The Birthday Party (37 page)

It was Saturday morning, and she should have been going to
meet her parents for lunch. But Tony had called her the afternoon before and told her that Coco, Violet and Tyger had been
gathered together for a ‘breakfast meeting’. Her parents had been disappointed, but she had explained to them that there was
a crisis.

Sometimes she wondered what the Raffertys would do if she had a crisis. She never did. She had barely had any time off, even
for illness, since she started working for them. She was too soft, that was the truth of it. She knew she was a fool to be
at their beck and call, but even now her loyalty meant that she had cancelled her own commitments on a Saturday to make sure
that everything was perfect, because she couldn’t bear the thought of the girls hearing the news, and she wanted to be there
for them. Plus she felt guilty about Delilah’s disappearance, because Polly felt guilty about everything, even if it wasn’t
her fault. And she missed her. The house was desolate without her.

Doug the Pug was pining, too. He wasn’t eating, and he was starting to tuck at the ribs already. He was listless and could
barely heave himself out of his basket. She’d let him sleep in her bed with her every night and lavished as much affection
on him as she could, but she wasn’t Delilah.

She looked at the clock. The council of war was due to start at eleven, but it would be a miracle if anyone was here before
midday on a Saturday morning, so she wasn’t going to hold her breath. She covered everything with cling-film and decided to
try to coax Doug out for a walk.

He just looked up at her as if to say,
What’s the point?

She sighed, and went to check her computer again in case Delilah had got in touch. She kept sending emails through to her
Hotmail account, and texting her phone, but nothing. Delilah didn’t want anyone to know where she had gone.

The alarm clock went off for the third time that morning, and this time it wasn’t taking any nonsense.

‘It’s no good, we’re going to have to get up.’ Tyger’s voice
was muffled. She had her head buried in the pillows, the duvet over her head. She began prodding Louis playfully, digging
him in the ribs with her finger. ‘Make me coffee.’

‘You make
me
coffee. You’re the wife.’ He poked her back good-naturedly, and she pretended to gasp in outrage. Moments later they were
play-fighting, which inevitably led to frenzied love-making. As he pretended to pin her down with both his arms, then spread
her legs with his knees, Tyger made a half-hearted effort to protest.

‘Dad’s going to be furious if we’re late. He said it was really important. And Dad never – oh! Oh God. Oh fuck it, who cares?’

She gave in as Louis slid in and out of her with sadistically slow and deliberate strokes, a mischievous smile on his face.
She tried to make him move faster, urging him with her hips.

‘Ah ah,’ he chided. ‘My game. My speed.’

Tyger knew better than to argue, and anyway, the feeling building up inside her was so delicious she had lost the will to
resist.

They’d been out to a club the night before – a swanky new venue where they had been invited to be guest DJs. And they’d rocked
the place. No one had left until four, when they had to be forcibly ejected by security. They would all still be there now
given half the chance. It hadn’t been a tacky rent-a-crowd event either. It had been a long time since Tyger had seen so many
famous faces in one room. It just went to show how much pulling power she and Louis now had. They were making the most of
being the king and queen of the London scene while it lasted, and cashing in on their notoriety.
Knickers to It
sales had rocketed. As fast as Tyger thought up new designs, they sold out. Tickets for Louis’ upcoming tour in the summer
had sold out in minutes. They were on the cover of every magazine.

Tyger knew it wouldn’t last for ever. You were only ever flavour of the month for a limited time.

‘We’ve got to make hay while the sun shines,’ she told Louis,
who never failed to be awed by Tyger’s energy, her enthusiasm, her ability to work her socks off all day and then party all
night. He did his best to keep up. Secretly, all he ever wanted was to be alone with her, to have her to himself. Make love
to her all day and all night, if he could. There was nothing like a bit of morning nookie to get your adrenalin going, he
thought, as Tyger exploded in yet another mind-blowing climax.

‘Fuck me, you’re good,’ she breathed in Louis’ ear.

‘I know.’ He grinned. They both lay back for a moment, as their heartbeats subsided. Then Tyger threw back the sheets.

‘We really, really, really have to get ready,’ she told him, striding across the room and pulling open the wardrobe. Yesterday’s
clothes were strewn on the floor, but she just stepped over them.

‘What’s it all about?’ he asked.

‘I dunno. Probably something to do with Mum’s birthday. It’s her fiftieth soon – Dad might be planning a surprise.’

Louis felt the familiar claw of panic. Maybe he’d been found out? Maybe the Raffertys were going to interrogate him? Maybe
this was it? Maybe that was the last time he would be allowed to make love to his gorgeous, funny, crazy, sexy wife? She wouldn’t
want him once she found out.

Subdued, he clambered out of his side of the bed. He couldn’t put up with this much longer. Whatever happened, he was going
to come clean to Tyger tonight.

Violet came to, drowsily, as she felt a velvet pair of lips skittering over her skin. She stretched out languorously, enjoying
the sensation. She could never get used to the powdery softness of Justine’s skin against hers, the silkiness of her hair,
her delicate perfume. It never ceased to make her head swim and her senses tingle. Only a girl could really know what another
girl wanted. She cried out in pleasure, clutching at the empty air with her fists, as Justine teased her to climax yet again,
the tip of her tongue flickering oh-so-lightly, almost not there. A man would never have the knowledge or the patience
to be so subtle, so elusive, so confident of the right moment to finally apply pressure. It was heavenly.

As Justine laughed in delight at the success of her perseverance, Violet pulled her face up to meet hers and kissed her own
juices away, wrapping her tongue around her lover’s.

Moments later, however, as the last waves of her orgasm ebbed away, she felt her usual sense of discomfort. What she was doing
was wrong. Not morally – she had no problem with same-sex relationships. What was wrong was that Justine meant nothing to
her emotionally, not really. Violet was ashamed to admit that for her it was just a game, and she knew it wasn’t for Justine.
The fact that she’d given up the opportunity to go to Berlin proved it, and she could also tell by the intensity, by the way
she looked at her, by the way she held her, that Justine was properly in love. Whereas for Violet this was … well, a novelty,
a distraction.

She certainly couldn’t imagine being with a girl for ever. For a start, she couldn’t deny what she was missing: maleness.
Hard muscles, a broad chest. Stubble. Sweat. Strength. Being overpowered. The contrast. She would swap subtlety for masculinity
any day of the week. When she was in Justine’s arms, she certainly enjoyed the pleasure she gave her, but she was starting
to hunger for something different. It was almost like eating too much chocolate – irresistible at the time, but afterwards
it left her feeling slightly sick, unable to face another bite, and craving something savoury.

‘Violet?’

Justine was next to her, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. Violet knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming.

‘Mmm?’ she managed.

Justine rolled over to face her.

‘Maybe … you should tell everyone today. About us. As your whole family’s going to be together.’

Violet tensed. She had deliberately been avoiding this conversation. She knew it was bothering Justine that their affair was
clandestine. Deliberately so.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready.’

For heaven’s sake, she told herself. Just tell her it’s over. Why couldn’t she do that? If she wasn’t emotionally attached,
it should be easy. One swift blow. Finished. Job done.

‘I really think I should tell my dad,’ Justine was saying. ‘I know he suspects something. He just can’t understand why I didn’t
want to go to Berlin. I’ve got to tell him soon.’

Violet thought quickly. She reached out and stroked Justine’s shoulder.

‘Can we wait a couple of weeks?’ she pleaded. ‘I’m doing so well with my writing at the moment.’ This was true. She’d written
three more songs, and she and Sammy were working on them in preparation for a big gig they had coming up. Violet was going
to sing her own stuff for the first time. She was going to ask some industry people to come and watch. ‘Once we make an announcement,
our lives won’t be our own,’ she went on. ‘It’ll be mega stressful. I don’t want to mess up my chances for the sake of waiting
a little longer.’

‘I just feel like I’m living a lie, not telling people.’

For a long time, Violet didn’t answer. She was the one living a lie. She was a spineless coward, using someone else for her
own pleasure, with no intention of making a commitment whatsoever. A blood-sucking vampire who was exploiting the novelty
of a deliciously naughty situation to her own end. If she had any moral fibre at all, she would end it now.

She looked at the clock. Shit. She had less than half an hour to get to The Bower. If she finished with Justine now, there
would be tears, recriminations, heartbreak. She didn’t have time.

Tonight. She’d sit her down and tell her tonight.

Coco woke up feeling like death. Fluey, and thick in the head. She’d been feeling like this on and off for the past week.
When you looked at her schedule, it wasn’t surprising – she had been in almost every scene, even if it was just carrying a
bedpan.

And that was great, because it meant she would have lots of exposure, but she really felt like she needed a break.

What she didn’t need was a trip over to Richmond for a family pow-wow. She wondered what it was all about. Raf had sounded
mysterious on the phone. It wasn’t like him to summon them all like that – it was much more Delilah’s style. She couldn’t
just ignore it, though. Hopefully they would be finished by lunchtime, then the rest of the day would be her own. She’d go
over to The Melksham, get a couple of spa treatments, chill out and relax. Get their amazing chicken and butternut squash
salad sprinkled with pumpkin seeds – that should boost her energy levels. Then get ready for her evening out.

Benedict Amador had phoned and asked her out for dinner. They had been to the opera the week before, and Coco was starting
to realise that she liked him. Really, really liked him. OK, so he was as old as her father, but neither Raf nor Benedict
looked or acted over fifty. He was sophisticated without being stuffy; very witty and erudite, without being superior. And
he had an underlying sense of power that Coco found incredibly attractive. You got the feeling when you were with him that
he could make anything happen with a discreet click of his fingers. Doors opened, staff were attentive, bottles of champagne
arrived seamlessly, there was never anything so vulgar as a bill to be paid. It was far more discreet than the showy, showbiz
way of life she was used to – of course she got attention wherever she went, but at a price. With Benedict, everything was
understated.

But he hadn’t made a move on her yet. He was the perfect gentleman. Just like the first night, he had his driver take her
home at the end of the evening, kissing her politely on both cheeks before he drove off again in the Bentley. Which meant,
of course, that Coco was getting quietly desperate. She longed to feel his long, tanned fingers on her skin. She knew he would
be masterful in bed. He was a man who paid attention to detail,
who liked the best things in life, and that ethos would be carried through into the bedroom.

She went over to her wardrobe to choose a couple of outfits to take with her. She quickly picked out a tan silk Chloe skirt
that skimmed her thighs – it would be perfect teemed with a pair of Tabitha Simmons wedges and a white tee, with some statement
jewellery. She packed them up in a large bag together with a selection of underwear. Then she pulled on her cashmere yoga
pants and hooded top, together with her MBTs. She still felt under the weather. She swallowed down a cup of tea and picked
at some toast, but ended up chucking it in the bin.

Her hand hovered over her handbag.

What the hell was she thinking? She never usually indulged on a day off. And she had been doing so well to keep off it over
the past week. But this morning she felt a bit under the weather, as if everything was a huge effort. Maybe one line would
kick start her into action …

No. There wasn’t any need for it any more, she reminded herself. She had got over her initial fears. She had got to know all
her colleagues at the studio – she was part of the gang. And she certainly knew her part well enough by now. She had worked
hard on the role of Emily, brought little characteristics and quirks to her. Playing her had become second nature – she and
Emily were one.

She had to learn to face the world without it.

Raf arrived at The Bower before the girls. His stomach was in knots. How was he going to tell them what had happened? He went
over and over different explanations in his mind, but no matter how he said it, he came out of it the bad guy. Which, of course,
he was.

Polly could barely look him in the eye. He went to give her a peck on the cheek but she bolted out of the kitchen, muttering
about getting something from the office.

‘Darling, you’re just going to have to bite the bullet.’

Genevieve was brisk and frank. ‘You’ve been a total cock, and now you have to face the music. God, how many more clichés can
I pop out?’

‘I am a cliché,’ observed Raf ruefully. ‘I’ve run true to type, haven’t I?’

‘For God’s sake, everyone does it, given half the chance. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Your only crime was getting caught.’