The Birthday Party (48 page)

And now they knew this was their last couple of days together. William was due back at the office the following
week. Delilah didn’t want to think about it. She turned to the wardrobe to decide what to wear. It took her two minutes to
pull out a pair of jeans and a striped Breton-style jumper, topped off with an Irish tweed flat cap.

The perfect dolphin-spotting outfit indeed.

William threw bread rolls, thick hand-cut ham, salt-and-vinegar crisps and a couple of cans of cider into his shopping basket.
There would be sponge cake back at Gortnaflor, and he could grab some tomatoes and cucumber from the greenhouse. He grinned
to himself at the thought of the day’s adventure – sure, going to see Fungi was a little touristy, but you couldn’t fail to
be amused by his antics, and Dingle was a charming little town. They’d stop for a pint of Guinness in one of the pubs, listen
to some Irish music. Do the whole tourist thing, in fact.

He stopped by the news-stand to get a copy of the
Irish Times
, when a headline in one of the English papers caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat as he picked it up.

Search for Missing Star!

The words were emblazoned across a photograph of a laughing woman, leaning against her Lacanche cooker, wearing a sloppy cable-knit
sweater that revealed her creamy bare shoulders.

Shoulders he knew only too well. The collar-bone he had run his finger along only that morning. The neck he had kissed so
many times, in such a short space of time.

With mounting dread, he scanned the accompanying article with a lawyer’s eye.

An appeal has gone out for the television celebrity Delilah Rafferty, who has been absent from home for several weeks, to
contact her family.

‘We know she was taking some time out after a difficult period – a sort of extended holiday – but we don’t know exactly where
she is,’ said a spokesman. ‘We have respected her right to privacy, but we really need her back home and would appreciate
anyone who knows her whereabouts giving her this message.’

Delilah’s daughter Tyger, who recently married underground rock singer Louis Dagger, is in a coma in hospital in Bristol following
a head injury. Understandably her family would like Delilah by her side.

What an eejit. How could he not have recognised her? His friends always took the mickey out of William for being a bit out
of touch, but he should have cottoned on. He had to admit on reflection that she had seemed a little bit familiar when he’d
first come upon her in the drawing room, but people often look like other people, and celebrities didn’t often tip up at Gortnaflor.
He’d happily believed her story, and the name she’d given him, because she had enchanted him. She had given no hint of who
she was, or what she had left behind. And he’d been happy to accept her as a blank canvas.

William realised he had to get back to her as quickly as he could. He left his basket of food, practically threw the money
for the paper at the girl on the till, rushed to his car and drove back to Gortnaflor at high speed.

Delilah was clearing away the last of the breakfast things from the dining room when William walked in. She put down the butter
dish and the jam pots. She could tell there was something wrong.

‘What is it?’

He held the paper out to her.

‘I’ll take you to the airport,’ he said. ‘I’ll get straight onto them and find out when the next flight is …’

Puzzled, Delilah scanned the article. As the facts gradually got through to her, so did the implications, and she choked back
a sob.

‘Come on,’ said William. ‘Get your stuff, quickly. We can be at the airport in two hours. We’ll phone on the way, book a ticket.
There’ll be a flight to Bristol.’

‘Tyger …’ Delilah looked down at the paper, reading the terrible words again. ‘I need to phone.’

William pulled out his mobile. Delilah looked at him, stricken.

‘I can’t remember anyone’s number. I threw my iPhone into the sea.’

William didn’t bat an eyelid. He dialled Directory Enquiries.

‘Go and get your stuff. I’ll get the number of the hospital. Go on.’

She didn’t need telling twice.

William watched her as she left the room. His heart fell. The dream was over, that was for sure. It had been a great fantasy,
while it had lasted, and he had known deep down that it wouldn’t go on for ever. But what was life if you couldn’t have dreams?
And his dreams hadn’t been
so
impossible: that she’d decide to take over from his mother at Gortnaflor – letting Elizabeth
stay on, of course – and he would come down from Dublin at weekends, and then, eventually, when she made such a success of
the place, he would give up his job and … Gortnaflor would rise from the ashes, become the greatest country-house hotel in
Ireland …

For Christ’s sake, William, get a grip
, he told himself, and asked the operator for the number of the hospital.

Coco found it strange, how life liked to play little jokes on you sometimes.

Life imitating art. Ha ha ha. Hilarious.

It had been no time at all since she had been sitting in the very same position, in front of the very same equipment, at the
hospital – only that hadn’t been real. There had been an actor in the bed, the equipment hadn’t really been hooked up to him,
the terrible stats that had shown up on the computer had been programmed in by one of the crew. And the tear that had fallen
down her face had been fake – a tear she’d managed to produce from somewhere, a tear that was down to her supposed talent.

The tear that fell now wasn’t fake, nor was it single. She couldn’t believe how still Tyger looked. How young. How …
lifeless. Her crazy, sometimes aggravating, in-your-face little sister.

Benedict had driven her down as soon as Raf had called. Polly had booked them into the Hotel du Vin in Bristol, but they hadn’t
checked in yet. All of them had wanted to wait to see how Tyger’s operation went.

The consultant seemed satisfied. He had relieved the pressure on the brain, and was happy there didn’t seem to be too much
damage. Now, it was just a question of waiting to see when she would wake up. Or if …

Only then would they know if there had been much damage.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more specific,’ said the consultant. ‘But it’s very much a game of wait and see …’

Wait and see. Three of Coco’s least favourite words.

She put out a finger and stroked her sister’s arm.

‘Hey, Tyger,’ she said. Talking to the patient sometimes helped bring them round. ‘It’s Coco. Come on, you. We need you to
wake up. There’s too much going on for you to just lie there. We’ve got plans to make, chica. And I’ve got stuff I need to
tell you …’ She allowed a smile into her voice at this point. She did have stuff to tell Tyger. Big stuff. Big stuff that
only sisters could share. ‘There might even be a ring involved,’ she told her, in a low teasing voice. If that didn’t pique
Tyger’s curiosity and bring her round, nothing would.

But there was no response. Coco sat back with a sigh, unsure what to do next. Tyger was in the High Dependency Unit, not a
private room, because she needed constant supervision. There were about eight beds, all rigged up to any number of high-tech
machines, and a nurses’ station in the middle. They limited the amount of visitors in at any one time, which was fair – if
all the Rafferty clan were in at the same time, there wouldn’t be room for anyone else.

As she sat holding her sister’s hand, praying for a miracle, Benedict came in to get her.

‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘You need to get some sleep.

They’ve all promised to call if she wakes up. And your mum’s on her way.’

‘Mum?’

Coco stood up, and felt relief wash over her. This whole thing had been a nightmare, but it had been made even worse without
Delilah holding them all together. She felt sure that Tyger was probably wondering where she was, longing for that soothing
voice, that warm embrace.

She stroked her sister’s hand again.

‘Mum’s on her way, darling,’ she told her. ‘Please try to wake up. It would so lovely if you woke up—’

She choked suddenly on her words. What if Tyger never woke up? It was unthinkable. But the little waxwork doll in the bed
looked more like a corpse than a living being.

Benedict put an arm round her and drew her away. She immediately felt comforted by his presence; stronger. Benedict always
made her feel stronger.

He’d certainly given her strength since the bust. Not that he hadn’t given her hell over it – far from it. He’d been an absolute
knight in shining armour on the night, but had given her short shrift the next day, when she’d slept off the trauma. And when
Lisa had hauled her over the coals he’d been totally unsympathetic.

The executive producer had told her they had come that close –
that close
– to re-casting her. She had to issue all sorts of statements saying that she didn’t condone the use of hard drugs – which
she didn’t – and sign up to weekly sessions in a treatment centre. Not a glitzy private treatment centre of the type mentioned
in the glossies, but a hard-core, no-frills, take-no-prisoners place with uncomfortable chairs and ghastly coffee.

‘It’ll do you good,’ Benedict had said briskly. ‘Hopefully you’ll realise that you don’t need to be dependent on bloody narcotics
to be a success. You’ll be a success because you’re
talented
, Coco. Not everyone’s that lucky. Remember that.’

Benedict was definitely going to keep her real. He didn’t give
her any leeway whatsoever. Despite his luxurious lifestyle, there was a tough edge to him that didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Strangely, his tough love made Coco feel secure. And confident.

Maybe that’s what her dad had needed, she thought bitterly. Someone to pull on his choke chain a bit harder, right from the
start. None of them had really forgiven him yet, but the situation with Tyger had rather over-ridden his misdemeanours.

As she was about to leave, she felt sure she saw Tyger’s eyes flutter.

‘Nurse!’ she shouted, and the nurse hurried over. ‘I’m sure she was trying to open her eyes.’

The nurse busied herself taking Tyger’s stats.

‘We’ll keep an eye on her,’ she said. ‘We’ll let you know straight away.’

Coco looked pleadingly at Benedict. She couldn’t bear to leave. What if Tyger was about to wake?

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair. Other people are waiting to see her.’

Reluctantly she walked away, looking over her shoulder at the small, lonely figure in the bed until the doors of the HDU finally
closed behind them.

William and Delilah conducted the journey to Cork airport in a tense silence. William had spoken to Raf, and was able to tell
Delilah that the operation had been a success, but they were still waiting for Tyger to come round. And he’d booked her flight.
Someone would be there to meet her at Bristol airport. As he drove, at rather breakneck speed through the horribly windy Kerry
roads, she sat morosely, fiddling with the zips on her handbag, chewing at her nails.

She didn’t know what to focus on. She couldn’t bear to think about Tyger, because she was so powerless to do anything until
she got to the hospital. But the image of her little girl, unconscious, haunted her nevertheless.

Then there was the thought that she was soon going to see Raf.

She didn’t know how she was going to feel when she saw him. So much had happened. She felt like a completely different person
– and maybe she was. During her time at Gortna-flor, she had learned to live a more solitary existence – a life without a
demanding family, without juggling a career, without having to put on a face to the outside world, or indeed, the inside world
– many was the time she had to pretend she felt all right to Raf and the girls when in fact she felt under the most incredible
pressure. She’d learned to work hard in a different sort of way – she looked at her hands, red raw from washing-up and preparing
vegetables.

And she’d learned to enjoy simple things. She’d finally gone out in the boat, and lay back looking at the endless blue of
the sky. She’d climbed one of the bruised purple mountains, clambering over the springy grass and the peaty earth, and come
to another lake surrounded by forbidding granite rocks and an eerie mist – a lake that was said to have no bottom, and if
you swam in it, the little people would drag you down. She had stood on the edge and shuddered, thrilled by the urge that
she had to defy them, but she hadn’t dared. She’d caught a fat brown trout, laughing at her ineptitude, but was delighted
when it was served to her fried in butter.

All this she had done with William. And more. But all the time, there had been something missing. Someone else she wanted
to share it all with. She’d tried to chase him from her mind, tell him to go away, because she wanted to share it with someone
new. Someone who hadn’t hurt her. But Raf wouldn’t leave her mind.

And now she wanted him even more desperately. Tyger, their gorgeous, lovable, madcap daughter, their baby, was lying in hospital,
in a coma. The only man she wanted by her side was Raf. The only man she’d ever wanted was Raf.

She sighed. William reached out a hand and held hers.

It wasn’t a grope. It was a gesture of kindness and support.

He was a good man, an honourable man. And he’d shown her another side of herself. But he wasn’t for her.

The inevitable had happened. The paparazzi were on the case. It was a soap opera in itself, unfolding in a single location
that they could home in on: a glamorous girl in a coma, her distraught rock-star husband at her side; a celebrity couple whose
marriage was in peril; an actress with a recent drug problem escorted by a billionaire hotelier. They were in a frenzy of
excitement, and Tony was playing hardball with them all.

The staff at the hospital were wonderful. They had tight security, but they made it even tighter, and they found a room that
the Raffertys could use to be together and out of the public eye while they waited for Tyger to come round. The nurses were
happy to run up and down to the canteen for sandwiches and coffee. Not that anyone could face food.