Three

‘Sorry we need to go this slow, guys.’ The young man driving the speedboat grinned over his shoulder at Poppy and Axel, oblivious to the daggers Poppy was glaring at him. ‘Regulations at night, like.’

Poppy wore a black 1960s cocktail dress adorned with fine chiffon ruffles that brushed her knees. Her poker-straight, dark blonde hair was loose, flying out behind her in the soft wind, and her only makeup was a slash of dark red lipstick. Everything about the look clashed, yet even Axel could see it somehow worked.

On the other hand, the life jackets the driver insisted they wear definitely did not work. Axel could barely clip his across his massive chest and hadn’t taken a deep breath since Luss pier. Poppy had been horrified when handed the jacket. She patiently explained that her dress was an original Chanel, designed by Coco herself, as she handed it right back. 

The driver turned the engine off and announced they were going nowhere without wearing life jackets. Poppy hissed that there was no way Misty and Jack’s other guests had all ruined tens of thousands of pounds of designer clothing with manky lifejackets. The driver didn’t help by pointing out the celebs had arrived by helicopter.

‘There’s evidence she personally sewed the satin ribbons on,’ Poppy spluttered. ‘She actually wrote the Gabrielle signature on the label.’ 

‘Was she no’ a Nazi?’

Poppy cracked a smile, and Axel knew they’d get to the party after all. ‘I suppose if you’re going to destroy couture it might as well be Nazi couture,’ she huffed with dignity, accepting the offending jacket and gathering her skirt to step gingerly into the boat. ‘I mean, she’s dead, she doesn’t profit or anything. I’m just saying.’

The boat puttered through inky black waters. The night was clear, and the moon was full, shimmering on the loch and highlighting the outlines of the craggy mountains. Poppy sighed and rested her head on Axel’s shoulder.

‘It is rather magical, isn’t it?’

Axel froze. 

‘It is very beautiful,’ he agreed after a moment. ‘I understand why Jack and Misty are so happy here.’

‘You’re not upset, are you?’

Axel glanced up at the boat driver, but he was steering through a narrow channel between two islands and did not appear to be listening.

‘We said it would be just one summer,’ he said. ‘It is now September.’

‘I know, you just seem a bit funny with me.’

Axel shrugged and glanced away. A pair of swans glided silently along the shoreline. Axel felt his heart gripped by loneliness.

Axel flung himself headfirst into the summer party scene as soon as he got home at the end of May. Spybar, Riche, Berns, Trädgården, Slakthusområdet and Kvarnen — he hadn’t discriminated, dancing til dawn with film industry friends or high school pals.

Skinny dipping in Årstaviken after what started as brunch at Tanto. Waking up on the beach at Långholmen with no idea how he got there. And, of course, the obligatory caution by the police for bothering the royal guards in the wee hours after dominating karaoke night in one of Gamla Stan’s touristy Irish bars.

He was letting off steam after everything that happened in Glasgow. Who wouldn’t be ready for some fun after the past year? But after waking up in the drying-out cell at Mariatorget for the second time, he decided that touching the brakes a little wouldn’t hurt.

And that was how he ended up attending a relatively tame Midsummer gathering, held at a summer house outside Gustavsberg which belonged to a couple of school friends who had married right after graduation. Axel sat in a white wooden chair, a single beer dangling from his hand as he watched the chaos with something between fascination and horror. Children swarmed the garden, seemingly intent on launching themselves into the Baltic Sea, nose diving on sharp objects and eating anything poisonous they could find with ferocious alacrity. The parents socialised on automatic pilot, drinking wine with one hand whilst whipping toddlers away from yet another fatal mission with the other.

Axel felt exhausted just looking at them, yet, at the same time, a whisper of sadness danced within him. Growing up in care, he’d always felt excluded from the very notion of family. He hadn’t been jealous of people with families any more than he was jealous of those with brown eyes or freckles — it was just something some people had that he didn’t. 

Heaped plates of gravadlax, meatballs and new potatoes were handed round as the first drinking song was announced. They toasted the hostess and cheered when the surströmming was opened. Normally, Axel gave no real thought to his romantic status one way or another, yet as he watched each couple team up to wrestle food into kids, he suddenly became acutely conscious of the fact he was a team of one.

It was at that moment Poppy arrived. He had forgotten these friends knew her. She’d flown in from London just that morning and then got caught in traffic heading to the archipelago. She blew new life into the party with her usual flurry of laughter and stories, leading the first chorus of Helan Går loudly and off-key, much to everyone’s delight. A few hours later, they were having frantic sex against a boulder on the beach. The Baltic Sea lapped around Axel’s ankles as he clutched her hips, licking each nipple in time with his thrusts as he wondered if this was what it felt like to come home.

The closeness they forged during Poppy’s illness and recovery felt like a dress rehearsal for the kind of soulmate bond they write songs about. Almost three months of sex, partying and travel — when July turned out to be rainy in Sweden, they meandered through Italy and France — came to a crashing halt last week when Poppy announced she was heading to New York, probably six months or a year. Axel asked why she hadn’t discussed it with him when she knew he would be filming in Scotland. The puzzled look she gave him shot bolts of ice into his heart.

‘I just think we’re so good as friends, you know. We always have been. If we tried to have a proper relationship I would just fuck it up.’

‘Yeah, you said,’ Axel murmured. 

The boat drew to a halt by the small jetty, and the sounds of upbeat jazz drifted through the air. Poppy clapped at the sight of the castle, blazing with light against the night sky, as the driver secured the boat and held out a hand to assist her. She tossed the life jacket back into the boat and brushed the dress down, tutting at the sprinkling of sand caught in her bodice.

‘You had a lucky escape, pal,’ the driver murmured to Axel as he took Axel’s life jacket. ‘That one’s a handful.’

 

1. do you think Axel and Poppy make a good couple?

2. do friends-to-lovers make the best couples

3. did you know about Swedish Midsummer? Have you ever celebrated it?