‘This is …’ Luke swallows hard. ‘It’s exactly the same as …’
‘I know.’ I grip his hand tight.
This was always my idea. But I could never have done it as spectacularly as this if it weren’t for Elinor.
‘Daddeeeee!’ Minnie comes running out from behind a tree, dressed in the most beautiful, gossamer fairy dress with wings that Danny made for her. ‘Happy! Happy Daddy!’
‘Minnie!’ Luke looks overwhelmed as he scoops her up. ‘Where did you … How did you … Suze! Jane! Graham! Danny!’ He’s turning his head in bewilderment as they all pop out from their hiding places.
‘Happy birthday!’
‘Surprise!’
‘Say something, Luke, love! Give us a little speech!’ I can’t believe Mum’s pointing a camcorder at Luke’s face. She knows we’ve hired a professional cameraman.
‘Bonnie?’ Luke looks even more shellshocked as Bonnie emerges from behind the waterfall in a spectacular aquamarine dress, an abashed smile on her face. ‘Please don’t tell me you were in on all of this.’
‘Just a little.’
‘This is just … unreal.’ He shakes his head and looks around the magical room again. ‘Who else knows it’s my birthday?’
‘Who else? Um …’ I meet Bonnie’s eyes and want to laugh. ‘Quite a few people. Most of the City.’
‘The readership of the Daily World,’ adds Bonnie. ‘And the Standard City Diary, and the Mail just ran a little piece.’
‘You’ve got messages from three members of the Royal Family,’ puts in Suze brightly.
‘Don’t forget YouTube!’ puts in Dad. ‘Hundred thousand hits at the latest count!’
Luke looks as though we all must have gone mad. ‘You’re joking,’ he says and we all shake our heads.
‘Wait till you see the tributes!’ says Mum. ‘And you’ve got your own Happy Birthday website!’
‘But … this is crazy.’ Luke puts a hand to his head. ‘I never celebrate my birthday. Who on earth …’
‘Becky’s been very busy,’ Bonnie says.
‘Trying to keep it secret!’ I exclaim indignantly. ‘Trying to stop people blabbing and posting stuff on the internet! It’s been like trying to keep control of an octopus.’
‘A drink, sir?’ A stunning male model wearing one of Danny’s Midsummer Night’s Dream costumes appears from nowhere. His thighs are clad in fur and there’s a wreath of leaves round his head, and his chest is bare and tanned, and very honed. (I think this is Danny’s own fantasy interpretation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, i.e. basically just a forest full of hot men.)
The male model is holding out a wooden tray which looks like a slice of tree, bearing cocktails with silver tags. ‘I can offer you a Brandon, a Bloomwood, or a Minnie. And then if you and your wife would like to get changed before the show?’
‘The show?’ Luke turns to me. I raise my eyebrows mysteriously and squeeze his hand again.
‘Wait and see.’
It’s the most incredible, blow-your-mind party. It just is.
I mean, I know I helped organize it and everything, so I shouldn’t boast. I should be all modest and self-deprecating and say, ‘Oh, it was OK, I suppose,’ or ‘As parties go, it wasn’t bad,’ and shrug and change the subject and talk about the weather.
But too bad, I’m not going to, I’m going to tell you the truth. Which is that it’s the most out-of-this-world party and everyone’s said so, even people who go to loads of parties like the Right Reverend St John Gardner-Stone, who turns out to be a total sweetie with a good line in knock-knock jokes.
Everything so far has gone perfectly. When Luke had put on his dinner jacket and I was in my divine green dress, we took our seats on little chairs around the hall, drinks in hands, and a circus dance troupe performed the most amazing acrobatics all around us in the trees of the forest, with thumping music and laser lights flashing.
Then came the fire-eaters – a Czech troupe who do all kinds of amazing stunts. (They included Alonzo/Alvin in the routine, because I told them they had to, and he looked totally terrified and exhilarated all the way through.)
Then a massive screen came down from the ceiling, another soundtrack played, and all the YouTube tributes to Luke began, and I nearly cried.
OK. I did kind of blink away a few tears.
Not that any of them were any good. I mean, seeing a bunch of marketing executives from Kettering do a rubbishy ‘Happy birthday Luke da man’ rap into a shaky mobile phone isn’t exactly The Shawshank Redemption. But it was the fact of them. People I don’t even know, wishing Luke a happy birthday.
Then we had video messages from all the friends who couldn’t be here, like Michael and Luke’s dad, followed by the text messages from the website, flashing up, one after another. And finally a clip I didn’t even know about, which Suze had been emailed ten minutes before we arrived, apparently. It starts off with Sage Seymour, on her film set, sitting on a director’s chair, saying ‘Luke, honey, where the hell ARE you?’ and pretending he’s supposed to be doing a scene with her, and it ends up with all the cast and crew wishing him happy birthday. Even the really famous ones.
As soon as Sage appeared on the screen, Luke’s head whipped round to me, and he said, ‘How the fuck—’
And I couldn’t help giggling, and whispering in his ear, ‘Luke, just face it. There’s no point trying to keep any secrets from me.’