The Birthday Party (24 page)

‘Tell me you love me.’ He cut straight through her words.

Tyger started to laugh. He scowled.

‘Don’t bloody laugh at me. Just tell me you love me.’

‘Of course I love you. You crazy messed-up son of a bitch.’

He sat back in his seat sulkily, stretching his legs out and resting them on the flip-down chair opposite. Crazy messed-up
son of a bitch. She’d got that right for sure.

Tyger looked at her husband sideways, chewing her lip. His dark brows were furrowed, his lip curled in a sulky snarl. She
was getting used to these mood swings. He would be carefree and sunny one minute, then suddenly his mood would plummet, and
there would be nothing she could do to cajole him back. She hated it. It made her feel unsettled. She wanted to make him happy.

Maybe he regretted marrying her? Maybe the novelty was wearing off, and as he got to know her he was gradually realising he
had made a huge mistake? If that was the case she wanted to know sooner rather than later. Tyger didn’t want to be around
someone who didn’t want to be around her.

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him round to face her.

‘You’re not sorry, are you?’ she demanded. ‘Sorry you married me? Because if you are, tell me now and we can sort it.’

‘Sorry?’ He seemed genuinely shocked by her question. ‘Are you joking? Marrying you is the best thing I have ever done.’

‘Then what is it? Why do you get so … black?’

He gazed straight past her, into the middle distance.

‘Louis?’

He turned back to her. She could see tears in his eyes.

‘I’m terrified of losing you,’ he told her. ‘I’ve never cared about anyone before, and it’s freaking me out.’

‘You’re not going to lose me,’ she assured him. ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop me loving you. Nothing.’

He seemed to be considering whether to tell her something.

‘Louis,’ she persisted. ‘What is it?’

The cab pulled up outside her apartment block. He jumped up and opened the door, leaping onto the pavement. Sighing, she scrambled
after him.

‘Oi!’ called the cabdriver. ‘That’s seventeen quid.’

She scrabbled in her bag for a twenty-pound note and thrust it at him through the window, then ran to catch up with her husband
as he unlocked the door.

‘You go and sit down,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go to the shop to get some food. What would you like?’

It was as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just demanded they walk out of a restaurant mid-meal, as if he hadn’t been
on the verge of tears in the taxi. Tyger wondered whether to press him but Louis wasn’t the sort of person who responded to
pressure. It hadn’t taken her long to work that bit of him out.

‘I don’t care. Just get a pizza from the freezer section,’ she told him with a sigh, and wondered how long she was going to
be able to keep this game up before it drove her crazy.

I
t was the perfect day for the Portobello Road. The sun was shining. Tourists and locals jostled together amongst the stalls.
Music blared from the shop fronts, the notes melding together seamlessly. A man on a bike with an enormous ghetto-blaster
drove his way through the crowds, the bass-line of his reggae trailing after him.

Violet and Justine were doing what girls do best: shopping. They’d bought vintage dresses trimmed with lace, bejewelled hair
slides, sequinned flip-flops. Violet found an antique evening bag in the shape of a frog, his mouth opening wide ready to
accept whatever contents its new owner cared to insert – a lipstick, a powder compact, a packet of cigarettes.

Justine wasn’t used to rummaging and picking over and bargaining. She was used to being waited on while she shopped, and having
her purchases wrapped in monogrammed tissue paper and delivered to her house. Uncertain at first, she had hung back, but now
she was getting the hang of it. The thrill of searching through a rack of dresses and finding one that caught your eye. Diving
into the make-shift changing room to try it on, and then haggling with the stallholder. She’d even bought a wicker bag decorated
with raffia flowers for all her purchases.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she told Violet, but her eyes were sparkling.

They went to the Electric Cinema for eggs Benedict and mimosas. As she sat amongst the crowd of like-minded Notting Hill hedonists,
sipping cocktails, reading the papers, placating hungry children with chips, she felt a burst of
happiness. She wasn’t sure how to identify the feeling, and then realised what it was – she was relaxed. Usually her life
was so ordered, timetabled down to the last nanosecond, with no room for spontaneity. Violet had taught her that spontaneity
was what mattered. That if you hadn’t booked a table at your favourite restaurant in advance, so what? Something would turn
up.

It had been a whirlwind, their affair. Sweetly intense. They had barely been apart since that first night. They spent most
of the time at Violet’s flat, as Justine lived with her father. They did everything a young couple who were falling in love
did. They went to see bands, went out for meals, went dancing. Justine had bought a whole new wardrobe. Out went her structured
Armani and Prada, in came pretty dresses by Twenty8Twelve and Sass & Bide. And jewellery. Justine had always stuck to a plain
Cartier tank and diamond earrings. Now she was draped in strings of beads and jingly charm bracelets.

In such a small space of time, she had changed. And she knew her father was suspicious. She was neglecting her work. Nothing
was left undone, but she wasn’t ferociously conscientious, obsessive about detail, working all the hours God sends in an effort
to prove herself. She was clocking off when everyone else did, sailing out of the door without a backward glance. She was
happy to delegate things to other people, and didn’t breathe down their necks.

And, she had to admit, she was loving it.

She stroked Violet’s hand across the table.

‘What shall we do tonight?’ she asked.

A cloud drifted across Violet’s face.

‘I’ve got to go and do some recording,’ she replied. ‘Sammy’s organised the guys to come round later this afternoon …’

‘Can I come?’

Violet didn’t reply straight away.

‘I won’t be any trouble. I won’t get in the way.’

Violet drew her hand away and picked up her glass.

‘Honestly, you’ll be so bored. Why don’t you pick up a DVD and have a night in? I’ll be back later.’

Justine opened her mouth to protest, but she could see by the look on Violet’s face that she didn’t want an argument. And
she felt a hot torrent rise up inside her.

Jealousy. It was jealousy. She tried to swallow it down with a sip of her mimosa, but it was burning her throat. She picked
up the menu and studied it, so that Violet wouldn’t see the tears that were threatening to spill. She blinked hard. For God’s
sake, Justine, pull yourself together.

She put down the menu.

‘I’ll have supper with Dad,’ she said. ‘He’s been complaining that he hasn’t seen me.’

Violet smiled back at her gratefully. ‘Good idea.’

Later that afternoon, Violet lay back on the cushions enjoying the warmth of the early-evening sun as it began its descent.
She was sprawled on a rug with Sammy as he strummed on a guitar. The courtyard was lit up by candles in jam-jars and fairy-lights.
She was eating roasted figs out of tin foil that had been cooked on the dying embers of the barbecue, then drizzled with mascarpone
and honey.

They had spent the afternoon recording. She had wanted to get the songs she had written recorded as quickly as she could:
the ink was barely dry on the manuscript paper. She had such a clear idea of how she wanted them to sound – stripped back,
acoustic, with as few effects as possible. Violet didn’t believe in trickery. She loved rawness and talent to shine through,
and she only worked with people who believed the same, people who had confidence in their musicality and weren’t afraid to
expose themselves. They had laid down three tracks in the basement studio that afternoon, she and Sammy together with a drummer
and a pianist, and now they were basking in post-recording euphoria.

Inevitably the session turned into a party, with someone cooking spicy chicken drumsticks on the makeshift barbecue
in the tiny courtyard garden, and someone else making a huge mound of couscous, and a crate of beer appearing from nowhere,
and dreamy soulful music blaring out rather too loudly than was neighbourly, but it was such great music that no one complained,
but instead drifted round to the house with their own contributions.

Violet realised rather guiltily that she was glad Justine wasn’t there. She wanted to chill out and be herself, not have to
think about someone else. She chewed on her thumbnail, worrying about what this meant. It wasn’t good, was it, being glad
about not being with someone? Or did everyone need time out? The problem was their relationship was so intense, so all-consuming,
especially as it was clandestine. Not that Violet wasn’t enjoying it. Violet had enjoyed dressing Justine up, encouraging
her to change her image, but she thought perhaps this made her a bit kinky. Having a girlfriend was a bit like having a dolly.
She knew she was just playing. Or was she? When they made love, when they lay in each other’s arms, it was magical. Just thinking
about it made her inside fizz. But there was something – something just a tiny bit … claustrophobic about it all, that made
Violet feel uncomfortable. And guilty.

‘Sammy,’ she said, ‘I need to talk to someone.’

He didn’t stop strumming. His fingers moved deftly across the guitar strings. But he was listening.

‘I’m having an affair. A really, really hot affair.’ She paused. ‘With a girl.’

He still didn’t falter. Just nodded.

‘Uh huh.’

‘You’re not shocked.’

Sammy gave a small shrug. Of course he wasn’t shocked. He’d seen it all, even if he hadn’t actually done it.

‘I guessed something was going on. Those songs you wrote, they came out of somewhere.’

He gave her a knowing smile.

‘I’m not really sure where I’m going with it, that’s the problem,’ she confided, garrulous after three of his knock-out
mojitos. ‘And I keep feeling guilty. Not because I’m ashamed of what I’m doing. But because I think I’m doing it for the wrong
reasons.’

‘So – what are your reasons?’

‘It’s fun, it’s flattering, it’s naughty. It’s something new – you know how bored I get.’

Sammy knew only too well. Violet was always trying to change her set, throw in new songs, and got impatient when her accompanists
grumbled. She hated getting stale, but as Sammy pointed out she never stuck with a set-list long enough for it to get stale.
So he was hardly surprised to find she got bored in her love life.

‘I feel as if I’m … toying with her. I mean, I love being with her, we have an amazing time and the sex is … mind-blowing
… and … I don’t know, I kind of love her but I don’t
love
love her, if you know what I mean … I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with her or have some kind of weird marriage
thing.’

‘You’re using her,’ said Sammy simply.

‘Do you think?’

‘Definitely. Men do it all the time – string women along just because they are having a good time, but they have no intentions
…’

‘Do you do that, Sammy?’ Violet poked him with her foot playfully. ‘Do you string women along?’

‘Of course not.’ He looked at her in mock hurt at her suggestion. ‘I have integrity.’

Violet sat up in indignation.

‘Are you saying I haven’t?’

‘I’m just saying … don’t play with people’s hearts. It’s cruel.’

Violet sat back. He wasn’t really telling her anything she didn’t already know, but hearing it spoken out loud drove it home.
It wasn’t fair on Justine, making this seem like something it wasn’t. For Violet it was a novelty. She couldn’t pretend it
hadn’t affected her – it was the first thing that had
even made her write a decent song, for a start – but this wasn’t a forever thing. She could quite easily imagine a future
without Justine in it.

Which meant that, really and truly, to be fair, she had to break it off.

She took another sip of her mojito, thoughtful.

As the sun finally went down, Violet shivered. She only had on a thin dress.

‘Here.’ Sammy took off his jumper and slipped it on over her head. It was warm and smelled of him. Of a man. She felt a sudden
frisson. Startled, she looked at him surreptitiously. Did she have feelings for Sammy? She’d never felt this for him before.
They worked so closely together. They were almost like brother and sister.

He looked up and caught her staring.

‘What?’ he asked her with a smile, and she swallowed. No, she thought. It had just been a moment. She’d been seduced by his
chivalry. Of course she didn’t fancy Sammy. She was confused, that’s all. Clutching at straws to find an escape from a situation
that made her feel awkward, uncomfortable, guilty.

Except when she was actually with Justine, of course. Now the end of the evening was approaching, she found herself longing
for her soft warmth. She wanted to kiss her, run her fingers through her hair, feel Justine’s lips on her skin …