The Birthday Party (44 page)

It was better than sex. Better than love. Better than the birth of your children. It was a warm golden cloak that wrapped
you up and told you it was going to be all right.

Raf pulled on the bottle thirstily, gulping the raw liquid down, desperate to get in deeper, desperate to reach the state
where everything was numb, where he no longer had to think or feel. He wanted to blot out Delilah’s face. He could see her
so clearly, the sorrow, the disappointment. Not judging him, but making him feel worse because of it. Gradually, she
become blurrier and less distinct until she floated away altogether, back to wherever the fuck in the world she was …

And then he lay down on the bench, letting the bottle fall from his hand and onto the ground. He looked up at the sky. Looked
up at the sun.

‘Hello, sun,’ he said, smiling his first proper smile for ten years.

It was Genevieve who found him, two hours later. Unluckily for him.

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him unceremoniously off the bench.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ she demanded.

Raf tried to get to his feet. None of his limbs would do as he told them. Confused, he tried to remember how he had got here.

‘Co-co-co-co,’ was all he could manage, sounded like some sort of demented pigeon. He had a dim memory of something going
wrong with his daughter.

‘Yes, we know. Tony’s been on to me, because he couldn’t get you. Jesus, Raf.’ She spied the empty bottle on the ground by
the bench and grabbed it. ‘Did you drink all this?’

He looked at it and shrugged. It was empty, so he supposed so. She looked at him witheringly.

‘When I took this job on, it was because I respected you. As an actor, and as someone who had taken control of his life. I
believed in you, Raf.’

He looked at her through half-closed eyes and tried one of his disarming smiles.

‘I believe in you, too, Genevieve.’

She glared at him.

‘Who did you think about before you bought this?’ She brandished the bottle in his face. ‘Did you think about your daughter,
who could probably do with some moral support right now? Did you think about your wife, who you’ve hurt so badly she’s disappeared
off the face of the earth? Did you
think about Dickie, who has poured his heart and soul into this film, not to mention considerable amounts of money? Or me?
Or your other girls? Or the rest of the people who are at this very moment sitting waiting for you to turn up and share your
precious bloody talent with them?’

She was shouting now, earning concerned glances from passers-by, who might be right in thinking that this itself was a scene
from a film. Genevieve Duke berating Raf Rafferty, waving around an empty bottle of vodka?

‘Shit,’ slurred Raf. ‘Am I supposed to be filming?’

Genevieve sighed. There was no point in ranting. He was too drunk to take any of it in. She took his arm.

‘Come on, we need to get you sobered up.’

He was swaying and stumbling against her. He could barely walk. It was going to be a long journey back to the house. She kept
her head down as she walked. The last thing they wanted was for some helpful member of the public to alert the press. It was
amazing how quickly they could have a photographer on the scene if they thought there was a story brewing and the Raffertys
were already hot news today.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket with her spare hand and dialled.

‘Dickie – it’s Genevieve. I’ve found him. There’s no way he’s going to be fit for work today. He’s as pissed as a bloody newt.’

She walked him back to Collingwood. It was a slow journey, because he could barely put one foot in front of the other, but
they finally made it.

A pale-faced Dickie answered the door.

‘I’ve pulled some minor scenes forward,’ he told Genevieve, ‘so that everyone’s got something to be getting on with. I told
them he’d had a dodgy curry.’

Genevieve smiled grimly.

‘That old chestnut. No one will believe it.’

‘As long as they don’t phone the press.’

They both looked at Raf, whose knees were about to buckle. They grabbed an arm each.

‘Let’s get some water down him. And some painkillers. Then throw him into bed to sleep it off.’

Raf was dimly aware of the two of them tending to him. He didn’t deserve it, thought Raf. He didn’t deserve the support and
the friendship and the care they had lavished on him. Raf Rafferty was running true to form. Trashing yet another movie.

At eight o’clock that night he emerged from his bedroom, shaky and shaken. He groped his way down to the kitchen, where he
found Dickie and Genevieve sharing some pasta.

‘I want to apologise,’ he said to Dickie. ‘I am a complete and utter cunt. It won’t happen again.’

Raf would never forget the look Dickie gave him as long as he lived.

T
ony called all the girls over to The Bower to give them a pep talk after Coco’s exposé. He gave it to them straight as they
sat in a row on the stools in front of the island in the kitchen. Coco looked as if she’d just walked off a film set, Violet
looked as if she had just got out of bed, and Tyger looked as if she had just fallen out of a nightclub. Which was probably
the case for all three of them. Polly was sitting on the end with her laptop, taking notes. Louis, Justine and Benedict were
keeping out of the way at the other end of the kitchen.

‘If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times. Watch your backs. Don’t trust anyone. And don’t do anything that might
draw attention to you.’ Tony looked at the three impassive faces. ‘Violet’s the only one who seems to be able to keep her
nose clean at the moment. But I expect it’s only a matter of time.’

Violet bristled. ‘That’s not fair!’

On the other side of the room Justine blushed, and busied herself choosing a peach from the fruit bowl.

‘Come on, girls. You know the score. And you need to be squeaky clean while Delilah’s missing. We don’t want any unwanted
press intrusion.’

‘Well, where is she?’ demanded Violet. ‘Surely we should have been able to find out by now.’

‘I had another email yesterday,’ Polly told them. ‘It didn’t say much. Only that she was fine.’

Benedict looked up from where he was fussing Doug.

‘I’ve got people I could talk to.’

Tony frowned. ‘That sounds a bit James Bond. And I can’t sanction anything without speaking to Raf.’

Benedict shrugged. ‘The offer’s there. They know their stuff.’

‘I don’t think Delilah would take kindly to a crack squad shimmying down the wall of wherever she’s hiding out.’

Coco sensed tension between the two men. Tony never liked people encroaching on his territory, and she could see he felt threatened
by Benedict’s presence. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought him along, but he seemed to be the one giving her support at the
moment.

‘Benedict’s only trying to help,’ she pointed out. ‘But I know what you’re saying. If Mum doesn’t want us to find her, I think
we should respect that. I’m confident she’ll surface when she’s got her head together. I totally understand why she needs
some space right now.’ She looked at her sisters. ‘Don’t you?’

Violet and Tyger both shrugged.

‘I miss her,’ said Tyger.

‘Me too.’ Violet was picking at a muffin, pulling out the raspberries and leaving the sponge.

‘I know it’s hard for you, girls. But there’s a lot at stake here. Coco, your show’s a hit. Tyger, your business is booming.
And Violet – I hear you’ve got some important industry guys coming to your show tonight.’

Violet gave the air a little punch.

‘I’ve sent out the demo Sammy and I have been working on. We’re doing my new stuff tonight.’

‘Well, good luck. But remember, all of you – squeaky clean.’

They all nodded dutifully.

‘OK.’ Tony sighed. ‘Lecture over. Let’s keep in touch.’

‘Um – there’s just a couple of other things,’ said Polly, clearing her throat. ‘First – do you think I should cancel Delilah’s
party? It doesn’t look as if she’s going to be back, and the invitations have all gone out. Nearly everyone has said yes …’

They all looked at the wall chart, where Delilah had highlighted her birthday with stars and exclamation marks.

‘No,’ said Tony emphatically. ‘It will just raise the alarm if we do it now. People will think it’s strange. There’ll be rumours.
Keep it as it is, and if we need to cancel at the last minute, we can.’

‘We’ll lose so much money, though.’ The thought of the waste distressed Polly.

‘It’s not a lot, in the grand scheme of things.’ Tony was dismissive. ‘Anything else?’

Polly swallowed.

‘Um … yes. I’m handing in my notice.’

There was a shocked silence. Everyone stared at her.

‘It’s just … I don’t think there’s much room for me here any more. Now Delilah’s not here. And everyone else has moved out.
And there’s things I want to do with my life …’

‘Like what?’ demanded Tyger.

‘Like … I don’t know.’ Polly started to feel indignant. This was the first time they had paid her attention en masse for …
years. ‘But I can’t just look after you lot for ever.’

‘You’re tired,’ said Violet kindly. ‘You just need a holiday. We’ll book you a holiday.’

‘And what about when Mum comes back?’ asked Coco. ‘She’ll be devastated. You’re her right hand.’

‘We’ll talk to Dad about a pay rise,’ chipped in Tyger.

‘You don’t understand. It’s not about money. Or holidays. It’s about me getting a life!’ cried Polly. ‘Honestly, every time
I book something for myself, there’s a crisis and I have to cancel. And how am I supposed to arrange anything when I’m looking
after Doug? Not that it’s his fault.’ She scooped the little dog up and hugged him. ‘He’s another one nobody’s thought about.
He’s just there for your convenience.’

‘Doug’s my responsibility,’ Tyger confessed. ‘But he’s not allowed in my flat. As soon as we move …’

She looked at Louis.

Coco stepped forward and put her arm round Polly.

‘We hear what you’re saying, Poll,’ she said. ‘And we’ll do our best to work with you, to make things easier. But we can’t
do without you. You’ve got to stay.’

Polly looked round at them. It was going to break her heart. She’d worked for them for a decade. But the time had come.

‘Four weeks’ notice,’ she said firmly. ‘That’s what it says in my contract. As of today.’

‘Great,’ said Tony. Of any of them, he understood the implications of Polly leaving. She held everything together. He’d work
on her. Or get Raf to work on her.

Shit, he thought with a sigh. It was bound to happen. It always did, with these celebrity families. Sooner or later, they
fell apart.

Justine was very quiet on the way back home. Violet was at the wheel, flipping through her iPod to listen again to the tracks
she was showcasing that evening.

‘I am so nervous,’ she was saying. ‘I never get nervous. But this is different. This is
my
stuff. What if they all hate it?
What if they walk out?’

‘They won’t,’ Justine reassured her. ‘They won’t.’

Violet looked at her.

‘Is something the matter?’

Justine hesitated. She wanted to tell her that it had all become apparent to her that morning: she didn’t fit into the Rafferty
machine; her relationship with Violet was obviously compromising her career. But she didn’t want an argument, and this was
Violet’s big day. She needed support, not a tiresome, whingeing, clingy girlfriend desperate for recognition.

‘I’m just a bit tired …’

Violet seemed to accept her explanation and flipped through her iPod again to the next track.

In the dressing room before the gig later that night, Justine helped Violet get ready and tried to calm her nerves.

‘You look sensational,’ she told her, as she applied deep
crimson lipstick to her mouth with a brush. ‘You’re going to knock them dead.’

Violet pressed her lips together then tried to smile. She was trying desperately hard to show that she wished Justine wasn’t
there. It was nothing personal. It was just that this half-hour before the show was a time when she went into herself. She
didn’t want reassurance, or chitchat, or someone fussing over her. She needed space. But she didn’t say anything.

Sammy arrived, looking devastating, in a black shirt with a red handkerchief in the pocket. He’d been incredible over the
past few weeks, scoring her music, working out the best arrangements. He was so talented, and Violet felt guilty that it was
always her name that was in lights. Not that she ever failed to acknowledge the rest of her band.

She stood up to hug him. It was funny – she didn’t mind Sammy being in her space. Maybe because he understood her anxieties
only too well. He was always great at the last-minute pep talk, and she found his reassurance valid because she trusted him.

‘If it falls flat, we can just fall back on some of our old numbers,’ she told him, with a shaky smile.

‘No way is it going to fall flat.’ Sammy was adamant. ‘I would tell you if I thought it was shit, Violet. You know I would.’

‘I know you would …’ She grinned and gave him another hug. He was her rock, was Sammy.

Across the room, Justine watched the two of them interact. She felt like a gooseberry. Not that there was anything going on
between Sammy and Violet, but she couldn’t help but feel jealous that he was giving her the reassurance she needed. And she
sensed that she was getting on Violet’s nerves. It was probably stage-fright, she told herself. Maybe she should make herself
scarce.

‘I’m going to go and find myself a seat.’

The two of them looked up from their intense conversation and nodded, barely acknowledging her. She walked out of the
dressing room and down the corridor, feeling tears stinging her lids, and the bile of jealousy rising in her gorge. For one
moment back there, she would quite happily have stabbed Sammy.

She told herself to calm down. She was being irrational. She had to get a grip, get things into perspective.

After all, wasn’t it a vicious and destructive possessiveness that had brought about her mother’s demise? Justine was only
too aware that this tendency was in her blood, and in her genes. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Benedict. She
walked through into the club and made her way to the table that had been reserved. None of the rest of the family was coming
tonight. Violet had deliberately played it down to them, because she didn’t want the Rafferty circus to worry about.