apple typed ‘yes’, deleted it and began again. I know you would have – thank you.
I would. And faster. I’m the one you call.
14
‘I am not doing this forever,’ Jackson said when Apple picked her up in the morning.
It was still dark, the autumn air cool, and Jackson wore her scarf wrapped tight. She slammed the door of Apple’s old Morris closed.
‘You’re not doing what forever?’ Apple fiddled with the heater, despite knowing it had been dead a while.
‘Getting up at 5 am on a Sunday to count shit. I hate retail.’
Apple rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept well after Noah and Charlie left, and she wondered how she’d get through the long day – perhaps caffeine.
‘I didn’t end up getting in till 2 am!’ Jackson said. ‘The bar was heaving and someone vomited in the men’s urinal and I had to clean it the fuck up.’
‘Since when did you start doing bar work?’
‘Not long ago. I won’t last long either, but it’s mindless, cash in hand. Arabella and I are saving for this old hotel in the Goldfields, middle of nowhere, derelict forever. We want to turn it into this musicians’ drop-in, like a hotel-cum-artists’-retreat type thing.’
‘Cool.’
Jackson yawned. ‘You know you’re lucky to have a skill? I honestly don’t get why you’re still at Loom. I can’t believe you haven’t been tempted by more than Lac Compt since you left that fancy academy.’
The windscreen had begun to mist up and Apple made a fuss of wiping it with her sleeve – a weak distraction. If she wanted to keep hiding the truth from Jackson, she knew she’d have to build on her lie. She glanced over, feeling strangely like the truth wasn’t something she wanted to hide from this new, but now very real, friend.
‘I was expelled from Emmaline Gray.’
Jackson’s gaze came to rest on her.
‘What? I thought . . . Didn’t you leave because it was exxy?’
‘I was expelled. For plagiarism.’
There was silence, then ‘Holy fucking shit.’
Apple knew there were so many ways to tell the story, to spin and explain it, but she wanted the crux of it out, the poison spat.
‘I had an affair, with the husband of the editor of Harper’s Bazaar, a lecturer. Then Emmaline Gray’s daughter said I stole her work. I came home and I’ve been working at Loom ever since.’
Jackson slapped the dash. ‘Back the fuck up. What?’
They’d come to a stop at a red light. Apple stared ahead, but Jackson’s gaze was hot.
Apple sniffed. ‘You want me to tell you again?’
‘I heard, I’m just – what the fuck? Is this for real?’
‘Yes, unfortunately.’
‘Fuck. Way to wake a girl up. Did you steal the work?’
‘Do you think I would?’
‘Of course not, so this is fucked! But I can’t believe you’ve been hiding it this whole time.’
The familiar feelings of anger and disappointment flickered, but Apple swallowed them down, didn’t have it in her to entertain them.
‘So, no,’ she finally said, ‘I haven’t been tempted by anything since leaving the academy. It was all I could do to stay afloat and hidden at Loom. And the second I venture out, there she is, Juanita, the gatekeeper at Lac Compt.’
‘Wait, what? Emmaline’s daughter was there at the interview?’
‘Yes, and I ran.’
‘Out of the interview?’
‘No, she was at reception.’
‘Fuck. I would have wanted to sock her in the nose. What a little psycho!’ Jackson thumped the dash again.
‘Yes.’ Apple sounded hollow.
‘And what’s this about the Harper’s husband? Did you know he was married?’
‘Of course not, I was practically a teenager. I thought he was everything. I loved him.’
‘Jesus. So this all exploded and you scurried back down here, never to be seen again? I thought you were just some kindred unmotivated arsehole, but this is some complicated, shady shit.’
Apple gave an empty laugh. ‘I am a kindred unmotivated arsehole.’
‘No, you’re not, you’re a finicky nightmare at work. I always thought you were such a loser for giving such a damn, but now I get it: it’s your lifeline.’
She swiped a tear, hoping Jackson hadn’t seen.
Jackson squeezed her knee. ‘Oh, doll.’
Apple swiped another tear. She needed Jackson to cut the kindness. She parked the ute, unclicked her seatbelt and hurried out.
‘So what now?’ Jackson looked at her over the car roof. ‘You can’t stay at Loom forever.’
Apple searched for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Why not? It could be worse.’
Having to work on the Sunday made the rest of the week feel long. Poppy’s old room had been rented out to a travelling couple, but they were usually out when Apple got home. Each night she returned to the quiet apartment to toil over Poppy’s wedding dress, and so when her sister appeared at the end of the week, all energy and smiles, it felt like a relief.
‘Dip and chips?’ Poppy raised a shopping bag as she smiled from the doorstep. ‘The olive one you like from the place near Lachie’s. Are the people up there?’
‘No, they’re out.’
‘How has it been?’
‘I hardly see them.’
They’d reached the dining table and Poppy covered her mouth, surveying the sea of taffeta and dove grey fur.
‘Oh my God. It’s happening, it’s really happening.’
‘It is.’ Apple said. ‘Take your top off.’
Poppy wrestled with the chip bag and shoved one in her mouth before tugging her top off, then stood still, faintly breathless. Apple wrapped a measuring tape around her.
‘This is the only thing about my wedding that isn’t stressful.’ Poppy grabbed more chips. ‘The budget is exploding.’
‘Scale back?’ Apple mumbled, pins clamped between her lips.
‘As if I can! It’s already so basic, short of a registry office. Should I be sucking in or out?’
‘Just relax.’ Apple pinned calico around her sister’s waist.
‘Can’t you make it a little smaller so it sucks me in?’
‘You don’t need sucking in.’
‘Just a teeny bit.’
‘No, you want comfort.’
Crumbs fell onto Apple’s hair.
‘Stop eating.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Poppy brushed the crumbs away. ‘I’m just starving. I spent my whole lunch break looking at wedding stuff.’
There was silence as Apple went on pinning.
‘It’s weird, the thing Mum said about Dad calling, hey?,’ Poppy said eventually. ‘Have you been thinking about it too?’
Apple hadn’t. She’d forced thoughts of her father to the back of her mind, where she presumed they could happily stay. She picked up a piece of calico and pinned it
around Poppy’s bust. ‘No.’
‘Really? I can’t stop. The wedding thing’s making me feel so emotional. It’s stirring up this slurry inside me, and I don’t want to think about it but I can’t help it.’
‘It’s irrelevant, he’s irrelevant.’
‘But is he?’
‘He was effectively a sperm donor.’
‘Sperm donor.’ Poppy’s laugh was faint. Apple continued moving around her, tucking and pinning. ‘I just, I don’t know. I just sometimes wonder how different things might have been if we’d had a dad, you know? If he’d been here? Don’t you think that people with dads seem so much more together? They have more options, know where they’re going.’
‘You know where you’re going.’
‘But nothing’s ever felt easy. We’ve done it all without that backbone.’
‘I’d prefer my life without him than with him; that’s as complicated as it gets.’
Apple’s phone binged. My last plan failed. I have a new plan. Bill Cunningham New York. New rooftop cinema. Kind of movie I’d never see, kind you’d see all the time. I’m in your cultured hands.
‘Who is it?’ Poppy tried to see, her body rigid beneath the pins.
‘Noah.’
‘Oh! That reminds me. Do you think you could ask Charlie Beauchamp for help?’
Apple glanced up. ‘With what?’
Poppy’s smile was shy, excited. ‘Picking out an engagement ring.’
Apple flipped the Loom sign to ‘Closed’ and locked the front door, before walking around to the window to double-check the display from the outside. Noah’s car was idling on Collins Street.
He gave her a sly smile as she opened the passenger door. ‘Take your time.’
‘You’re early.’
‘The shop closes at five thirty.’
‘It takes me till six to close. I told you.’
‘I thought you might be lying.’
‘Why would I?’
‘You might be meeting someone else.’ His grin was fleeting as he slid his hand into her hair, his lips to hers. Apple felt her exhaustion recede as his intensity elevated.
‘You taste like hot dogs,’ Noah said.
‘Oh yeah, there was a vendor. Jackson bought them.’
‘I love tomato sauce.’ Noah tasted her again and his curls brushed her forehead as his hand found the split in her skirt and he used it as a way in.
‘You do like the taste of sauce.’ Apple slid back.
He eyed her, his cheeks pink, before he grabbed the steering wheel and accelerated away. ‘God, I want you.’
They ate at a place on the ground floor of an old four-storey building, then took the elevator to the roof where rattan daybeds, cocoon lounges and fiddle leaf figs were artfully arranged. A cinema screen ran along one wall and couples lounged, waiting for the show.
‘This beats that deckchair cinema.’ Noah put his arm around her as they looked for their lounge. ‘Have you ever had to sit in slung canvas for two and a half hours?’
‘I haven’t.’ Apple slid into the rattan cocoon as a waiter appeared with a cone of popcorn, squeezing fresh lime over it. ‘But I like this already.’
Their circular lounge had a retractable hood that Noah tugged into place for privacy. He fed Apple popcorn, and she thought how unusual it felt to be out with him, a man – the two of them officially and deliberately together. He rested back and she shuffled to rest on his chest, pulling a rug over them.
‘This is strange,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Dating.’
‘Why?’ Noah asked. ‘Has it been a while?’
‘A while.’
He shifted to see her face. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, it feels strange.’ She kissed the corner of his mouth, then lips.
He kissed her back, then paused. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Years.’
‘Years?’
She lay an arm over her eyes, hiding the discomfort his disbelief made her feel.
‘You’re lying.’ His fingers untucked her top, seeking skin, stroking it. ‘Has it . . . has it been years since you slept with someone?’ His mouth brushed her earlobe and she sighed, tilting away. ‘Tell me. Because if you’ve forgotten how to, I can help you remember.’ There was humour in his voice as his hand moved down under the waist of her skirt, then to the band of her underwear.
Apple closed her eyes as she felt her reserve rise, but she ignored it, knew he was surprised she’d let him get that far. His hand stopped at her pubic hair.
‘I thought you were helping me remember,’ she said.
They were lying side by side and he gripped her shoulder, forcing her to face him. ‘Have you honestly not fucked anyone in years?’
She touched his cheek, sensed his hunger and greed, his maleness. ‘Why, do you like the idea?’
Noah punched a cushion, eyes alight before he came close, whispering, ‘Are you kidding? I love the idea of an unfucked Apple.’
He was hard in his jeans as he kissed her. She felt need, and slid a leg over him.
‘Fuck this.’ He retreated. ‘We’re getting out of here.’
He seized her waist and Apple gripped the popcorn as they pushed into the emergency stairwell. Kernels toppled as Noah pressed her against the concrete wall, his hands wild. They made it to the car, then Apple’s apartment, and when Noah was unzipping her skirt at the door, she remembered.
‘Shit. I have guests.’
He groaned into her hair. ‘You’re only remembering this now?’
‘I don’t know them. They’re only staying the weekend.’
There was a beat before Noah grabbed the door handle and shunted her inside. ‘I hope they like the sound of a woman coming.’
15
Apple woke up that Monday to find Noah still beside her.
He’d left on Sunday morning after the cinema and come back in the evening with a pizza, and Apple revelled in it: this doing of nothing that couples did.
The strange guests who came and went made the house feel lonelier than when Apple was actually alone, but Noah made it feel full. The new guests had taken over the lounge and Apple was grateful to have someone to hide in her room with, to eat on her bed with, like they were teenagers hiding from parents.
‘You didn’t brush your teeth,’ she said. Neither had left the room since dinner.
‘You didn’t either,’ Noah said.
He filled her room and her mind, distracting her from the monotony of the week ahead.
‘Can I drive you into the city? I have to go through for a site visit.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Apple slid from the bed after him.
Noah watched as she flicked through clothes in her robe.
‘Oh no. You made me forget my laundry.’
‘Your what?’ He came up behind her.
‘My Sunday laundry.’ She savoured the feeling of his bare body against her.
‘I couldn’t care less.’ He kissed her.
‘I have no bottoms.’
Noah slid his hand to her rump. ‘It’s still there.’
‘I have nothing to cover it.’
‘What about those?’ He gestured to the hangers.
‘They’re not Loom.’
‘Loom? They make you wear their stuff? That’s bullshit.’ He yanked pants from a hanger and draped them over her shoulder. ‘I’m having a shower. Out of here in twenty.’
Apple stood on the footpath in front of the store, hesitating. She shouldn’t have worn the pants – Noah had imparted a confidence that she lacked now without him.
She slipped inside, realising she hadn’t locked the door on her way in when the bell jingled, even though they weren’t opened yet.
‘Apple, you forgot to lock the darn door,’ Veronica murmured as she came from the back room, Jackson in tow. ‘Go on, she’s your problem now.’
‘How are you, Sue?’ Apple smiled.
Sue was already flicking with practised
ease through the rack of sweaters, leggings, trousers. ‘What do you think of these?’ She withdrew a pair of hunting-style breeches.
‘They’ve been popular. I think it’s because the wool is very soft but it’s still a robust machine weave. It’s nice for a pant.’ Apple pinched the fabric.
‘Yes . . .’ Sue mused. ‘But no, they feel too casual. What about those?’
She was trying to get a better look at Apple’s pants, and Apple took a nervous step back.
‘Would you believe . . .’ – Sue reached to touch them – ‘they’re the exact pants I’ve been looking for.’ She looked suddenly delighted. ‘They’ve got none of this faffy pocketing, or belt loops, and that colour is the exact match to a blazer I have and love. Where are they hanging?’
‘These are . . . They’re last season.’ Apple chaperoned Sue across the store. ‘But we have these similar ones.’ She reached for pants on a rack and felt Veronica’s gaze from across the room.
‘I hate that shape,’ Sue said. ‘See yours? The way the fabric falls straight down? I want that structure. Are there any maybe left in the storeroom? I’m a ten.’
‘I can check.’ Apple’s mouth felt dry.
‘No.’ Veronica appeared, smile full. ‘Those sold out, quite quickly. Apple didn’t show you these, Sue. You’ll love these.’
‘Where the fuck are they from?’ Jackson said, staring at Apple’s pants as she returned to the counter.
The pants should have been in the suitcases under her bed with the others, but she’d taken them off the night after the Lac Compt interview and mindlessly hung them in her robe.
‘You made them. I can tell. They’re fucking amazing.’
Apple’s chest hurt. ‘Did Veronica look angry when she saw?’
‘Yep.’ Jackson sliced her throat with her finger.
Apple took her into the back room. Her heart leaped when she heard the door and knew the client was leaving. The drapes rustled almost at once.
‘I need a word with you.’ Veronica’s voice was emotionless
‘Now?’ Apple glanced at her boss’s blank face.
‘At lunch.’ She disappeared back through the drapes.
Veronica was gone by the time Apple stepped out.
‘What’d she want?’
The Rules of Backyard Croquet Page 15
