49. Brendan
CHAPTER 49
Brendan
I ’m a grand gesture kind of guy, which is probably a nice way of saying I tend to throw money at problems in the hope that they’ll go away.
I’m far more generous with my money than I am with my time and energy.
If I piss off any of the women in my life—Mum, Mairead, Elaine—I’ll send them a huge bunch of flowers and pray that does the trick.
But as I watch Marlowe sleeping, I realise that grand gestures aren’t going to work with her.
One, because she’s not impressed by them, and two, because they’re not what she needs.
She’s brought a very sick kid up alone and borne the sole weight of that burden for years.
What she needs is support and companionship and commitment, not a bunch of fucking roses.
There are no shortcuts here.
I’m relieved she bawled me out before she finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
It tells me she’s not completely broken.
But it was a tough listen.
I won’t kid myself that the intimacies she’s permitted this afternoon are born out of anything other than necessity.
Her tank is empty; I’m around to help her replenish it a little.
I’m a body, if you like: someone who can relieve her stress and pull his weight and just generally make himself available.
I’m not stupid.
The symmetry of this situation isn’t lost on me.
She’ll be able to use me, just like I thought I was using her.
She already has used me.
I kind of love it. If it levels the playing field even the tiniest bit, then I’m thrilled.
And do you know what?
I may be an analytical genius, because if I have my way, the dynamic will be exactly the reverse of what we had.
I used her, took her for granted.
I thought I had boundaries up.
Thought I was clear in my head about what I’d allow and not allow from this relationship.
Was I fuck.
The whole time, I was falling.
All that proximity, all that carefully prescribed intimacy, was fucking kryptonite.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Neither will she. She’ll get used to having me around, and she’ll begin to trust me, bit by bit, and she’ll see I’m not going anywhere, and, despite herself, she’ll soften.
It might take months, but she’ll soften, and she’ll fall, and she’ll grow to understand that I’m good for her and Tabs.
That I can make them happy.
Maybe I’m not an analytical genius so much as an evil genius, because I have an endgame.
Marlowe doesn’t need to know about it just yet, but I have one nonetheless.
I think it’s been percolating, dripping into my brain like coffee through a filter, since that awful moment I discovered she had a sick daughter.
My endgame, you see, is that she and Tabby never experience worry or fear or anxiety ever again.
Not over money, not over health.
It all ends here.
They’ve paid their dues.
They’ve had so much more than their fair share of suffering over the years and, while they may not know it yet, they are fucking done .
Yeah, I realise Tabby will need another replacement valve or two before she’s fully grown, but it will be a different story this time around.
She’ll have everything she needs, even before she needs it.
She’ll be monitored so vigilantly that a replacement will be a formality, not a calamity.
Obviously, I’m getting ahead of myself.
I don’t even know the kid yet.
That changes now, too.
If the poor little thing is stuck in a hospital room, hooked up to machines, then that’s what I’d call a captive audience.
MARLOWE
Waking up next to Brendan is less charged than last time.
There’s no cuddling, for one—it looks like he stuffed a bolster between us after I fell asleep—but I’m hoping that means there won’t be any of the previous fallout, either.
No callous words or dismissive behaviour.
I take my bag into the bathroom and change back into a clean set of clothes.
Before we left the hospital, Brendan ordered me to bring all my and Tabby’s dirty clothes along for the hotel to launder.
I stuff them into the cotton laundry bag in the wardrobe.
My pride is not above accepting more clean underwear.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asks, looking me over.
He’s back in his pristine t-shirt and blue jeans.
‘Like a different woman,’ I answer honestly.
‘I can’t thank you enough.
’
He looks away. ‘You never have to thank me.’
It strikes me that we’re in a weird hinterland.
I’m still his EA, but my job description has just been ripped down the middle.
I’m technically on leave, but if Brendan insists on staying here for the next week or so, which frankly strikes me as ridiculous, then he’ll have to work from here and I have no intention of letting him do that alone.
‘Can I ask you a question before we head back?’ he asks.
The solemnity on his face gives me pause.
‘Of course.’
He sits on the bed and pats the space next to him.
‘Come here.’
I sit.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a personal question.
Are you comfortable telling me what the score is with Tabby’s father?
’
‘He’s not in the picture,’ I say quickly.
While I haven’t missed Joe as a lover for a very, very long time, weeks like this make me curse his irresponsible, unfeeling soul for leaving his daughter in the lurch like that.
‘Never has been.’
‘Athena said that. She wouldn’t tell me anything else, though, except to suggest it happened at uni.
’
‘That’s right.’
He sighs.
‘It’s no excuse at all, but I imagine a lot of teenage guys are pretty useless when you ask them to step up to a pregnancy.
’
‘He wasn’t a student.
He was my professor.
’ My voice is small.
Flat. I know how it sounds to be the girl who got knocked up by her professor, like I was either a seductress or a clueless ingenue.
I look down at my hands on my thighs.
My fingernails are wrecked from chewing on them the whole way through Tabby’s op.
There’s only silence, and I glance at Brendan.
He’s looking at me, stunned.
‘Your professor got you pregnant and bailed on you.’ He grits out the words.
I shrug. ‘Basically.’
‘That fucking wanker . Jesus Christ, love. I’m so bloody sorry.
Was it a one-off? Do you mind my asking?
’
‘No, it was a… relationship. Well, not a proper relationship, it turns out, because he was married, which I knew, and he had no intention of ever getting serious with me, which I didn’t know.
It was all very cliché.
’ I give an awkward little laugh.
‘He was my personal tutor and a lecturer in baroque music. Very cerebral, cultured, charming… and very married.’
Brendan exhales like he’s in pain and puts his hand on top of mine on my thigh.
‘This okay?’
‘Yeah.’
He wraps his fingers around my hand, and it gives me the strength to continue.
‘He didn’t hide it. Wore a ring.
Said he was unhappy, yada yada.
He targeted me, sought me out, and it didn’t exactly take long for me to roll over.
I’d only slept with one person before him,’ I whisper.
‘Hang on. I’m only the third person you’ve slept with?
’
‘Not that it’s about you, but yes,’ I say, embarrassed.
‘Jesus Christ.’ He groans and rubs his free hand over his face.
‘Sorry, love. Go on.’
‘There’s not much to tell, really.
It went on for about four or five months—all very secretive.
I was head over heels, and he seemed really taken with me.
’
‘Of course he was,’ Brendan grumbles.
‘Some crusty old academic, festering away with all his turgid music, and then eighteen-year-old you comes along and blows him away. Of course he was fucking “taken with you”.’
I nudge his arm with my shoulder.
‘Thanks.’ Even years after the death of the relationship, a little posthumous validation is always nice.
‘So he fucked you in private, led you on, knocked you up, and…’ Brendan prompts.
‘… And when I told him I was pregnant, he just shut the whole thing down. Made me feel stupid. Made me feel like it was my fault for having false expectations and getting knocked up.’
‘Good job he wasn’t a biology professor.
Stupid cunt.’
I grin.
‘Yeah. He really, really was a stupid cunt.’
‘So he buggered off and left you to it?’
‘Quite literally, yes. He told me to get an abortion, froze me out, and then moved his family to a different city that summer—he got himself a new tenure. And that’s it.
’ I shrug. ‘I took a year out to have Tabs. I didn’t put his name on the birth certificate.
He’s dead to me, basically.
’
‘Good. And where does he live?’ Brendan growls in a way that makes him sound like a mob boss.
I fear for Joe’s kneecaps too much to divulge that he, in fact, is still lecturing at Nottingham University, so I shrug.
‘Dunno. Don’t care.’
‘Good girl.’ He looks down and brushes his thumb over the back of my hand.
‘So you’re telling me you’ve done all this on your own.
’
‘I have Athena, obviously. And my parents are amazing. Just incredible. They sold their home in Kent after I finished uni and bought a crappy flat near me so they could help me bring up Tabs.’
‘I’m glad you have them.
But still. This is a lot, love.
It would be a lot for any parents, let alone someone without a partner.
’
The word hits me harder than usual.
Partner . Buddy. Support System.
Person . Yeah, it would be really nice to have gone through all this having someone in my corner.
I make a non-committal noise, and he squeezes my hand again.
‘Come on. Let’s get you back to your little patient. ’