Page 103 of Duplicity

To build a relationship with the most important person in her life.

To prove myself worthy of playing the part I know I want to play in both their lives.

It may sound rash. After all, I’m not known for my impulse control. But it’s not. On the contrary, it’s very bloody overdue. I fucked up once, and I’m not going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers again.

Because I have no intention ofeverlosing this woman again.

But I can’t divulge the wishes of my heart now, because she won’t want to hear them, and she’s not ready to hear them, and, most importantly, I haven’t earned the right to voice them.

Instead, I shrug. ‘Partly it’s self-serving. I’d rather keep you around than train up a new EA. But mainly it’s a way for me to make amends. I didn’t support you. On the contrary, I failed you, big time. I told you in the shower that I’m not here to save you, but Iamhere to support you. I’ve put so much extra strain on you at a time in your life when you needed to conserve all your strength for Tabby, and I’ve caused you so much hurt, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. So let me show you my support in the way I know best.’

She bites her lip, then nods. ‘Okay… thanks. If you’re sure—I mean, it’s so generous. But only for another couple of months, alright? Then I should have enough saved up.’

I’m sure it will seem to her as though I’m throwing money at the situation.Good old Brendan. He’s never one to inconvenience himself, but God knows he’s adept at putting his hand in his pocket.But that’s not the full truth.

I’m not trying to buy her. I’m trying to buytime.

The money buys me a way in, and I’ll take every second as a chance to show up for her. To show up for Tabby. To prove to them, through consistent action rather than my usual charming words and easy smiles, that I’m someone they want to keep around.

I should probably reacquaint my dick with my fist.

It’s going to be a long, dry couple of months.

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 fuckingdone.

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.

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