Page 109 of Duplicity

When I get to the hospital, my girls seem in good shape. Marlowe is in yoga pants and a simple white vest and looks good enough to eat. While she still seems tired, she’s lost that awful, pinched look of exhaustion. Tabby has her hair in two very tidy French plaits with little green bows at the bottom of them, and I find myself wishing I’d been a fly on the wall for that quiet mother-daughter moment. I wonder if Marls has any idea how beautiful each and every act of service she performs for Tabs is. I bet she does the vast majority of them privately, with no recognition, no validation at all, which is pretty alien in my book.

‘How’d you both sleep?’ I ask her.

‘Like a dream. You know, they still come in every hour to check on Tabs’ vitals, which is disruptive for her, but the private room and the amazing bed made all the difference in the world.’

‘I had pancakes,’ Tabs pipes up cheerfully, and I turn the full wattage of my smile on her.

‘Pancakes? Is that what you ordered from the chef? Did you leave any for me?’

‘Nope, all gone,’ she tells me in delight, patting her stomach.

‘Right, well I’m glad you got some fuel into you, because we have some hard labour to accomplish this morning.’ I set the box carefully on her overbed table so she can get a good look atit. Poring over the photos of the tiny details is always one of the most fun parts of a new LEGO set.

I turn to Marlowe. ‘And you, missy, have a date with my hotel’s rooftop pool.’

She gapes at me. ‘I can’t. I need to stay here.’

‘No offence, but there’s no way you’re better at LEGO than me. I’ve worked in construction my whole life. And we have a fleet of medical experts just a button away, all of which makes you officially redundant. Go on, go. You need some vitamin D badly. You’re still white as a sheet.’

‘Tabs isn’t ready to be left with a stranger, are you, Tabs?’

‘I want to make it with Brendan,’ Tabby replies, and I swallow a smile. Kids are such disloyal little shits. So easily bought.

‘But I don’t have a swimming costume with me,’ Marlowe protests.

‘All sorted. The concierge had a bikini delivered to the room for you.’ I lean right in. ‘Make sure you send me a selfie. It’s the least you can do.’

When I pull away again, I see with immense satisfaction that her attempt at looking outraged has flat-out failed. She looks a mix of pleased and flustered. I wink at her.

I promised I wouldn’t lay a finger on her at work.

I never said I wouldn’t play dirty while we weren’t at work.

‘So which bit do you want to build first?’ I ask, laying out the two main instruction booklets between us. ‘The swimming pool or the main house?’ I’m hoping sheopts for the pool. The transparent blue bricks are begging to be assembled.

Tabby studies the booklets with the seriousness of a structural engineer.

‘The house book says number one. The swimming pool is number two. I think we should do them in order.’

Such a good little rule follower, just like her mum.

‘That’s a good point, but it’s just us. Sometimes you need to build LEGO stuff in order, but not with this one, because they’re both separate. So you should choose whichever one you’re most excited about. Life’s too short to leave the good stuff for last.’

She purses her lips as she focuses on her decision, then nods. ‘Then the swimming pool. Definitely.’

‘Excellent choice. Swimming pools are my speciality.’ I wink at her as I rip the first bag open and shower the table with bricks. ‘You know, I've probably built at least ten LEGO pools in my life, and God knows how many real ones.’

‘Ten?’ Her eyes widen. ‘That's a lot.’

‘Well, I'm practically ancient compared to you.’ I start sorting the blue pieces while she organises the tiny deck chairs. ‘Hey, when you're all better, I'll show you my LEGO room. It's my secret happy place.’

‘You have a whole room just for LEGO?’ She looks genuinely impressed.

‘Yep. Some people think grown-ups shouldn't play with toys.’ I lower my voice conspiratorially. ‘Those people are very boring.’

She giggles, and I notice her laugh has the same musical quality as her mother's.

‘My friend Emma says her dad doesn't play anymore. He just works and sleeps.’ She’s making quick work of sorting the blue, transparent pieces away from the others. ‘I think that's sad.’

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