I smile to myself as I imagine one of his most badass guys turning up sometime tonight to kick off what will be a permanent security presence downstairs from now on. While private security guards can’t carry weapons, Adrian’s guys don’t need them. They’re all trained killers, former mercenaries who require nothing more than their wits and their bare hands to make short shrift of anyone.

Those little turds will have to find somewhere new to hang out.

This is useless. I kick off the sheet Marlowe gave me and get to my feet. I’m only wearing boxers—my plan is to be up and out of here before Tabs wakes up. Much as I’d like to see her, Marlowe wasn’t exactly thrilled about my “ridiculous caveman antics” (her words) and I can’t imagine she’ll want to see me in the morning. I’m not here to earn brownie points. I’m here because it’s the right thing to do, but I don’t want to undo the momentum we achieved last night.

I pad around her living area as quietly as I can. There are no curtains at the kitchen window, so the street lamps provide adequate light for me to see. What this place lacks in comforts and basic security requirements, it makes up for in love. There may not be an Hermès throw in sight, but the fridge is covered in Tabby’s artwork and photos of the two of them. It makes my heart hurt to think of what a special bond these two have, and how much pain and suffering that bond has caused Marlowe over the years as she fights so hard for Tabby’s health.

There’s a card spelling out I love you Mummy xx with a selfie of Marlowe and Tabs in a park somewhere, minus Tabby’s two front teeth. Marlowe looks so beautiful. Her hair is blowing around her face, her cheek squished against Tabby’s.

I drift towards the bookshelves. They’re cheapo ones whose ability to hold the shitload of books Marlowe has doesn’t inspire confidence. I glance through the books. She really likes cookery. There’s a lot of sheet music at the bottom, which I assume is left over from her degree. I find myself wishing I could just drag her and Tabs and all this music over to my place and be done with it. There are also some photo albums.

Bingo.

They’re the ones you compile online before receiving the printed version in the mail. It looks like Marlowe does one each year.