The Birthday Party (17 page)

‘Mum – this is my friend Justine.’ Violet drew her forward and introduced her to Delilah.

It was funny how different people looked in real life. With her wild tortoiseshell curls, her heart-shaped faced and doe eyes,
Delilah was instantly recognisable, yet she was far tinier
than she seemed on the television, and her skin had a lustre to it that didn’t come across on the small screen. Justine felt
cumbersome and ordinary in comparison as she shook Delilah’s hand.

‘Isn’t that Violet’s dress?’ Delilah asked, her eyes dancing. ‘It really suits you – she should give it to you. Violet – you
should give that dress to Justine … It looks amazing on her.’

In a split second, Justine felt gorgeous again. Delilah did that to people. She had a way of handing out compliments, boosting
their confidence, so they didn’t feel as if they were in her shadow.

‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’ Violet complained, but she was laughing as she said it. ‘OK, you’d better have it, since
you look so fabulous in it and I look so awful.’

She slid her arm around Justine’s waist as she spoke, and Justine felt a sharp stab of lust. She gripped the stem of her glass
and tried to look demure. She didn’t know how long she was going to keep up this act.

By one o’clock the kitchen was getting crowded and everyone moved through into the orangery.

Nearly everyone in the country knew and lusted after this room, although ‘room’ was understating it, really. One and a half
storeys high, with twelve floor-to-ceiling arched windows, it was flooded with natural light. The ceiling was painted a deep
cobalt blue and studded with hundreds of tiny pin-prick lights, so that when the sun went down it looked like the most heavenly
night sky. Down the centre was a long, narrow refectory table reclaimed from a nunnery – the sisters would be turning in their
graves if they could see and hear what went on around it now. The places were set with mismatched china plates, floppy lace-trimmed
napkins, chunky wineglasses and bone-handled cutlery. Two vases stuffed with peonies, sweet peas and masses of frothy greenery
filled the air with a heady scent. Rodrigo y Gabriela played softly in the background, with no hope of being heard over the
excited babble.

Raf was desperately trying to play down being the centre of attention, but it was difficult. He had wanted to wait for Dickie
to arrive before he announced the film to them all, but Genevieve had inadvertently let it slip to Coco, who had then spilled
the beans to Tyger, and, frankly, the minute Tyger got hold of something that was supposed to be played down, she played it
right up.

‘I want to read the script. Can I read the script?’ Coco was demanding.

‘Who’s doing the soundtrack?’ He knew Violet wasn’t hustling, just interested.

‘Make sure they all wear my underwear.’ Tyger was definitely hustling.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ Raf laughed. ‘I know it’s a novelty, me having a job. But calm down.’

‘We’re just proud, Dad.’ Coco put her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.

For a moment, Raf thought he was going to burst with pride. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, to have the limelight.
And it was wonderful having the girls cooing over him. He sometimes thought he’d been a terrible father figure to them – drunk
all those years, and then pretty useless for the next ten, taking a back seat. Now he was going to have the chance to show
them what he was made of, that he was talented, not just an old soak or a slacker.

Delilah had brought in more champagne and a tray of glasses. For one moment, he was tempted to reach out and take one. Surely
he’d be able to handle one glass? He was a different man now to the one who had never known when to stop. He had self-control,
self-awareness—

Stop right there, he told himself. You’re getting above yourself. Euphoria was a dangerous emotion – it swept you along in
its wake, egging you on. Raf knew the coming months were going to be tough, that temptation was going to be put in his way
repeatedly. He couldn’t fall at the first fence just
because his circumstances had changed. He turned and picked up his soda and lime.

One thing was for sure, he was never going to get scurvy.

In the midst of the commotion, Tony’s phone went. It was the one he never ignored. He snatched it up, moved to the edge of
the room. A few moments later his voice rang out, the anger in it making everyone turn and stare.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

His face was red with fury.

‘You’ve got absolutely no evidence to stand this story up. It’s just conjecture, totally spurious.’ He listened patiently
for a few more moments. His face drained from red to white. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, controlled, deadly. ‘Let
me call you back.’

He hung up the phone and stared at Tyger.

Everyone else turned to look at her.

She had the grace to look a little abashed, then stepped forward.

‘Um … Mum, Dad. And everyone …’ She gave an awkward smile. ‘Louis and I have got something to tell you.’ She pulled the skull
ring out of her pocket and slipped it onto her finger. ‘We … um … got married!’

There was instant uproar. Coco and Violet both leapt to their feet, squealing, and came round to hug their sister. Tony threw
his phone onto the table, thunderous. Raf suddenly wished very badly that he did have a proper drink in his hand.

And Delilah – Delilah felt a myriad emotions wash over her. Terror, that her youngest daughter had got herself in a situation
that wasn’t going to be so easy to get out of. Disappointment, that she hadn’t been able to include her in the most exciting
event of her life so far. Curiosity, as to what made Louis so different – no man before had turned Tyger’s head. And fury,
that Tyger had managed to overshadow Raf. She knew how much uproar this was going to cause. Could she not have had the common
sense to give them all the heads up? She
supposed that would have made it so much less exciting. The whole point of eloping with someone was the secrecy, the clandestine
nature of the adventure, and Tyger, who lived life to the full, would have got off on that.

She should expect nothing less.

She came round the table to Louis, who was standing rather awkwardly next to Tyger, obviously wishing the floor would swallow
him up. She took his hand in both of hers, looked him in the eye and gave him her best heartbreaking smile.

‘You’re very brave. I hope you realise what you’ve let yourself in for. She’s an absolute monkey. But welcome to the family.’

There was no point whatsoever in making a huge fuss. The damage was done. She leaned in and gave him a kiss, just as the doorbell
drilled through the commotion. Delilah sighed.

‘Who left the gates open?’

‘That’ll be the first of the scum …’ The press were always scum when they weren’t doing as Tony wanted.

‘I’ll get rid of them,’ Polly said firmly. She’d worked with the Raffertys long enough to deal with the situation. And her
ringing Downe House tones usually sent them packing.

Polly opened the door to a lanky man blinking behind hornrimmed glasses. He was wearing a scruffy green jumper and jeans.
He scratched his head awkwardly, his hair tufting up.

‘Um – I’m awfully sorry. I think I’m late. I overslept. I forgot to go to bed. Then I fell asleep … The cat woke me up in
the end.’

Polly stared at him, puzzled. He was definitely not the usual door-stepping journalist.

‘I’m Dickie. Dickie Rushe? Raf said … come for lunch? Have I missed it?’

Polly’s face broke into a broad beam. ‘Dickie – hi! I’m so sorry. No, we haven’t even started eating yet. Usual chaos. Actually,
even more than usual. Come on in. I’m Polly. Delilah and Raf’s assistant.’

Dickie loped in through the door and looked around the hall, unashamedly taking it all in with his director’s eye. His hands
were in his pockets and he grinned at Polly.

‘I’m so rude – I haven’t even brought a bottle. But when I realised what the time was I jumped in the nearest taxi.’

‘How did you forget to go to bed?’

‘Nothing exciting, I can assure you. Reading through the script.’

He looked rueful. Polly wondered if he’d actually had a shave, or even a cup of coffee, before he had left the house. His
shirt collar was still stuck inside his jumper. She pulled it out for him and patted it into place wordlessly. He didn’t seem
to mind.

‘Never mind,’ she consoled him. ‘It’s fun and games here, I can tell you. Come and have a drink.’

With the arrival of Dickie, Delilah decided it was time everyone got some food inside them. The drink had been flowing rather
fast, and maybe some carbohydrates would calm everyone down.

She brought out tarragon chicken, mashed potato with finely diced leeks stirred through, and zesty carrots and green beans.
Soon everyone was helping themselves, passing the gravy, pouring each other wine, diets forgotten in the face of such temptation.
She sat down at the foot of the table, feeling slightly calmer. She was always happy when people were eating. She felt totally
drained by the morning’s events. It was just another prime example of never knowing what life was going to throw at you. No
matter how carefully you planned things, no matter how vigilant you were, there was always something to trip you up.

She looked down the table at Tyger, chattering nineteen to the dozen, totally oblivious to the trouble her latest announcement
was going to cause. And Louis next to her – he played his cards very close to his chest. He wasn’t saying much. Probably wise.
She wondered what his motive was in marrying her
daughter. Whose idea had it been? A drunken impulse, no doubt. They probably both had low boredom thresholds.

Tony was missing from the table. He was already on the phone, fire-fighting. She should go and get him, tell him not to worry
for the time being, but he would insist. And he was right. The tabloids weren’t going to stop just because the Raffertys wanted
to have their lunch in peace.

She helped herself to some chicken wearily. At the end of the day, it would be her decision what game plan they made. She
wished someone else would take responsibility. Raf wouldn’t – his attitude was things would sort themselves out. He was old
school. He didn’t really understand the power of the press. When he had been at the height of his fame, the press hadn’t been
so vicious, so celebrity obsessed. It caused a lot of friction between them, what he called her obsession and she called his
disregard.

‘Isn’t there some middle ground?’ he would ask plaintively, and she would laugh hollowly.

‘No,’ she would counter. ‘That’s the whole point. You can’t pick and choose. If you’re in the fame game, you have to play
it all the time.’

Everyone was devouring their mini rhubarb meringue pies when Tony came back. He put his notebook down at the head of the table
next to Delilah. He looked drained and serious, like a police chief about to brief his top men on a murder inquiry.

‘OK. Here’s our story. We knew all about the wedding. We are having a private family party here to celebrate, and we’ll throw
a proper reception next week to which all the press will be invited as long as they respect our privacy over the weekend.’

‘No.’ Tyger looked mutinous. ‘That’s a lie, and I don’t want a bloody wedding reception. The whole point was it was secret
and private—’

‘Tyger.’ Raf’s warning tone was not to be ignored.

‘No, Dad, I’m not having some scummy fake party with a load of people I don’t know and care even less about, because I know
that’s what will happen.’ She threw a glance at Tony who was looking very unhappy. He knew exactly what Tyger was like when
she dug her heels in.

‘If you don’t comply then they’re just going to hound you,’ he objected. ‘Come on, Tyger. You know the deal.’

‘This is my wedding!’

‘And you knew damn well when you went off and did it that there would be hell to pay.’

Tyger crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. Her parents knew the look well from childhood.

Delilah decided to pull rank.

‘Tyger, I’m sorry, but that is what is going to happen. Otherwise we’re going to get no peace whatsoever, any of us. And frankly,
we’ve got enough to worry about—’

‘That’s right, just worry about yourselves. Never mind what I want.’

‘Your father’s about to start on this film. It’s a big deal for him. He doesn’t need the stress.’

‘OK. Have your reception. But you needn’t think Louis and I are coming. Are we?’

She looked at her husband for support. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and shrugged. ‘Could be a laugh.’

Tyger looked at him, dumbfounded.

‘Great. Even my husband won’t support me. You’re just as bad as the rest of them. I suppose you want the publicity—’

‘Tyger, that’s enough!’

‘Maybe that’s why you married me!’ Tyger slammed her glass down on the table.

Louis sat back in his chair, looking pissed off.

Violet grinned at him sympathetically from the other side of the table.

‘Welcome to Tyger-world. You’ve got no idea what you’ve let yourself in for, have you?’

She was the second person to say that to him.

Tyger burst into tears.

Delilah took a deep breath in. She knew the routine. Tears were what Tyger used when she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

‘You can have the party where you want, how you want,’ she soothed.

‘Yeah, right, Mum. As long as I invite everyone you and Tony want.’

Delilah was getting exasperated. This could go on all afternoon. And, frankly, it was embarrassing. Scenes like this were
common enough in the Rafferty household, but there was no need to subject their guests to the full horror. Genevieve and Dickie
were both looking on in polite fascination.

‘OK, let’s get this into perspective. This was supposed to be a lunch to celebrate
Something for the Weekend
. Maybe we should park this conversation until later? I’d like to raise a glass and say here’s to a fantastic film.’

Everyone picked up on the diversion eagerly and grabbed their glasses.