The Birthday Party (49 page)

Dickie and Polly were dispatched to the airport to fetch Delilah. It was unlikely they would be recognised leaving the hospital,
and so with any luck the photographers wouldn’t follow them. They were going to go in Dickie’s battered old Volvo.

Polly struggled to catch up with Dickie’s long stride as they made their way through the hospital car park.

‘This is terrible,’ he said as he started up the engine. ‘This is so terrible. I didn’t think things could get any worse.’

‘You know what?’ said Polly. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

He looked at her sideways.

‘It is?’

‘It always is,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I’ve worked with them for ten years, and it’s always fine. In the end.’

‘How do you cope?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘By not having anything else in my life to worry about,’ she replied simply.

‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ he said, pulling onto the main road that led to the airport.

Polly’s chin trembled.

‘I have to believe it,’ she managed. ‘I couldn’t bear it … if Tyger doesn’t make it. And if Raf and Delilah don’t get back
together.’

To her amazement, this was true. Even though in her wildest dreams, she had fantasised about Raf spurning Delilah and telling
Polly he couldn’t live without her, she wasn’t stupid enough to think it could possibly ever happen. It had been terrible
at The Bower without the two of them. Polly had been rushed off her feet, there had been more to deal with than ever, but
without Raf and Delilah around, what was the point?

She looked sideways at Dickie. With his flop of hair falling over his glasses, his earnest expression searching the roadside
for signposts, he was such a dear.

‘Aren’t you worried about your film?’ she asked.

‘Desperately,’ he admitted. ‘There’s not much we can shoot without Raf. He’s in practically every scene. But I can hardly
expect him to work.’

‘So what will happen?’

‘I don’t know. There’s insurance – for compassionate leave. We’d just put it on hold. But there’s no saying everyone would
be available to start again. We’d have to trash it.’

‘That would be a shame.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Especially as I put up half my flat to finance it.’ He managed an awkward smile. ‘Pretty scary.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Polly was horrified. Dickie didn’t look like the sort of person who could afford to lose that kind of money.

Dickie shrugged. ‘Tyger’s more important than a bloody film. I’d get some of the cash back. Probably.’

Probably not. He was running over-budget. In the hope they would make a profit. Which he had felt sure they would – the stuff
they had in the can so far was fantastic. Now, however, the whole project was looking pretty shaky.

Polly didn’t know what to say.

‘Airport, one and a half miles,’ she managed finally.

It was Violet’s turn to sit with Tyger.

Justine had driven her down, but had elected not to come into the hospital. She was reticent about intruding on the family’s
grief. She had dropped Violet off at the hospital, and the two of them had hugged.

‘We need to talk,’ whispered Violet.

‘It can wait,’ Justine told her. ‘It can all wait. Go and be with your family. I’ll wait at the hotel. Call if you want me
to collect you.’

Violet decided to share her dilemma with her sister. Tyger loved a bit of intrigue and a bit of scandal.

‘Tyger, you’ve got to wake up,’ she told her. ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do, and you’re the only person I
can talk to. There’s this person, you see, and it’s all wonderful. Really amazing. Shag-tastic, as you would say. But it’s
a bit tricky. I don’t know if Mum and Dad are going to approve, exactly. Not that I care if they don’t. But … it’s complicated.
I was in total denial about it at first. I never thought this would happen to me, but it did. And I don’t know where it’s
going to end up, but I can’t stop it. Honestly, Tyger, the sex is to die for. I’ve never known anything like it. But it’s
not just that. It’s proper L.O.V.E. love. She makes me feel like—’

Tyger’s eyelids began to flutter. Violet stopped in mid-flow.

‘Tyger?’

She watched in astonishment as her sister’s eyes gradually opened.

‘She?’
Tyger demanded in scandalised tones. ‘Did you say
she?
’

Delilah was striding down the corridor, flanked by Dickie and Polly. They’d pushed their way through the photographers outside,
in through the main entrance, up in the lift. As they
approached the High Dependency Unit, Raf came out of the room that had been put aside for them.

He didn’t see Delilah at first. He was heading for the coffee machine. Not for coffee, but to break the monotony. He looked
terrible. Unshaven. Rumpled. His eyes burned bright in his face, feverish with worry and fatigue.

He stopped in his tracks as he saw his wife. She looked different. Terribly young. Her hair was in plaits; her clothes totally
out of place – jeans and a striped jumper.

She stopped when she saw him. They stood, one at each end of the corridor, staring at each other for what seemed like eternity.
His heart was filled with trepidation; hers with uncertainty.

He began to walk towards her, slowly. She hung back, unsure.

And then the doors of the High Dependency Unit burst open and Violet flew out, tears streaming down her face.

‘She’s awake,’ she sobbed. ‘Tyger’s awake.’

Delilah ran down the corridor. She threw open the doors, and strode into the ward, where Tyger was talking weakly to a nurse
who was taking her pulse. She crossed the room in two bounds and threw her arms around her daughter.

The nurse stepped back hastily, watching the reunion.

She had to admit, she’d never have recognised Delilah Rafferty if the girl hadn’t called her Mum. She looked nothing like
she did on the telly. But it obviously was her, by the way she was sobbing in relief. And then the two other sisters came
back in, crowding round, wanting to hug their mother and Tyger. And then Louis – the husband, who had such a filthy reputation
if you believed the papers, but who had been absolutely sweet, worried sick about his wife.

She kept half an eye open for the ward sister, who would do her nut if she saw four visitors round the bed. They only ever
allowed two, max. And now here was Raf. She couldn’t turn him away. Everyone on the staff was half in love with him. He was
so beautiful, and cut such a tragic figure. They had all
fought over the chance to take him updates, ask him if he wanted coffee.

She watched with interest as he approached the bed. Delilah disentangled herself from her daughters, and looked at him. They
weren’t smiling. They were just looking at each other. And then Tyger caught sight of her dad, and stretched out her arms,
and he went to hug her, holding her tight.

There was definitely a story here, thought the nurse, as Delilah stepped out of the way. It was almost as if she was avoiding
her husband. She knew the press were all outside baying for details, but she wasn’t going to give anything away to anyone.
She would protect their privacy. No one deserved to go through what they had been through and have it splashed all over the
papers.

She was going to have to intervene. She needed a doctor to come and check Tyger over. And the last thing the girl needed was
to be tired out by her visitors.

‘I’m sorry, folks. I’m going to have to ask you all to step outside. You can come back later, but I need to check Tyger over.
I’m sure you understand.’

‘May I stay with her?’ Delilah’s voice was low. ‘Please. I’ve only just arrived.’

The nurse hesitated.

‘OK. But just sit there quietly while I do her obs. The doctor will be here in a moment.’

Delilah nodded at the others to go. Raf put his arms around Violet and Coco and led them away, followed by Louis. Delilah
watched them go and turned to Tyger, who was looking at her, anxious.

‘Mum … you and Dad. It’s going to be OK, right?’

Delilah put her hand over Tyger’s, conscious that the nurse might be listening.

‘Sweetheart, I don’t know. Let’s concentrate on getting you better. And I want to hear what happened. Someone said something
about rescuing a load of dogs …’

T
he Temperate House at Kew Gardens had never looked so lovely.

Every branch, every leaf, every bloom was at its most succulent, bursting with life, in a tangled display of verdant ebullience.
Backlit in all the colours of the rainbow, it was exotic, almost magical, the perfect backdrop for the party of the year.
Down the centre of the glasshouse was the longest table imaginable, seating a hundred down each side, laid with shimmering
mother-of-pearl crockery and green goblets, can-delabras draped in ivy interspersed at regular intervals down its length.

The air was heavy with the mingled scents of all the guests who were assembling to take their places for dinner. A heady mix
of actors, media stars, artists, fashion designers – you name it. There was no doubt that this was an A-list gathering, but
there was no posturing for the cameras. These were all people who were confident and comfortable in their own skin, and with
each other, and they were all here tonight to enjoy a beautiful summer’s evening, a ravishing setting, wonderful food and
then the chance to let their hair down.

A single photographer had been allowed in, to take official photographs, the best of which would be displayed in the magazine
of Delilah’s choice the following week.

He was taking photographs now, of the three Rafferty sisters, sitting in descending order of age on the Victorian spiral staircase.
Coco, her arm curled round the banister, was standing, to best show off her full-length dress, silk-jersey
Halston in pillar-box red. Beside her was Violet in hot-pink ruffled Alice Temperley, her dark bob shorter and sharper than
ever. And at their feet sat Tyger, her arms round her knees, surprisingly demure in lilac lace L’Wren Scott. On her lap was
Tuppence, the tiny little shih-tzu puppy she had plucked out of the cage on the night of the rescue, and who now rarely left
her side.

Next to them stood Louis, anxiously watching his wife. He had turned out to be a pillar of strength – the polar opposite of
the dissolute waste of space his image had at first led them to expect. He had been incredibly hard on himself over the whole
incident, blaming himself entirely, but everyone knew perfectly well that the caper had Tyger written all over it, and how
very persuasive she could be. Besides, he had done it for the right reasons – loyalty to his mother. Although she had been
arrested, he’d stood bail for her and she was now awaiting trial. He’d got her the best lawyer, and there was every chance
that, although she wasn’t entirely innocent, it would be Bernie who would take most of the rap.

Of course, Louis had to sell his story, and reveal the truth about his past, but by selling it to the highest bidder, and
donating every penny to the rescue centre that eventually re-homed all the puppies, he redeemed himself. And the photo-shoot
of him and Tyger with the rescued puppies gave the magazine that printed it their highest circulation ever. The papers loved
the two of them more than ever.

Delilah looked on, dressed in a shockingly short Thomas Wylde chiffon number, her hair in a tousled mane down her back, her
gorgeous legs in staggeringly high heels. Hell, this was her fiftieth birthday. If she couldn’t dress like a wanton tart,
then what was the point? Not that she really looked like a tart. If anyone could get away with it, Delilah could, and no one
was going to judge her on her birthday. She was amongst friends, and people who loved her. After everything that had happened,
she had made sure of that.

She took a sip of her cocktail. Good old Polly had gone for
the raspberry Bellinis in the end. She had staunchly carried on organising the party, never wavering in her belief that Delilah
would return. Nevertheless, she had remained adamant about handing in her notice. Delilah was going to miss her, but then,
so much was going to change. She’d made a lot of decisions since she’d come back from Ireland.

After dinner, Violet was getting ready to do a short set of music in the marquee before Louis and Tyger took over as DJs.
She had protested volubly that she didn’t want to, that it was showing off, but Delilah had begged her.

‘I’d love some live music, but I don’t want to pay someone else. I want you to do it, darling.’

Violet had, of course, relented in the end. Now, she was surprised to find herself nervous. She never usually got much stage-fright,
but tonight was different. Tonight she was performing just for her friends and family, and it had to be perfect.

Justine held her hand as she took deep breaths. They were taking things slowly, seeing how the relationship panned out now
it was official. Justine was spending the weeks in Berlin, then either flying back to London for the weekend or Violet was
coming out to join her. So far, it was working like a dream. They both had space for themselves, they were both flourishing,
but they cherished their time together.

As she heard Sammy tune up his double bass, she felt calm settle over her. This was her territory. This was her stage. They
were her audience.

She came on to riotous applause. She knew that however badly she performed, the audience would be ecstatic. So she was going
to blow them away.

She gave them everything they wanted, and more. She’d pulled together lots of stuff, some of her classics, some new things,
stuff they could dance to. She did ‘Mack The Knife’, ‘Material Girl’, ‘Black Velvet’,
‘La Vie en Rose’
– there was
something for everyone. And then, as an encore, she steeled herself for her final offering.

‘This is a song I wrote,’ she told the audience. ‘It’s a very special song. It’s about having the courage to be yourself.
And about having the courage to love.’

There was a smattering of applause and some whistles.

Violet smiled, and shut her eyes, almost ready to begin.

‘This is for Justine …’