‘I don’t usually speak to you like this, but honestly, you’ve behaved like a Grade A twat to that poor girl. The way you treated her on Friday was nothing short of disgusting. She was in pieces when she left.’

The idea of her being in pieces rather than fucking furious, which is how I perceived her emotional state when she safed out, is yet another gut-punch. I can see it all too well from Elaine’s perspective, unfortunately: if she’s been privy to Marlowe’s secret struggles, then seeing the fallout from me and my mates trying to have some fun at her expense must seem horrific. Still, I’m not about to let my PA’s judgement derail what is an important mission here.

‘I don’t disagree, but I’m trying to make amends. Look, she’s all alone over there with no reprieve and no one to look out for her. I’d like to go and make myself useful, so sort the jet, please. I’ll tread carefully, I promise.’

Elaine’s right. There’s an excellent chance Marlowe shows me the door as soon as I turn up there, but I have to go along anyway.

I have to at least try to take some of this burden from her.

CHAPTER 43

Marlowe

If there is a more depressing combination than eating a sweaty, plasticky cheese sandwich while doom-scrolling Instagram photos of a supermodel draped all over your gorgeous boss, then I’d love to know.

Actually, I wouldn’t. Things are crappy enough already.

I take that back. I feel guilty even thinking that, because nothing is crappy. Tabs has a new pulmonary valve, and she’s out of the ICU and sitting up in bed, and her cheeks are a lovely pink colour, and all of that is amazing. Miraculous. It’s the dream!

For as long as I can remember, I’ve prayed for this outcome. My entire future happiness has hung in the balance as I’ve desperately fought for a way to get this life-saving operation for my daughter. So it’s safe to say the big things in my life are going really, really well. They’re fantastic, really. I’ve secured a few more years of optimal health for Tabs, and nothing else matters.

I say that last part to myself through gritted teeth, because gratitude in these moments is important, and I shouldn’t be sweating the small stuff. I’m not, really. It’s just that I’ve spent two nights sleeping in an armchair next to Tabby’s bed in the ICU, and exhaustion seems to have robbed me of all perspective. They have a no-parents-overnight policy, which is far from sensible if you ask me. Why am I any more likely to spread infection at night than during the day? I was just lucky that the duty nurses looked the other way as I sat in that chair all night.