Afterwards, there was a rush on cabs and Apple saw Poppy ahead, falling into a taxi with the other boys. She found the door of the nearest car, sensed others climbing in behind.
‘It’s you again!’ Heidi was laughing, swatting the air in front of Apple’s face.
Charlie was on her other side, pressing close as he fastened his seatbelt, the back of his warm hand against Apple’s. ‘Heidi, just—’
‘Oh shut up, Charles.’ Heidi leaned across Apple to shoo him. ‘You say I’m a stickler, but then you do this whole teetotalling thing and go stiff-upper-lip on me.’ She fell back in her seat, fumbling for her seatbelt. ‘You’re so boring.’
Apple kept her eyes ahead, body rigid, as the cab began snaking down the drive.
‘You’re wet.’
Apple realised Heidi meant her. ‘I am a little.’
‘“I am a little.”’ Heidi laughed. ‘Why are you so strange? You’re such a passive, goody-two-shoes nun girl. You have a half-decent body and hair, you know.’
‘Heidi—’
‘Don’t shush me, Charlie, I’m paying her a compliment. She’s actually pretty. App—. . . Apple?’ she said as though she’d forgotten her name. ‘You know, I could get you a job on the shop floor in one of our stores, liberate you from gloomy Loom, Apple. You’ll need a résumé, though. Huntington Group don’t hire just anyone.’
‘Heidi, stop.’
‘I’m being charitable, Charles. You’re always telling me to be!’
Charlie reached across Apple to touch Heidi’s leg. ‘Please.’
‘Don’t feel me up in front of her,’ she gurgled, slapping his hand.
Apple’s eyes fluttered closed.
‘I’m sorry, Apple,’ Charlie said.
‘Don’t apologise, Charles, I’m being nice.’ She turned back to Apple and snapped, ‘Do you want a job? Send me your résumé, I’ll look at it myself.’
The car soon reached St George’s Tavern. As Heidi popped the door, Charlie ran around to catch her.
‘Are you all right?’ He glanced back at Apple, supporting Heidi as they walked ahead, and Apple waved him on.
Poppy was skulking by her bedroom door when Apple reached the top of the stairs.
‘Oh thank God, it’s you,’ Poppy said. She seemed to sag and Apple hugged her, grateful for this compact person with whom she could share everything. ‘Can I come in?’
The fire had been lit.
Apple yanked off her dress as Poppy crawled up onto the bed only to disappear face down in it.
‘What’s wrong?’
There was no reply. Apple tugged a blanket around herself, and pushed aside Poppy’s dark hair to see the side of her face not buried in the quilt.
‘I feel awful.’ Poppy’s groan was muffled.
‘If it’s about our conversation before, don’t. I was being—’
‘It’s not that, it’s . . . one of the boys kissed me.’
Apple frowned.
‘We were just sitting there, laughing in the pool and then . . . then Joel kissed me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Apple yanked her shoulder.
‘I didn’t kiss him back!’ Poppy scrambled up. ‘But his tongue went in my mouth and I can’t un-feel it and I feel really weird and dirty and like I must have been leading him on or something and I can’t not tell Lachie because I can’t lie and I’d be so angry if some other person put their tongue in his mouth! It sounds silly, but I, I think I feel violated.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘It’s just a kiss, but it’s my body, but did I invite it? I didn’t but I’m so confused! It’s like he thought we were having a moment but we weren’t. I was just smiling and he lunged!’
‘Oh God, how vile.’ Apple cupped Poppy’s head, pressing it against her chest. ‘A smile is not an invitation. Fucking Joel, I could tell he was a creep. Yuck. I’m so sorry.’
Poppy made a smacking sound with her mouth. ‘That’s exactly it, it’s yuck, yucky.’
‘Lachie will understand. It’s just not nice – for you.’
‘I wish I hadn’t come. I feel dirty. Can we leave? First thing tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ Apple didn’t pause. ‘I want to go home too.’
‘Do you? Did something happen?’
‘No, but in the cab just now with Heidi . . .’ Apple got up and moved to the fire. She gazed into the flames before looking back at her sister on the bed. ‘Do you still have all those clothes I tried to throw away?’
Poppy wiped her face. ‘The ones you made?’
Apple nodded.
Poppy looked sheepish. ‘Yes. But only because I couldn’t let you throw them out. I took them to Mum’s.’
‘Thank you.’ Apple sighed. ‘I think I need them. Because you’re right.’ She gazed into the fire, then back at her sister. ‘Poppy, I need to apply for the Lac Compt internship.’
11
‘Really?’ Jackson was standing close to Apple at the register. ‘Lac Compt?’
It was the week following Daylesford and Apple was fingering her lanyard, eyes flicking towards the stairs to check that Veronica wasn’t coming down. ‘It’s just an interview,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing if you get the position. That would be insane.’
‘It’s insane that I’m applying. I’ll probably be the oldest applicant, the least qualified. I need your help.’
‘Anything.’
‘I need a model. For my folio.’
Jackson was expressionless before she laughed. ‘Me?’
‘And Arabella, if she wants to.’
Jackson huffed. ‘Arabella’s gorgeous but I’m all tatts and teenage boy.’
‘Which I love. And Arabella. Both of you together. The contrast would be perfect.’
‘I’m so game.’
Apple glanced at the stairs again, but the door to Veronica’s apartment remained closed. She woke the computer.
‘I’m only just starting to think about it, but . . .’ She searched in the browser. ‘I was thinking something in this style: neither of you made up, hair au naturel.’
‘Yes, I love Gucci’s latest campaign. So bold for them.’
‘I considered a photographer, but then I actually thought it might be cooler – and more affordable – to do Polaroids. I know it’s a bit on-trend but it would gel so well with you, and Arabella, and the clothes.’
‘You can shoot at our place. Arabella has these crazy plants and they’re kind of growing everywhere in this gross cat-lady way. They’d look mad all lit up by a Polaroid flash, washed out with shadows. And we have perfectly crap furniture, aesthetically crap, like in the Gucci shoot.’
Apple gave a little laugh, feelings of angst and trepidation melting into anticipation. ‘Thank you, yes. Yes.’
‘Models are booked.’ Jackson gave a high-five. ‘Is time of the essence?’
‘It will need to be soon—’ Apple began but the door at the top of the stairs opened.
Veronica slunk down and Apple closed the browser.
‘What were you looking at?’
‘Just an ad campaign.’
‘Can I see?’
‘I’ve closed it now.’
Veronica pursed her lips. ‘Well, anyway, I want you to look at these. What do you think?’
She put her glasses on, tapped her phone then raised it for Apple to see. Apple gazed at the sketches: shoes in varying shapes and sizes.
‘They’re what my designers have been working on. An exclusive Loom shoe line.’
Apple searched for something she liked. ‘Maybe that one?’ She pointed at what looked like a leather slide.
‘That one? That’s the only one?’
‘They’re all nice,’ Apple added. ‘I like them all.’
‘No you don’t, otherwise you would have said that.’ Veronica yanked off her glasses. ‘Now I’m going to have to ask them to start again.’ She stalked back up the stairs.
‘I . . .’ Apple began, her voice high, but Veronica had cl
osed the door to her apartment.
‘Jesus,’ Jackson said. ‘Imagine how she’d react if you left for Lac Compt.’
Apple was standing over her sewing machine, patting a small grey piece of rabbit fur when Poppy tapped on her bedroom door then let herself in.
‘What’s that?’ she gasped.
‘Fur.’
‘What for, not . . .?’
Apple’s smile was modest, but her confidence was growing as inspiration simmered.
‘I think I’ve come up with a final design,’ she said. ‘I just want to start experimenting with how I’m going to layer the textures, apply the techniques.’
‘Show!’
Apple pushed aside fabric to reveal a sketch – a full skirt arcing to meet a slim waist that rose to a bodice, the boning exposed.
‘I want the skirt to be luxurious, with the torso raw and spare, like a beautiful old piece of furniture that hasn’t been upholstered . . . Know what I mean?’
‘Not really but it sounds cool!’
‘I want a boned bodice with nothing covering it but a pale grey gauze-y, silky, not-quite-mesh fabric, just two small cups over your breasts.’
Poppy’s fingers pinched her lips, eyes alight. ‘And grey? That’s what you’re thinking?’
‘Grey, yes. And here, here I want a structured taffeta skirt that starts snug at the waist, extends in a supported A-line then hits the floor and crumples a few inches beyond. At the front, the skirt splits open – a wide, cut-out A – and there will be a reveal, not of your legs, but of an under layer of ultra-light, soft fur. A woven, sculptural silk shell opening at the front to reveal a pale, delicate receding rabbit-fur inner.’
‘Are you serious? That sounds unbelievable.’
‘It would be too expensive to line the whole thing in fur, but that would be the illusion. I’ll use chiffon, or something, to create a hidden lift for the rest of the skirt.’
‘Like curtains parting,’ Poppy said breathlessly.
‘A luxurious full skirt with a sumptuous reveal and spare bodice.’
Poppy’s hands became a clapping prayer.
‘I thought grey because the rabbit fur comes in such romantic natural greys, but I also want it to feel somewhere between a faded old heirloom and . . . I don’t know, a gosling.’ Apple smiled a little. ‘This dress is for a fledgling woman with an old soul.’
Poppy let out a delighted cry, then a laugh, then started to weep. Apple snatched up a scrap of calico, drew Poppy close and dabbed her face.
‘What is it? What’s wrong? Is it the dress? I can do anything, it doesn’t matter.’
Poppy shook her head, snuffling. ‘It’s not the dress, no, I love it, it’s perfect, I love you.’ She fanned her face. ‘It’s just, oh, it’s nothing, but it’s all just so emotional. It’s Lachie, the whole thing with Joel kissing me.’
‘What happened?’
Poppy shook her head, trying to swallow. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine, but I can just tell it’s all kind of snowballing for him. He’s feeling stressed about the wedding, about wanting it to be nice but not expensive. We want to buy a place, and the awkward thing with Joel added this whole extra layer, like Lachie actually kind of seemed threatened by it, like more threatened than if it was just some loser at the pub.’
‘Joel is some loser at the pub.’
‘But Lachie’s intimidated by the wealth. He hasn’t said it, but I know. It’s worse that his family have a bit of money but that it’s all tied up in their farm so he’s kind of stuck in this halfway place. I think he felt genuinely put out by me going away with everyone at Easter, like there’s all this nice stuff those guys have that he can’t give me. Isn’t it silly? It’s not like I’ve never driven in a nice car or stayed in a nice hotel, and I love working, for God’s sake. Still, I honestly think he was worried I’d suddenly want a guy like that. He hasn’t said anything; I just feel it. I thought we’d actually kind of laugh about the Joel thing but we didn’t. Maybe I didn’t say it right.’
Apple held her sister close, stroking her hair.
Eventually, Poppy sighed, mumbling, ‘I guess it’s just typical wedding lunacy, emotions running high.’
‘If the cost of the wedding dress is an issue—’
‘No, we’ve budgeted for a few nice things.’
‘I’ll make it for nothing, and the fabric shouldn’t be more than a thousand or so.’
‘That’s cheap for a dress like that, Apple! I want to pay you for your time, too.’
‘No, please don’t. This is my gift.’
Poppy squeezed her wrist. ‘Thank you,’ she said tiredly.
When enough time had passed, Apple ventured, ‘I saw Mum today. I went and got the clothes.’
‘Oh, of course!’ Poppy brightened and moved to appraise the pieces Apple had laid on the bed. ‘Have you chosen?’
Apple had spent the afternoon photographing items together on her mannequin and now she lifted a long, finely pleated skirt, spinning it a little. ‘I think I have the styling down. It helps that Jackson and Arabella both have a nice array of shoes to use. Helps a lot actually, with the cost.’
‘These look so good! You know you’re a genius when you unearth your seven-year-old designs and they still look relevant.’
Apple felt unsure but couldn’t pretend that she didn’t like what she saw. ‘Don’t get excited yet.’
‘So you’ll photograph some and take some to the interview?’
‘I’ll photograph all of these, but only take a few, to show technique.’
‘I’m so proud.’ Poppy put her arm around her sister’s waist. ‘And excited.’
‘No, I think you should be eating the cake!’ Apple had the Polaroid camera in her hand and was high on excitement.
Anxiety persisted, but seemed secondary to the joy of watching her creations come to life again – hanging from bodies like they’d been made to do.
‘Like this?’ Jackson took the iced vanilla cake and shoved it in her mouth.
Apple grinned as the Polaroid buzzed. She fanned the photo, waiting to see.
Jackson came to stare over her shoulder. ‘Actually, that looks fucking awesome.’
Apple gave Arabella a book and directed her to sit by Jackson on their old leather lounge. Jackson threw her legs over the sofa’s arm, and Arabella slid up behind as though riding tandem. Arabella was wearing thick red woollen hiking socks with khaki rubber Chanel pool slides, and Apple’s peony pink pleated skirt was hiked up around her thighs as she settled in: staring with artful boredom at the pages of her vintage hardback she’d propped between Jackson’s shoulder blades. Jackson was wearing cream silk pants, a khaki woollen tank, an oversize chain draping from her neck onto the plate from which she shovelled the cake.
‘This supermarket cake is fucking foul.’ She sprayed crumbs, and Apple only wished that the Polaroid ran faster.
‘Am I wearing this next?’ Arabella stood to drape a cocoon coat over her shoulders.
The coat was one of the first pieces Apple had ever made at the academy, one Emmaline Gray herself had praised. Apple’s smile faded as her thoughts lingered on the woman, the place.
‘Yes.’ She reached for a pair of navy culottes. ‘With these. And I think flats again – maybe black Superstars?’
‘Sneakers! Yes.’
Arabella changed then Apple stood back to survey the ensemble, before leaning forward to raise the waist and clamp it in place. Arabella tugged her hair free from the collar; Apple considered her then tucked it back in again, flicking a few strands free.
‘Like she’s just thrown the coat on,’ Jackson cooed. ‘God, you’re good at this.’
‘You’re making it look good,’ Apple fussed with the laces of Arabella’s shoes. ‘Maybe stand under that banana palm.’
Arabella positioned herself under the arching canopy of a palm, its trunk crusty with bark. Jackson did slow, loud claps. ‘Bravo. Incredible coat. You honestly made it?’ She pinched the cuffs then folded the lapel.
‘Reading or not reading?’ Arabella had the book in her hand.
Apple stepped back. ‘Reading.’
When can I see you again?
Noah’s text appeared while Apple was frantically brushing her hair, and she knocked the phone. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’ Poppy’s head appeared around the door.
‘Did it crack?’ Apple snatched it up. ‘Oh God.’
‘Shit.’ Poppy tapped the fissured glass. ‘It’s okay, it’s still working. You’ll probably need to print your boarding pass, though; the barcode won’t work on this screen. I’ll do it.’
Apple thanked her as Poppy ran from the room, then dabbed colour on her lips before taking her hair up and down three times, then running to find her sister again. ‘Does pulled up look more professional?’
‘Than what?’
‘Hair down.’
‘I . . . yes.’ Poppy shoved the printed boarding pass into her hand. ‘Where’s your folio? What about breakfast? Where are the clothes?’
‘All here.’ Apple returned from her room with a garment bag over her shoulder, her folio in a satchel under her arm. ‘I’ll eat at the airport!’
It was still dark when the car pulled out of the city. Apple had called Lac Compt before she’d booked the flight and had learned that the interviews began at nine. No appointments had been assigned, so she decided to get there at eight, not liking the idea of waiting anxiously all day only to be met by the bleary eyes of interviewers who no longer cared.
She’d got up three times during the night to pee and had then lain awake, turning over the questions she might be asked. The imagined interview had replayed itself so many times that she’d conjured a picture of the people, room, windows and table, despite having no idea how the space looked.
She peered down at her outfit, wondering if it would seem cocky or commendable to have worn her own clothes. The pair of wide-leg trousers she’d unearthed were the perfect tan-beige – not too orange, nor too fleshy – in a high-end cotton sateen the weight of soft canvas. The waistband was firm and tall, and the leg was cut in a dramatic sculptural arch from the waist before it dropped into a direct, unhindered line over the thigh from the hip. The effect was a snug, high waist leading to a sensual unbroken curve and a seemingly impossibly long, straight leg, and Apply felt mildly encouraged by the admiring glances of fellow travellers.
The Rules of Backyard Croquet Page 11