Freya pretended to sob. ‘I dropped it getting out of the car yesterday.’

  ‘Positions!’ the photographer gave a final warning and a producer waved a hand over at Brooke’s G-Wagon.

  The car door opened. Slap, slap. Brooke’s straw-fringed sandals flung out onto the bitumen. She was wearing a dress like Bree’s – ethereal and floaty and fitted just enough in the right places to not warrant bulldog clips. A producer took the Starbucks cup from Brooke’s hand and guided her to the opposite end of the line before arranging her limbs. Brooke whispered in the producer’s ear and the message was quickly relayed to the photographer who didn’t wait a second before yelling at the group.

  ‘You and you. Switch.’ He was talking about Freya and Bree.

  The girls traded cautious looks before swapping spots. That’s when Aimee found herself spooning Bree. Even under the orange glare of the setting sun, Aimee could feel a particular chill being blown her way from Brooke.

  ‘Sorry about Mum,’ Bree whispered over her shoulder.

  Stop giving me reasons not to hate you, Aimee thought. Her insides twisted at the thought of Bree – and now Tim – knowing about the incident at the store. She leaned in. ‘I like your dress.’

  Bree didn’t break her gaze from the camera and continued to angle her head in weird ways. ‘Thanks! It’s cottagecore.’

  Aimee had no idea what that meant and made a mental note to google it later.

  ‘Embody the graceful posture of a dancer but look at me with the determined eyes of a hunter!’ The photographer started yelling out instructions that were vague and specific all at once. Aimee just did what she did in all photos: smile without showing her teeth while secretly wanting to die. With the coordinating white outfits and everyone lined up in front of the ocean, the group looked like Britney Spears and her backup dancers in the video clip for ‘Sometimes’.

  She was already embarrassed. Then her face dropped.

  The photographer snapped his fingers at Aimee without pulling his face away from the camera. ‘You’re scowling.’

  It took a moment for her to take her eyes off the distraction: Tim. Walking up to the photoshoot. In a white linen shirt and blue linen shorts. She couldn’t help but feel Bree’s energy pep up at the sight of him, mainly because it was in stark contrast to her own reaction.

  ‘Did you know he was coming?’ Bree whispered out the side of her mouth to Aimee.

  Heath was dealing with other crew members near a monitor with Nina but glanced over to see what was happening.

  Brooke called out without breaking her pose. ‘I thought he should be in some shots. You can never have too many options.’

  Even though it was a photoshoot, the TV crew was still there filming and the slight tension caused the cameras to move with a little more precision. The photographer walked over to Brooke. They whispered. He returned to his spot. And then came the vague but specific direction. ‘You with them.’ He pointed his finger from Tim to Aimee and Bree.

  Of course. Aimee heard Heath’s voice in her head. Don’t resist. It makes it worse. She looked around to spot him but couldn’t.

  Tim did what he was told. As his rubber thongs clacked over, Aimee tried to laugh off the weirdness. She could tell he felt just as ridiculous, in his linen shorts and shirt that were absolutely purchased purely for this occasion. He nodded at her with a smile and he squeezed into his spot – between his fiancée and the woman he was dating for the summer.

  ‘That’s new. The outfit,’ Aimee whispered.

  ‘Yeah.’ He let out a shy laugh. ‘Brooke called at the last minute and just said to wear white linen. I didn’t have anything so I went to a store on Jonson Street on my way here. They said the navy shorts would look less wanky. I still feel like an idiot.’ He tugged down the bottom of the shirt, which was blowing in the wind.

  ‘It looks really nice,’ Aimee said, her tone a tad unconvincing.

  Bree piped up. ‘It does.’

  Tim rolled his eyes at the attention.

  The TV cameras loomed and the photographer snapped away.

  ‘I didn’t know what this was,’ he whispered to Aimee. ‘I didn’t know it was a… photo thing.’

  The photographer clicked his fingers at the odd trio. ‘Closer. Squeeze together.’

  Aimee and Bree both leaned into Tim.

  ‘Lean. Lean. Leaaaan,’ the photographer continued to instruct.

  All three of their faces were almost touching and the fronts and backs of their bodies were pressed together. Aimee could smell Tim. He’d had a post-surf shower. Pre-shower, he smelt like a mix of sunscreen, pineapple surfboard wax and the ocean. Post-surf shower, he smelt like Dove soap. For some reason he insisted on only using a bar of Dove in the shower. He had since high school. Aimee could also smell Bree. It was one of those sweet, sugary, fruity perfumes that was familiar to anyone who’d passed a twenty-something girl walking down the street with her friends on a Saturday night out.

  The photographer offered more feedback. ‘Closer! I want you all basically dry-humping each other.’ He stalked around in his black skinny jeans and combat boots. Then he stood on a milk crate before jumping off and crouching down on the concrete. After a few more uncomfortable minutes, he pulled the camera away from his face. ‘Break!’

  The girls unfroze from their poses and the photographer strutted over to Aimee and Tim. He looked down at the screen on his camera and toggled through a slideshow of images with his thumb. Brooke’s straw-fringed shoes slapped over the cement to join them.

  The photographer sighed. ‘I think I’ve got all the shots I can take with the guy.’ He nodded at Tim. ‘The blue shorts just look out of place when everyone else is in all white.’

  ‘Yeah… I didn’t know what this was for.’ Tim scratched his head and half-heartedly provided an excuse.

  Brooke interjected. ‘We can just shoot him from the waist up.’

  The photographer showed her the screen on the camera and flicked through the gallery. ‘Already have. This afternoon light is precious and I’d rather just get the shots with the girls while we can.’

  Heath walked up behind them and heard the end of the conversation. ‘Even without the shorts, it’s weird with just one guy in the shot,’ he jumped in. ‘Especially if Rich isn’t in it.’

  Brooke was quick to shoot back. ‘Rich won’t be appearing much on the show – so it’s not really relevant to have him in the photos.’

  ‘Well neither is Tim, so it probably makes sense for none of the guys to be in it,’ Heath said. ‘We’ve taken some waist-up shots with Tim. Sounds like we got all we need with him. I’ll get the girls back while the light’s still good.’ He clapped his hands three times and the crew scrambled. As he turned to walk away, he glanced over at Aimee and they locked eyes for a second. She gave a little nod to say thanks.

  Tim exhaled and unbuttoned his shirt a little. ‘I’m gonna run down to the beach before it gets dark.’

  Aimee teased him. ‘Really? I’m sure we could find someone with white pants who you could swap with.’

  ‘Nope. Surf emergency,’ he laughed. It was something silly he and Aimee said to each other when Tim wanted to get down to the beach. ‘Catch ya.’ He winked and jogged off, throwing a hand up in the air to wave at Bree, who was getting her make-up re-touched at a nearby tent.

  There was a pang in Aimee’s chest as she watched him run into the glare – getting smaller and fuzzier until he was out of sight. It was only when she took a deep breath that she realised how tense she’d been during the whole interaction. Her mind had been flooded by a swirl of nostalgia. Nostalgia was seductive and cruel. It put a sunny haze over memories and made them seem cosier than they were. Blemishes were blurred and the details flaked by age. Were you truly happy in that memory? Was it as romantic as it appeared years later? And did you only yearn for it once life got harder and you wanted to escape back to a time when your new problems didn’t exist? The sudden stress of all her worlds colliding at the photoshoot also hadn’t helped. It was that latter concern that made Aimee feel slightly relieved to see Tim eject himself from the situation. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder when she’d be standing that close to him again. The soapy smell of the Dove bar disappeared in the blustery sea breeze. Tim’s quick escape also meant Aimee was left standing alone at the base of the lighthouse with Brooke, who was lingering nearby.

  ‘Nice dress,’ Aimee said.

  ‘Thanks, it’s cottagecore,’ Brooke snipped.

  Aimee nodded. ‘Thought so.’ She looked around. One of the TV cameramen and a sound guy had hung back and were trying to shoot the conversation without looking too obvious about it. They failed. ‘Hey… So, I’m not sure what you heard yesterday—’

  ‘You called me a C-word,’ Brooke snipped.

  Aimee glanced at the camera over Brooke’s shoulder. ‘No.’ Her voice went high as she squinted and cocked her head, trying to negotiate this bizarre turn. ‘No, not the C-word.’

  ‘Aimee, I heard it with my own two ears and we caught it on camera – you called me a C-word.’

  ‘No… no, see – when you say that I called you a C-word, it makes it sound like I called you the C-word.’

  ‘Aimee, all I know is you called me a C-word. And all the best reality shows have a C-word scandal each year. So, you’ve just given The Brats of Byron Bay its own C-word scandal.’

  Aimee tried hard to not get tangled up in whatever psychotic mind game Brooke was trying to play. She closed her eyes and grabbed her face for a second as she searched for the right words. ‘My friend Rob and I were hyped up on Advent calendar chocolate and talking rubbish. We were being silly. Childish. It was all just… stupid. I’m sorry.’

  Brooke went silent and took a sip from her really big Starbucks cup that a producer had returned to her grip.

  ‘And I’d love to stock your tutus in the store. You know… if you’d still be keen to. I think they’re beautiful.’

  Brooke tapped the French-tipped nail of her right forefinger on the plastic lid of the cup. ‘Well. That’s very kind of you, Aimee. I’ll have a courier deliver them tomorrow. I’d do it myself but I’m very busy excavating my lake.’ She took a sip and turned south to look at the ocean rolling in along Tallow Beach.

  ‘Great. I know exactly where I’ll put them.’ Aimee reached into the pocket of her linen pants. ‘Also, this is silly. But… there are these toys called fidgets. We sell them at the store. There was this one in the shape of a peacock. I thought of you.’

  Brooke turned to look. ‘What do you do with it?’

  ‘You press the buttons in and out.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Aimee said in a flat tone. ‘They’re big online. Kids go nuts for them. Anyway.’ She held it out and the purple silicone looked like grape bubblegum against the grey cement.

  Brooke’s tanned, manicured hand took hold. Aimee turned to walk away.

  ‘I’ll see you at the Christmas party,’ Brooke said.

  Aimee stopped.

  ‘We’re having a Christmas party at the farm. For the TV show, obviously. But you and your friend should come.’

  Aimee smiled and nodded.

  ‘Turn around,’ Brooke instructed, walking closer to fiddle with the back of Aimee’s shirt. ‘You don’t need this.’ She released the mound of fabric from the bulldog clip.

  Aimee spun back to face her, just as the wind picked up.

  Brooke squinted and assessed again. ‘Actually, you do. It’s… billowy.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  A relentless honk blared around Aimee’s bedroom. Gasp. She shot upright. The sun was pouring in. Her hand fumbled around on the bedside table before it eventually landed on the phone. She picked it up and squinted at the screen. Just after nine. She must’ve forgotten to set an alarm. The phone remained in front of her face as she stared while swiping her thumb, waiting for the automatic facial recognition to do its job and unlock. It didn’t. Rude. This had started happening every morning – the phone deeming Aimee completely unrecognisable thanks to under-eye bags, sheet crease marks and a deep wrinkle across her forehead that, upon waking, made her face look as if it had been folded in half like a piece of paper. She made a mental note to google prescription retinol. It was a mental note she made every morning. The honking hadn’t stopped. In fact, it had gotten worse and become so irritating that it probably brought out more wrinkles. Then the phone started buzzing. Aimee jolted and it fell into a tangle of cream bed sheets. Heath’s name appeared on the screen. She considered ignoring it, but now her ringtone – Ace of Base’s ‘The Sign’ – was blaring over the top of the honking and it was all becoming way too much to handle in the morning.

  ‘What?’ she answered.

  ‘What’s that noise?’

  ‘The sound of summer in paradise.’

  ‘Why would anyone wanna live here?’ Heath laughed.

  ‘I’ve been thinking the same thing. What do you want?’

  ‘Not a morning person?’ Heath teased.

  ‘Ugh. I hate people who ask that. Nobody’s truly a morning person. It all depends on what you consider “morning” to be. People who ask that question usually get up at 5am – and then pose the question to people who’ve just woken up at a normal time. No one wants to be chipper as soon as they’ve woken up! How would 5am-ers feel if someone who gets up at 4am ran into their bedroom and started asking condescending questions the very second they opened their eyes? They’d be annoyed. Which, by their standards, would technically make them not a morning person.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  ‘Hello?’ Aimee asked.

  ‘Oh, you’re done. Sorry, I put the phone down while you were ranting. Anyway, I didn’t get an answer to my question. So you’re not a morning person?’

  Aimee flopped on the bed and crawled under the covers to escape the honking. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A friend can’t call another friend to chat? Shoot the breeze? Chew the fat? Confabulate?’

  ‘We’re not friends. I’m hanging up now.’

  ‘Alright,’ Heath gave in. ‘I’m just calling to coordinate some schedules. Brooke’s sending a shipment of tutus to your store today and the team wanna be there to film it and do a quick on-camera chat with you about it.’

  ‘Oh, you make it sound so innocent.’ Aimee wrapped a pillow around her head to block the noise. ‘We both know it’s not just gonna be a quick breezy chat.’

  Heath laughed. ‘Aimee. What’d I tell you about resisting? It just makes it worse. You’re on the show, a misunderstanding happened between you and Brooke. Just explain your side. Simple. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.’

  ‘Fine,’ Aimee muttered as she got up to walk out to the living room. Her hair was sticking out at weird angles and her eyes still hadn’t quite adjusted to the daylight. ‘I’m already going to be getting tortured at the store today anyway – the real estate agency is sending a guy to bolt one of those really big FOR SALE signs to the roof. Bring on the tutus and the cameras! Hey, isn’t this the job of a junior producer to be calling the cast about minor scheduling issues?’

  ‘Well, there was something else I was gonna warn you about…’

  Aimee walked into the kitchen and screamed.

  ‘Annnd I think you just found it…’

  Standing naked at her kitchen sink was one of the @ThoseTwoVanGuys. Or, more accurately, @OneNakedVanGuy. He had the body of a twenty-something who worked out hard but partied harder. Muscly-ish, but could use a two-week detox. Glazed in sweat. There were tattoos on body parts Aimee wished she’d never seen. He grabbed a tea towel and half-tried to cover himself, unfussed.

  ‘Heath,’ Aimee said sternly into the phone, making another mental note to burn the tea towel later.

  ‘Have fun!’ He swiftly hung up.

  Aimee looked around the apartment in frustration and noticed they weren’t alone. Of course. There was a camera crew.

  ‘Sorry, Freya’s mum,’ the smiling van guy said.

  Aimee closed her eyes and backed up against the fridge as something dawned on her. ‘Please, oh god, tell me you and Freya didn’t…’

  The bathroom door swung open.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ a naked Charlie exclaimed. He reached back to grab a towel and wrapped it around himself before walking out into the kitchen.

  Aimee squinted and waved her finger back and forth between the boys. ‘You two?’

  Charlie smiled. ‘Us twoooo?’ he repeated, playfully making his friend work for an explanation.

  ‘Wait.’ Aimee turned to the naked van guy. ‘Aren’t you with…?’

  ‘Luna, yeah,’ he finished the sentence. ‘I’m Bodhi – from dinner the other night. @GourmetChikoRoll, remember?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah.’ Aimee scratched her head, trying to restrain her annoyance. ‘It’s all coming back… so vividly.’ Her tone changed as she had a sudden realisation. ‘Wait, so you and Luna are?’

  ‘Oh, we’re open.’ Bodhi nodded enthusiastically. ‘Open relationship.’

  ‘Right, right. I remember. She told me all about it.’ Aimee looked around at the cameras.

  ‘Yeah, kinda like your situation with your husband,’ Bodhi added.

  ‘Well… it’s a little different.’ Aimee cocked her head and furrowed her brow again. ‘Wait. And… you’re…’ She pointed at Charlie then back to Bodhi.

  ‘Bi.’ Bodhi nodded enthusiastically again.

  ‘Wonderful… look at all the fun you get to have.’ Aimee tried to breezily conclude the awkward chat. She looked over at Charlie, who was grinning at his friend’s discomfort. It was only then she realised the honking hadn’t stopped. ‘What the fuck is that fucking noise?’ She screwed up her face and shuffled to the big wall of windows that looked out over the street.

  Her red Monaro was parked below. Freya was hanging out the driver’s window and upped the honking at the sight of her aunt. Then she reached inside and flicked the dial on the stereo. Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ blasted out. The volume got louder.

  Aimee cracked a smile. ‘I hate you!’

 

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