58. Marlowe
T he past seventy-two hours have been the worst kind of blur.
I say that, but it’s not true.
Because if Brendan hadn’t been here with us, for us, it would have been unbearable.
As soon as the doctor had left on Saturday, I pretty much collapsed.
All that money.
The travel.
The recovery time.
All for nothing.
I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t go through it again.
I just wanted to lie down on the floor and sink into an exhausted puddle and fall asleep and never wake up.
But Brendan wouldn’t let me do any of that.
I’ve always known he was an impressive guy, but boy did he show his true colours that day in the kitchen.
And yeah, he’s teased me before that he’s good at throwing both money and his weight around, but this was far more than that.
This was the kind of power flex that came from a parallel universe.
My plan was to call GOSH and see if they could squeeze Tabs in for an emergency appointment that day to conduct the follow- up tests the doctor had told us would be needed to diagnose an infection in the valve itself.
But Brendan’s proposal blew that out of the water.
First, he insisted that this would all happen privately and at his expense.
‘You’re not jumping through NHS hoops,’ he said.
We were all sitting on the sofa together, Tabs on his lap and his arm around me.
At that point, I’d take his physical comfort over any concerns about what Tabs might think.
When I tried to push back—because the money involved would be crazy —he shut me down.
‘It’s the best thing for Tabs,’ he said tersely.
‘End of story. And nothing else matters but that.’
So he called his swanky health insurance provider and had Tabs added to his coverage.
Just like that. Then he got them to hook us up with the Portland Hospital, a private women’s and children’s hospital where celebrities give birth, and their cardiology team said they would meet with us that day.
His health concierge then got on the case with pulling Tabby’s files from both GOSH and Duke to send over in time for our appointment.
Apparently, when Brendan Sullivan tells people to jump, they ask how high.
We saw the consultant there and she took some tests, including those blood cultures.
After a tense forty-eight hour wait, during which Brendan refused to let me go into the office at all, she confirmed that Tabs did indeed have endocarditis and would need a full valve replacement posthaste.
It was nobody’s fault.
It was just one of those things.
This was where it got stressful.
I had chosen Duke for a reason.
The private London hospitals have fancy equipment, but Dr Elliot and his team are the world’s leading experts at valve replacements for children.
A transatlantic trip wasn’t an option for us.
Most normal people would admit defeat and settle for Plan B.
Not Brendan. To say he behaved like an emperor was an understatement.
He called and called and hustled and hustled, with two outcomes.
One. Brendan formed a multi-million dollar endowment to establish the Tabitha Winters Fellowship in Pediatric Cardiac Innovation at Duke Children’s Hospital.
And two. Poor old Dr Elliott agreed to take a jet—chartered by Brendan, of course—to London yesterday.
I was as mortified as I was horrified.
And I’ve never been so grateful to another human being in my life.
It wasn’t just the money.
Brendan pulled strings to expedite practising privileges for Dr Elliott at The Portland, and he had his people handle all sorts of stuff for us, right down to matching monogrammed PJs for him, me and Tabs.
We’re going to wear them when she’s out of the High Dependency Unit and back in her private room.
I should add that they all have huge pink hearts all over them.
A nother surgery kicks off.
Another painful morning for Tabs of having to fast.
Another heartrending farewell before she goes under.
Another endless, terrifying wait while Dr Elliott works his magic for a second time.
Only this time I’m not alone.
This time, I am wrapped up in the arms of a man, a man strong enough, brave enough, committed enough, to be here for me.
A man who, despite first impressions, doesn’t scare easily when life gets real.
His money, his reach, may have salvaged this medical disaster from a shit show of NHS emergency surgery, and I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.
But it stops there.
What happens behind those doors is down to Dr Elliott and the surgical team from The Portland now, and money can’t affect the outcome I need so badly.
Only the universe can do that, and we both know it.
Still, he’s not going anywhere.
Not during the surgery, not after.
He’s told me over and over again.
I cast my mind back to all those times over the past nearly nine years when I’ve sat in waiting rooms alone, frozen with fear and what-ifs, paralysed by the unconscionable knowledge that this time, it might not work.
This time, something might go wrong.
This time, Tabby might not wake up.
I’m playing a different what-if game.
‘I can’t believe I let her catch an infection,’ I mutter into Brendan’s chest. It’s so wonderfully, warmly solid.
I don’t ever want him to let me go.
‘I can’t believe it.
All I had to do was keep her safe for a month or two after the operation.
I can’t believe she’s having to go through all this again on my watch.’
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ he says into my hair.
‘You know that. She’s a kid!
They’re grubby little fuckers.
You can’t wrap her in cotton wool.’
‘Try me,’ I say, and he chuckles softly.
‘I shouldn’t have let her go swimming at your parents’ place.
God, that was so irresponsible.’
‘You heard what they said. It was far more likely to have been that tooth she lost last week.’
I know he’s right.
The consultant said as much.
Apparently, poor dental hygiene—or an ill-timed wobbly tooth, as luck and shitty timing would have it—is a common entry point for bacteria.
I sigh.
‘Listen to me. It’s all going to be fine.
Elliott’s the best in the world at this stuff.
He could do it in his sleep.
And she won’t get an infection next time.’
He’s right, I hope.
The surgical team have already put in place a rigorous post-op protocol for Tabs, consisting of preemptive and highly specific antibiotics, weekly blood tests to spot infections early, and more regular follow-ups.
Tabs will probably need antibiotics ahead of any invasive dental treatments for the rest of her life.
None of it’s ideal, but it reassures me that this level of infection won’t happen again.
It can’t happen again.
‘Come here,’ Brendan says, scooping me up and lifting me sideways onto his lap.
We’re alone in the absurdly comfortable waiting area.
‘I’ve got you. I’ve got Tabs.
This won’t happen again, and you’ll never again have to face anything that does happen alone, no matter how routine.’
I stare down at him.
His face looks creased and exhausted, and the tough part hasn’t even started yet.
He’s been sleeping at his place but spending every waking hour at mine as we—he—put together this medical intervention of sky-high stakes and costs.
I’ve had a front-row seat to not only his brilliant strategic brain, but his action orientation.
Brendan is a doer. He gets things done to an extent that blows my mind, and I’ve never been more grateful for that particular skillset.
‘Listen to me,’ he whispers, his fingers playing through my hair.
‘The only way I’m going anywhere is if you tell me to.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all in.
I know I messed up really, really badly and treated you like—well, like you never should have been treated, and I’m so fucking sorry.
I’ll never stop being sorry.
But I need you to know that the only thing I care about in life is your wellbeing and Tabby’s, and I want to stick around.
I want to be there for you at times like this, and at happy times too.
The whole shebang.’ He pauses, his face beseeching.
‘Because I am stupid levels of in love with you. Stupid levels.’
I gasp and go to speak, but he puts a gentle finger over my mouth.
‘Don’t say anything.
I just wanted you to know.
It’s probably shitty timing, but I couldn’t risk you sitting here, all wrapped up in your worry and not knowing how very much I love you and how desperate I am to be here for you in any way that I can be.’
His voice drops to a whisper.
‘And I’m head over heels for that little daughter of yours, too.’
He’s had his moments, but I can’t think of those right now.
All I can think of is that, from the moment he discovered the truth about Tabby’s existence, Brendan has been thrown into the car crash of our lives in the most epic style, and the man hasn’t batted an eye.
Not only has he stumped up unthinkable sums of money to secure her good health, but he’s spent a good half of his time pulling his weight in doctor’s offices and on hospital wards in recent weeks.
Showing up for someone doesn’t get more powerful than that.
I let my head fall to his lovely broad shoulder, and I proceed to soak his shirt with my tears.
brENDAN
‘How are you doing, sunshine?’ I ask Tabby as I reach out to clasp her little hand.
Marlowe and I were both there when she came around about half an hour ago, but Marlowe’s just popped to the loo.
Tabby is groggy but lucid.
She smiles goofily at me, and my heart constricts.
‘I’m good.’
‘That’s excellent to hear.
You feeling sore?’
She shakes her head.
I’m sure they still have her on strong painkillers.
Some discomfort will be inevitable, but the important thing is that the operation went perfectly.
Thank God.
I glance down at her hand.
‘Do you know what your sats are right now? You’ll never believe it.’
Her eyes go big and round.
‘What?’
‘A hundred per cent. How about that? Little overachiever.’ I bend over the hospital bed so I can press a kiss to her forehead.
‘I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.’
Her brown eyes dance over my face.
‘You sound like a daddy.’
I go completely still.
Tears well in my eyes instantly.
Like, immediately. I brush my thumb over her knuckles.
‘Do I?’ I manage.
Her smile is shy.
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think I’d make a good daddy?’
I press. This might just be the highest-stakes conversation I’ve ever had in my life.
She cocks her head. ‘Yes. A lovely daddy.’
Okay, this next question is seriously fucking out of order, but there’s no sign of Marlowe, and I may as well ask it.
‘Do you think one day you could imagine me being your daddy?’ I ask, my voice thick with emotion.
Her pale little face lights up, and it’s all the answer I need.