56. Brendan
CHAPTER 56
Brendan
M arlowe can’t stop smiling all the way home.
Neither can I.
I’ve held this broken, exhausted mother in my arms as she emotionally collapsed in the safe confines of a shower.
That image is indelibly printed onto my brain.
So seeing her like this, vibrant and grinning and still high from her epic performance does things to my heart that I can’t articulate.
I knew that Marlowe was inside her.
But whether she knew is another matter.
The best bit? Santi dropped by our table for a drink after his set and slipped Marlowe his business card, telling her to give him a call if she ever wanted to pursue a recording career.
He’s a good guy, but not that good.
He wouldn’t have made that offer if he didn’t think she had serious potential.
‘I still can’t believe you pulled a stunt like that,’ she says, shaking her head and beaming at me.
‘It was a gamble,’ I admit, taking her hand.
She lets me. ‘Not because I thought you’d fuck it up—I knew you wouldn’t—but because I thought you might actually strangle me for putting you on the spot like that.
’
‘I was tempted to. But it was also the most incredible thing anyone’s ever done for me.
So thank you.’ She looks down at our hands.
‘It means the world to me that you have that much faith in my singing abilities.’
‘I may be besotted with you, love,’ I tell her, ‘but I’m not stupid.
I know talent when I see it, and your talent basically punched me in the face.
You looked like a star up there.
You held your own on stage with a global megastar—that should tell you how much fucking potential you have.
All you have to decide is whether you’re going to call him.
’
She gives me an oh, please look.
‘I have a job. And a daughter who needs me.’
‘I’ll happily fire you,’ I retort.
‘And you have a daughter who’s going back to school next week and is now perfectly capable of leading a normal life.
’
What I don’t spell out is that, if I win her over and she becomes my girlfriend, she’ll never have to work a day in her life to pay the bills.
Instead, she’ll be free to follow her dreams. I want that for her so badly.
I want to be able to give her that freedom she deserves after years and years of thankless fucking toil, but I can’t say that.
Because she’ll accuse me of buying her right as I’m trying to set her free.
I ’ve insisted on dropping Marlowe home.
She’s tried so hard to dissuade me that I suspect this goes way beyond her dislike of inconveniencing others.
I have a feeling she doesn’t want me to see where she lives.
Well, tough shit, sweetheart.
Yan eventually turns into a large, shitty housing estate and immediately my hackles go up.
‘Is this where you live?’ I ask her.
‘Yeah.’ Her voice is quiet.
‘Is it a council estate?’
‘Some of it, but quite a bit of it is privately owned now. Our landlord’s a rental agency.
’
I inwardly grimace as we drive by a wall of graffiti.
That might be, but nothing about this estate screams secure environment for a child and her single mother.
‘Did you ever think about living with your parents?’ I ask in a neutral tone, my thumb stroking her knuckles.
‘Not really. It would have been the practical option, but they need their space and so do I. I’m twenty-seven.
I chose to bring up my daughter on my own, so at some point I was just better off standing on my own two feet and getting on with it, you know?
’
‘Yeah,’ I tell her.
‘I get that.’ My circumstances couldn’t be more different from hers, and I’m a decade older, but being overly reliant on our parents in adulthood is seriously rough.
There comes a time when we need to spread our wings and forge our own path.
‘It’s just round to the left,’ Marlowe tells Yan.
‘Second block on the left. It’s a bit of a shithole, I’m afraid,’ she adds, turning to me.
I hate that she’s embarrassed about where she lives almost as much as I hate that she lives here.
I hate that she’s so much better than me as a person and yet life has dealt me a far better hand.
It’s not fucking fair.
Yan pulls to a halt outside a grim-looking block of flats with a grey pebble-dashed exterior.
My professional guess is that these blocks were built in the seventies and should have been pulled down instead of being sold on privately.
They’re not as bad as some of the worst estates in the Docklands, but they’re not the best, either.
‘Thanks so much for this evening,’ she says.
‘I’ll see you on Monday.
’
‘You can thank me inside,’ I say firmly, releasing her hand so I can unfasten my seatbelt.
‘No, that’s not—you don’t have to?—’
‘Nice try, sweetheart, but I’m walking you to the door.
Come on. Out you get.
’
She obeys reluctantly, and we start towards her block of flats.
The air outside is thick with the smell of weed.
It’s noisy—TVs blaring, music thumping, voices raised in anger.
It’s the soundtrack of people who don’t give a fuck about anyone else.
Case in point: the fly-tipping.
Right by the front door someone’s left an old, stained mattress, a rusty pram and fuck loads of old baby clothes.
For fuck’s sake.
‘It’s very different from your place,’ Marlowe says apologetically as we walk up the path.
‘I’m not a snob, love.
I just care that you’re safe.
’
She enters a code and pushes open the front door, and Jesus Christ. It’s like I’ve been teleported into some gritty TV crime drama.
This place is a dump.
The first thing I clock is that the smell of skunk intensifies, along with the stench of stale piss.
It smells like a public gents’ toilet in here.
The next thing, once I follow her in, is the gang members lurking in the dingy lobby.
The metal and concrete staircase is to their right, just visible behind them a bank of lifts.
They’re all in black hoodies or balaclavas, and they’re loitering in a way that smells trouble.
I’m instantly, horribly, conscious of the chunk of metal on my left wrist, courtesy of Patek Philippe.
I’m pretty sure the cuff of my shirt is hiding it, but I daren’t glance down and risk drawing attention to it.
They stop talking as we enter and stare at us.
Marlowe, I notice, doesn’t engage with them at all.
She bows her head and makes herself as small, as invisible as possible, scuttling towards the stairs.
They ignore her, but they don’t fucking ignore me.
‘What you staring at, fam?’ one of them asks as I put my foot on the bottom step.
He’s a skinny white guy with a spider tattoo on his face.
Charming. I shoot him a look I hope will communicate my derision.
‘I’m looking at you, dickhead.
’
Probably not my smartest move, but I’m a fucking leader in business.
I’ve got more petty cash in my sock drawer than these losers will ever see in their pathetic, crime-ridden lives.
I have no intention of letting these little shits intimidate me.
‘Brendan,’ Marlowe hisses without breaking stride.
‘Come on.’
‘You ‘ere that, Baz?
’ Spider says. ‘He called me a dickhead. That’s not very nice, is it?
’
His mate steps up, a massive Asian bloke.
At least a foot taller than Spider.
Built like a brick shithouse.
‘No, it’s not. We don’t like posh, cocky wankers around here.
And we have our ways of showing them they’re not welcome.
’ He pulls out a knife and flicks the blade open.
When he holds it up, it glints in the dim light.
What a prick. My PT is a former marine.
I have moves these guys have never seen.
So no, I’m not scared of a crappy little blade, but I have no intention of exposing Marlowe to a knife for a second longer.
‘There’s no need for any of that shit,’ I tell the guy.
‘You and I both know it’ll only land you in prison, so don’t do anything stupid, yeah?
I’m not here to make trouble.
’ I turn to Marlowe as calmly as I can.
‘Let’s get out of here, love.
’
She nods, stricken, and begins to take the stairs two at a time.
I follow her, hoping my body provides enough of a buffer between her and them.
When I look behind me, the gang members aren’t following us, thank God.
‘How far up are you?’ I ask as we climb.
‘Fourth floor. Come on.’
Jesus.
I’m more winded than I’d like by the fourth floor.
With those wankers blocking the lifts, I suspect Marlowe and Tabby have to use the stairs more often than they’d like.
Marlowe puts her key in the lock and opens the door with a warning shh in my direction.
I slide in behind her lest she try to shut me out.
But the instant I’m in her flat, my stomach sinks like a stone, because, fuck.
This is where she lives?
I mean, compared to the lobby it’s practically the Four Seasons, but it’s so small and shoddy.
Not her furnishings or cleanliness level, but the actual build.
You can tell just by looking at the walls that a well-aimed fist could punch straight through them.
Her front door is flimsy as fuck.
I can see damp from here on the ceiling over by the balcony, and I bet those windows are poorly sealed.
They must let so much heat out in winter.
My internal property survey screeches to a halt, because next thing you know, a big Black guy in shorts and a t-shirt emerges into the living room.
He has a smile as wide as his face and a body that says I lift old people in and out of bed all day and push serious weights all night.
‘Hi Robbie,’ Marlowe whispers, ignoring me.
‘How was she?’
He smiles.
The guy is a walking dental ad.
‘Not too bad. She seems a bit under the weather, but I took her temperature a couple of times and it’s in the normal range.
She complained of a headache and feeling a bit rubbish in general, so I administered a dose of paracetamol at seven-thirty.
Otherwise, she was very sweet.
Sounds like you guys have had an adventurous month.
’
‘You can say that again,’ Marlowe says, digging in her handbag for some cash.
I know she’d go ballistic if I tried to cover the sitter, so I don’t even try.
She hands over a few notes.
‘Here you go. Thanks so much for looking after her. I’ll keep a close eye on her.
’
He nods and takes the cash.
‘Cheers. And I wouldn’t worry too much.
Probably just a summer cold.
I’m sure she’ll work through it pretty quickly.
’
‘Be careful, mate,’ I tell him.
‘There are a few unsavoury characters hanging out in the entrance hall. They just tried to pull a blade on us.’
‘Take the fire escape stairs,’ Marlowe suggests.
‘It’s left out of the door, at the end of the hall.
It’ll take you straight out onto the street.
’
When he’s gone, Marlowe jerks her head towards the door Robbie emerged from.
‘I’m just going to…’
I follow her in.
Tabby’s room is larger than I would have expected.
Best guess: Marlowe gave her the biggest room.
She’s probably sleeping in the shitty box room.
This is definitely a haven, though.
My heart aches at the effort Marlowe must have put in here.
Strings of flower-shaped fairy lights cast their rose-pink glow, and in the corner is, I assume, the epic tent Athena organised.
But the real attraction lies in the middle of the room, where the little girl who’s already stolen my heart sleeps peacefully.
Her blonde hair covers most of her face, and I wish I could stroke it.
I remember how soft it feels.
I’m glad she has this sanctuary, even if the illusion of safety in here is just that.
An illusion.
I watch as Marlowe bends to kiss her head and then I follow her out to the main living area.
It’s clear she takes pride in keeping her home clean and cheery, but the colourful prints and the bunch of cheapo supermarket flowers can’t detract from the stark reality: that this is a tiny, badly constructed flat in an unsafe block in a rough neighbourhood.
Marlowe doesn’t belong here.
Even if she’s not ready to step into the professional glory that could await her, she should at the very least have a life where her safety, and that of Tabby’s, is a certainty.
‘Thanks for an amazing evening,’ she says to me distractedly.
‘It meant so much to me. I’m going to hit the sack, so you can go now?—’
‘Not on your life. I’m not going anywhere.
Not while those stabby little shitheads are around.
I’m calling the police.
’
‘You can’t call the police,’ she hisses.
‘They never give me any hassle, but you just went full alpha male on them. Of course they’re going to act out if they’re provoked.
But if you call the cops it’ll raise a whole load of trouble for me and everyone else in here.
’
‘They can’t get away with shit like that—holding court down there in a public space and threatening other residents.
’
‘It was very clear to them that you’re not a resident,’ she argues, and I glare at her.
‘Semantics. I’m calling the fucking cops.
’ I pull my phone out, and she grabs it.
‘Brendan. Don’t. I’m begging you.
It’ll just make things a million times worse for me.
They’ll just get a warning and then they’ll know it was us who caused trouble for them.
And you’re not the one who has to walk past them every day with a kid.
’
I stare at her, feeling sick.
I can’t bear the idea of Tabs and Marlowe feeling scared every time they enter their own fucking building.
And what about Marlowe’s parents?
They must feel desperately unsafe when they come here.
‘Fine. You can move in with me. I have loads of space, and Mark will be thrilled, and you can play the piano whenever you want, and?—’
‘Bren. We’re not moving in with you.
Don’t be ridiculous,’ she says, but her face is soft.
‘We’re not in a relationship.
I’m your employee, and yes, you’ve been a very good friend to me and Tabs these past few weeks, and we’re so grateful.
But no one is moving in with anyone.
’
This is crazy. I understand somewhere deep down that Marlowe is her own person and is entitled to call the shots in her own life, but it’s beyond frustrating that she refuses to listen when I so clearly know what’s best for her.
‘For someone who’s as amazing a mother as you are, you’re very cavalier about Tabby’s safety,’ I spit out.
I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them.
‘I’m sorry. That was a dick move.
I’m so sorry, love.’
Her eyes prick with tears, and I hate myself.
My only goal this evening was to bring happiness and hope to her, and I’ve gone and ruined it by being a giant bellend.
‘I do everything I can to keep her safe and well, and you know it. But I’m a normal person with limitations on what I can provide for her.
Right now, I’m prioritising her health, which, thanks to you, has turned a corner.
But I’m not in a position to sweep her off to some fancy enclave in Chelsea or other places that feel like fantasy lands.
I live in the real world, with dangers and shitty neighbours.
Like everyone else, I just have to suck it up and do my best and hope the universe doesn’t hate me enough to throw a mugging onto the shit show I’m already dealing with.
’
I can’t bear it.
I wish I could tug her into my arms and squeeze her as hard as I can.
‘You’re amazing. You’re doing amazing, and I’m an entitled prick.
But it fucking kills me to see you living like this when you work so hard and deserve so much.
’ And when I could give you the moon if you let me.
‘I know you mean well,’ she admits through gritted teeth.
‘Just try not to be so heavy-handed, alright? My life is not your problem.’
My life is not your problem.
Truer and more devastating words were never spoken.
‘You can say that, but those guys downstairs might come up and make trouble for you, and this front door of yours is a fucking joke. I’m staying here tonight.
’
Her jaw drops in horror.
‘Not on your life. Don’t you try to pull that card.
I wasn’t born yesterday.
’
‘I’m not trying to get into your knickers, love.
This isn’t some sleazy ploy.
I’ll sleep on the sofa.
’
We both look at the sofa, which is a modest two-seater and a good foot or two shorter than me.
‘Go home, Bren,’ she says wearily.
‘We’ll be fine.’
‘Who knows how much I’ve pissed them off.
I don’t want them to come looking for trouble and break this fucking door down.
Your locks are shite, by the way.
’
‘You can’t sleep on the sofa,’ she protests, ‘and you’re not sleeping in my bed.
’
‘Fine.’ I stride over to the sofa and pull the seat cushions off, throwing them in the direction of the door.
I do the same with the various scatter cushions.
It will be woefully inadequate, but it’ll have to do.
It’s only one night.
How bad can it be?
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Marlowe asks, looking at me as if I’ve finally lost the plot.
Maybe I have. The Brendan Sullivan I know doesn’t walk away from the career opportunity of a lifetime to hang out on an airless paediatric ward for a week.
He prefers living it up in the South of France to playing endless rounds of Marco Polo on the weekends.
And he’s sane enough to choose to go home to his bespoke H?stens mattress instead of playing build-a-bed with some foam blocks.
Churlishly, I shove the big square cushions against the wall so they form a makeshift mattress in front of the door.
If these dickheads want to threaten Marlowe and Tabs, they’ll have to get past me first.
‘Isn’t it obvious?
’ I ask crossly. ‘I’m sleeping on the floor. ’