The Rules of Backyard Croquet

by Sunni Overend

  Dried fish dangled, sweet–salty steam rose from cauldrons, meat skewers sizzled on iron, and Tilly’s voice was barely audible amid the clamour of music, people, kitchenware. ‘Shall we eat there?’

  A performer pounded a bamboo xylophone with mallets. The otherworldliness of the scene mingled with the implausibility of the night before. Charlie’s words came back to her, Heidi’s story, and the memory of their kiss, so beautiful yet so utterly unacceptable.

  Tilly took a seat. She was cracking open a beer. ‘Veronica told me you went to Emmaline Gray. I’m a graduate, too.’

  Apple couldn’t believe Emmaline Gray had come up, right then, but she remained calm as she slid onto a barstool, delaying her answer by ordering food from the attendant behind the counter. ‘Do you want the soup or a crepe?’ she asked Tilly.

  ‘A crepe.’

  Two soups arrived, along with two bánh xèo – turmeric rice pancakes stuffed with spring onion and shrimp. Apple put a bean sprout in her mouth before she said, ‘You went to Emmaline Gray? What year?’

  ‘Graduated eleven years ago, a few ahead of you, I’m guessing. Did you love it too?’ She took a swig of beer. ‘It was gruelling but I miss the intensity, and some of the teachers.’

  ‘Yes,’ Apple tried to sound vague.

  A message appeared as she was sipping her soup.

  Tilly saw Veronica’s name. ‘What is that?’

  Their boss had sent a picture and, apparently thinking work communication was common property, Tilly tapped the image to enlarge it.

  Charlie Beauchamp was at the centre of the image, bloody tissues up his nose, while Jill was crying in the background alongside a red-faced Heidi. They appeared to be entering the Huntington house.

  You & Jackson missed out on this mysterious spectacle last night. Maybe can’t see in pic, but Georgia’s heir has purpling nose and doubt he walked into door. TATTLE. Sparked up lethargic event. Are you settled in Saigon?

  ‘Poor Charlie Beauchamp.’ Tilly peered close. ‘Was that at the croquet? Quentin and I left before the party.’

  Apple picked up her phone, pushed her plate away and stood up. ‘You know, I’m really tired. Sorry, I might head back.’

  ‘Oh . . . oh.’ Tilly began shovelling food. ‘Okay, wait, I’ll come.’

  Apple’s heart pounded as she opened the door to her hotel suite. She needed to tell Poppy, to confide, get solace and insight, but her call went to Poppy’s voicemail and she remembered they were fighting.

  ‘Oh sorry, it’s nothing, I . . . But if you can call back . . . Actually, don’t worry.’

  She ended the call, hands unsteady as she laid them in her lap. Soon her phone rang and she scrambled for it.

  ‘What do you want?’ Poppy sounded uninterested.

  ‘Poppy.’ Apple tugged anxiously at the fraying hem of her shorts. ‘I did a bad thing.’

  ‘What?’ Her concern was faint.

  Apple closed her eyes. ‘Charlie Beauchamp. We kissed.’

  There was a prolonged silence. ‘What?’

  ‘Last night. It was . . . It was after I spoke to you.’

  Another pause.

  ‘Oh. Fuck,’ Poppy said.

  Apple thought of Veronica’s photo, ran for the bathroom and dry-retched into the toilet.

  ‘Apple?’

  She couldn’t speak, crouched on the floor.

  ‘What’s happened? Does anyone know? Who knows?’

  Apple’s breath was heavy. ‘Noah, Jackson, Arabella.’

  ‘Heidi?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Holy shit. What happened?’

  ‘I . . . I was about to leave and Charlie was in the car park, and he started telling me that Heidi’s mum died and that things hadn’t been going well, that the loss had kept them together, and he was despondent, and then, and then . . .’

  ‘Did you kiss him back?’

  Apple couldn’t bear to answer. ‘I, I felt his mouth and I reeled, and . . .’

  There was a pause before Poppy sighed and said quietly, ‘And then you realised you wanted him more than anything.’

  Apple wiped away a tear and felt the truth come to settle. ‘I’m in love with him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I mean it,’ Apple said. ‘His mouth touching mine, it unleashed a torrent of feelings that I . . . I don’t even know where they came from, and they felt, they were overwhelming and so clear, in spite of it all.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But I honestly just saw him as a friend, a good friend, but . . .’

  ‘Apple, I know. I’ve known for ages. I mean, what do you think of when you think about Charlie, every moment you’ve ever had with him? Tell me you didn’t want him to touch your hand again, kiss your cheek a little longer—’

  ‘Stop. Please. I can’t.’ Apple choked, the truth too much to bear.

  ‘But you can’t love someone who’s spoken for, not again. That’s why I’ve never said anything. Nothing can happen.’

  ‘Of course not! I’m never going to call or see him again. I won’t. I’m furious, I’m so . . . I’m a fucking idiot.’

  ‘Don’t be mean to yourself. Charlie made the move.’

  Apple shivered, felt pure self-loathing.

  ‘What about Noah?’

  ‘He . . . punched him.’

  ‘Punched Charlie?’

  ‘Fuck!’ Apple shouted, still crouched on the bathroom floor.

  ‘Is Charlie okay?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘God, Noah would have a solid punch . . . Sorry . . .’

  Apple felt dizzy, couldn’t believe the destruction she’d left behind. It was over with Noah, she knew it. Her friendship with Charlie was over, she knew that too.

  ‘Has Noah tried to call? Have you called?’

  Apple’s mouth felt dry as she saw Noah’s face in the rain again. She realised that, like Poppy, he’d seen something between her and Charlie long before. His violence was alcohol-fuelled but his rage wasn’t. His rage was kindled by misgivings validated, a betrayal he’d waited for and a knowledge that no matter what he did, when it came to Apple, Charlie was a serious threat.

  ‘I think,’ Poppy ventured gently. ‘I think Noah was falling for you.’

  Apple thought of his dogged wanting, the way he’d coaxed her out of herself, helped her soften, let go and enjoy herself.

  ‘But he’s no Charlie.’

  ‘Poppy,’ Apple choked. ‘Do not say that.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’

  She’d used Noah like a stepping-stone, and Charlie had betrayed him too.

  ‘Could you go back to him, though, after Charlie?’ Poppy asked.

  They both knew the answer. There was silence.

  Apple hadn’t wanted the call with Poppy to end but when it did she sat staring into space. In her bag, there was a chocolate bar from home and when she found it, the packaging felt comfortingly familiar. She snapped a piece off, fingered it until it began to melt and then ate it, all the while staring at Noah’s number.

  She didn’t expect him to pick up but he answered straightaway. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  Apple’s heart pounded and she ached, felt loss and regret, but knew there was no going back, that she wouldn’t even if she could.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  There was a long pause before Noah spat, ‘I fucking doubt it. Yours and . . . yours and Beauchamp’s thing, has been as plain as fucking day since the moment you and I met. Fuck, I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Noah, please . . . we didn’t plan what happened.’

  He laughed angrily. ‘You think I give a damn what you planned? You still did it! You and my best friend.’

  ‘It was only . . . It was just a kiss. I mean, the circumstances, we weren’t thinking, you weren’t either. You shouldn’t have punched him.’

  ‘You’re trying to take the moral high ground?’

  ‘Fuck, I just mean, I mean, this is Charlie. He’d never try to hurt you, not on
purpose.’

  ‘That’s the fucked-up thing! That you’re both such fucking prefects, I can’t even imagine what you must feel for each other to have forgotten yourselves so moronically. Beauchamp was at his girlfriend’s house, for Christ’s sake!’

  Apple stared into the void, shared his disbelief, wanted to cry out. But she stayed silent, owing Noah his rage.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘You love him.’

  ‘Noah—’

  ‘I was falling in love with you and you were falling for him.’

  Apple wanted to deny it, but protests and lies didn’t come. She hated all of it, hated herself, and clamped a hand over her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her cry.

  ‘Jesus,’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she snuffled.

  ‘Don’t fucking apologise.’ There was the sound of something breaking. ‘Fuck!’

  ‘I didn’t mean for what happened to happen. I didn’t want it to, I shouldn’t have let it.’

  ‘You didn’t want it to happen? You fucking well did, otherwise it wouldn’t have.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so angry at myself. I’m so sorry.’ Apple yelled helplessly into the room, then sat trembling. ‘I just . . . Don’t let it come between you and Charlie. He wasn’t himself. I just don’t think things are good, with Heidi. If he was thinking, he wouldn’t have done that, not to you.’

  ‘“Things aren’t good with Heidi”? They’ve never been good! Beauchamp seeing something in you is the only understandable thinking he’s done.’ Noah halted, breath heavy, and there was silence as they both considered what he’d just said.

  ‘It meant nothing,’ Apple said, lying not for herself but for Noah, and for Heidi.

  ‘We both know that’s bullshit.’

  ‘Heidi doesn’t need to know. No one else needs to get hurt.’

  ‘You think I’d tell Heidi? No way. Beauchamp can stay in that hell with her as long as his cowardice lasts.’

  Apple brushed away tears. Noah went on, loud and abrupt. ‘What the fuck do you see in him that you don’t see in me?’

  The words came to her, but she kept them in: He’s the best man I’ve ever known. She sat with them, the world’s colours fading as she thought about never seeing him again.

  ‘I loved the way you made me laugh, Noah. You’re sexy and funny, you—’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  Apple wished she knew what else to say. She hadn’t wanted it to end this way; she hadn’t wanted it to end.

  ‘Don’t give up your friendship, Noah. I know how much Charlie cares for you.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ The line cut.

  It was late evening, halfway through their stay in Vietnam, when Jackson called. The day had been long, warm and sticky, and she and Tilly were by the pool.

  Apple dried her hands and smiled when she saw Jackson’s name. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey.’ Jackson sounded subdued and Apple fingered the corner of her towel.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just some rubbish. There’s an article circulating on gossip sites.’

  Apple’s imagination lit up unpleasantly.

  ‘It’s nothing. Just thought you’d want to know.’

  She had sent a link and Apple scrolled through the article.

  Have the Georgia’s heir and Huntington princess called it a day? A week after this photo of a bloody-nosed Beauchamp at the Peninsula Croquet Meet for Childhood Leukaemia set tongues wagging, news has broken that Beauchamp will step down as co-chief executive of the Mary Huntington Foundation – the charity he established with Heidi following the death of her mother. Neither Huntington’s nor Beauchamp’s spokespersons have commented on the move, but we’re preparing for war if this becomes what sources say it will: the divorce of two of our top style houses and the romantic upset of the year. VIDEO: Charlie and Heidi happy just last month at the Chatfield Gala.

  Apple dabbed her armpits with her towel. ‘Shit.’

  ‘But who gives a fuck, honestly,’ Jackson said. ‘It’s the dumbest website – they can spin a sneeze into a terror attack.’

  ‘I should do something.’

  ‘You should do nothing. It’s got nothing to do with you – you’re out, done and dusted. This is their mess. You’re not going to see him again.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘I’m sure he’d like to talk to you again, but he should have thought of that before he stuck his tongue down your throat.’

  ‘I just . . . I can’t stand not knowing.’

  ‘Get used to it. You’re out. And thank God. This is all too intense.’

  Apple stared at the picture of Charlie and Heidi, mustered detachment and a desire for them to succeed.

  ‘The trip’s well timed,’ Jackson said. ‘Clean break.’

  Apple blinked at the sky, eyes smarting. ‘It would have been better if I’d never met him.’ She felt a wave of grief.

  ‘I know,’ Jackson said. ‘Getting over him’s going to be like the worst diet of your life.’

  Tilly plonked down on the neighbouring banana lounge, dripping. ‘God, the water’s a relief.’

  Apple smiled automatically. ‘I’ve gotta go, Jack.’

  ‘Stay smiling, blondie.’

  A week later, towards the end of their stay, they began tying up loose ends at JK Textile, and Tilly collected her replicas from the local seamstress.

  Apple hadn’t grown acclimatised to the factory conditions, quite the opposite in fact. This was heartening but at the same time made the trip harder to endure. The lessons had been vital, however, and it was all part of the world she’d long wanted to enter and was now inhabiting – that of a designer. The intensity, too, had been a welcome distraction, but trepidation began to build a few days before departure.

  ‘Veronica’s misbehaving.’ Tilly was gazing at her phone as they sat in a cab, heading back to their hotel at the end of a long day. ‘Quentin’s suggesting we don’t return if we can help it.’

  ‘Typical or atypical misbehaviour?’

  ‘He didn’t elaborate,’ Tilly said. ‘I guess we’ll soon find out.’

  The next morning, she knocked on Apple’s hotel room door. ‘Atypical misbehaviour,’ she announced.

  Apple was pulling a brush through her hair. ‘Veronica?’

  ‘She just emailed to say that a shipment of fabric samples arrived that were . . .’ She paused to read. ‘She’s used the words “shocking”, “horrendous”, “a complete disaster”, “ratty”, and says “leathers akin to hundred-year-old vinyl”. Apparently they were so bad that she’s never buying from that supplier again. God, she’s used them forever. Check this message from Quent.’

  Fabrics were fine. Max three were sub-par. Joked I’d happily redesign whole season around new fabrics and she replied “You may have to”!!!!

  Apple frowned. ‘What on earth’s she proposing?’

  Tilly stared unblinking. ‘Thailand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She followed up straightaway with a text that says: “Need Thai silk pronto. Mulberry silk from Bangladesh abysmal.”’

  Apple could barely believe it. ‘We have to go home via Thailand?’

  ‘Damn well seems like it!’ Tilly threw her hands in the air as she powered off down the hall. ‘I’ll have to change the flights.’

  Tilly and Apple flew to Bangkok.

  They spent three days travelling between the Pathum Wan, Bang Rak and Samphanthawong districts, and managed to scrape together what they hoped would be enough silk and samples to satisfy Veronica.

  Then, finally, seventy-two frantic hours after leaving Ho Chi Minh City, they were on their way home.

  21

  Apple parked the Morris in front of the Loom warehouse. Her digestion hadn’t quite recovered from the last meal she’d eaten in Thailand, and she sipped ginger tea from her flask as she clipped up the stairs to the studio.

  The first thing she noticed was that the radio wasn’t on. T
he lights were off too, and it was cold.

  She hesitated then walked to her space by the window, trying to figure out what was missing before she realised everything was: her research samples, shoes, mock-ups, sketches.

  She walked downstairs into the warehouse but no one was there either. Tilly appeared to have delivered their new samples and the boxes were open, pieces strewn about as though Veronica had already gone through them.

  Apple returned to the floor above and lifted the office handset to dial Veronica, but lowered it again when she noticed an envelope propped on the central workbench.

  She made her way over slowly, seeing her name on the front. She read the note.

  Apple,

  I hope you and Tilly enjoyed your time away. The new samples weren’t adequate so I’ve decided to use the original options.

  Thank you for giving my designers a jump-start on the footwear styles, they’ll now take over. I appreciate you humouring me with our trial arrangement in the studio but, on assessment, I don’t feel you’re yet ready to join the team. Building a career takes years, and I’m sure you didn’t expect it to happen all at once.

  I think I’ve provided you with generous and beneficial experiences that will serve as sound building blocks. The store has always been the heart of Loom and it never ran smoother than when you were at the helm. That being so, the store is where I think you belong and it’s where I’d like you to return.

  You’ll start back today and work through till Saturday as per your usual manager’s schedule.

  Veronica

  Apple stared at the note before lifting her gaze, her eyes flicking almost unseeing over the emptied space as a faint lump of emotion rose. She hiccupped before beginning to move at speed, stumbling down the stairs.

  She fell into the safety of her ute and sat, heart racing. She found her phone, dialled Veronica, and heard it go to voicemail.

  She dialled again.

  The same thing happened. She started the car, driving and redialling again and again until she was almost at Albert Park village, when Veronica suddenly picked up after the first ring.

  ‘What, Apple?’ she hissed and Apple pulled the car over haphazardly.

  ‘V, your letter—’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’m just, the letter, I’m confused.’