The Accidental Life of Greg Millar (10 page)

‘Yes, thank you,’ corrects Hilary.

‘Yes, thank you.’

I smile.

‘Guess what? Hil’s bringing us to Aqua-Splash after lunch.’

‘What’s that?’

‘This cool place with lots of pools and slides and stuff. Wanna come?’

Greg and I had planned to get that rent-a-car. But it can wait.

‘Lucy has work to do, Toby,’ says Hilary.

‘Actually, I’m not that busy today. I’d like to go with you, if it’s not a hassle for you.’

She colours. Quietly, she says, ‘It’s just that I’m not sure Rachel is ready for you to come on trips with us yet.’

‘Of course.’ I tussle Toby’s hair. ‘Another time, Toby, OK?’

‘OK.’

I find Greg in the office, on the computer.

‘What happened to you?’ I ask.

‘What?’

‘We were supposed to be going for a swim.’

‘God, sorry. I got distracted by the phone call, then had some ideas for the book.’

‘No worries.’ I’ve made progress with Toby. And it feels
amazing
.

12.

T
alking to Toby is proving a bigger challenge than I thought. Hilary is always there, and always joins in. Because she knows him so well, the conversation takes off without me. She knows how to interest him, how to make him laugh. By the time the
conversation
ends, usually with Hilary taking him off somewhere, I’m on the perimeter again. As for getting to know Rachel? She exits rooms whenever I enter.

It’s hard to imagine ever becoming stepmother to children who already have a mother in Hilary. She makes the meals, cuts up Toby’s food, is naturally physical with them. She hugs and touches them in such a casual, easy way. She carries Toby when he’s tired. They snuggle into her when watching DVDs. They run to her when hurt. Hilary can call Toby ‘runt’ or Rachel ‘idiot’ and make it sound loving. I can only imagine what would happen if I used those terms with them.

In desperation, I hit on an idea and suggest to Greg that we take the children off for the day, just the two of us.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘In France, Hilary usually comes everywhere with us.’ He’s searching his desk for a reference book and is flinging everything aside into a messy heap. He looks up. ‘I wouldn’t want her to feel left out.’

‘I understand that, Greg. It’s just that I don’t feel I’m getting to know Rachel and Toby at all.’

He stops what he’s doing, his eyes registering. ‘OK. Let’s do it.’ He gets up, there and then.

But when he proposes the idea to the children, there’s a problem: Rachel won’t go without Hilary.

So we plan a communal trip.

But as I get ready, I develop a headache. I also start to wonder what’s the point? With Hilary there, I’ll still be the outsider. With my head thumping like this, I’d be better off lying down.

Greg seems annoyed that I’m not coming, but honours his promise to the children and takes them. I return to the apartment in the Clio I’ve rented, pop two Nurofen and lie down. I wake an hour later, headache-free and glad to be alone.

After pottering around for a while, I feel like a swim. I drive down to the villa and let myself in, revelling in its emptiness. I
di
ve i
nto crystal blue, feeling at peace in my soundproof,
underwater
world. I come up for air and dive back under again.

I sit at the side, legs dangling in the water, while the sun beats down on my back, drying it in minutes. I lie in the shade with a book. Greg’s caretaker arrives in a sarong and bare feet to clean th
e pool.

I go inside and ring Fint. His voice reminds me what I miss about him. Everything, basically. The blotchy way he applies fake tan. The dapper way he dresses (the dark purple rugby shirt with lace collar and cuffs, the cream shoes, his black, rectangular glasses). Th
e wa
y he bursts out with ‘Ooh, he’s a ride’ at the sight of any reasonably attractive man. I even miss the way he hears about
someone’s
sudden illness and worries that he has it, too.

‘I’m thinking of coming over,’ I say, on impulse.

‘When?’

‘Whenever you like.’

‘Great. Just give me a day’s notice.’ He talks of new jobs that have come in and I volunteer immediately for two – to design the cover of a quiz book and the template of a newsletter for a breakfast cereal company. Neither is a particularly exciting project. Each will, however, provide a distraction and a reminder that I’m good at
something
.

My anti-family mood begins to wear off. At six, I decide to cook a meal so that Hilary won’t have to. I prepare vegetables for a stir-fry. Soon, everything’s ready to be thrown into the wok. I ring Greg’s mobile to see where they are. It goes to voicemail. I put off cooking until I’m so hungry I have to eat. I take a little of everything and make a portion. As light begins to leak from the sky, I start to worry. I keep trying his phone, without success.

By eleven, I’m pacing the kitchen, imagining all sorts of scenarios, when I hear the car outside. I open the door to sleeping children being carried by a couple. They look like a happy family arriving back after a long, enjoyable day out. Except for one thing. Hilary doesn’t look mumsy. Her flouncy, white skirt is pretty damn short and her top is clingy and low cut. It doesn’t put me in the best of moods.

‘What happened to you?’ I ask Greg when he comes downstairs from putting Rachel to bed.

‘Nothing.’

‘Why were you so late?’

‘I didn’t realise there was a curfew.’

‘There wasn’t. I was just worried. You weren’t answering your phone.’

‘If you’d come, you’d have known we were fine.’

‘I had a headache.’

‘You could have taken something. I was writing, Lucy. I stopped because you wanted to go out. Then you changed your mind, and
I car
ried on to keep the kids happy. Now you’re angry I wasn’t home sooner. What do you want from me?’

‘Nothing.’ I put my hand to my forehead. ‘I just want us to get on. All of us. I want to build a relationship with your children, but something always gets in the way. I’m trying so hard to fit into your life and get to know everyone . . .’

‘So, why didn’t you come with us?’

‘I didn’t feel well. And I was tired. This is hard, you know? How can you get people to like you when they don’t even want you there?’ I break down.

He takes me in his arms, says nothing, and just rubs my back over and over. When he speaks, it’s to apologise. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy.
I know you’re t
rying. I should have come back sooner. I was annoyed with you for staying here. I was being a dick. I’m sorry, OK?’ He’s smoothing back my hair, clearing away my tears.

‘I want it to work, Greg. I don’t want to upset Rachel or Toby. And I already have by just being here. I don’t know, maybe I should go home for a while.’

‘You’re going nowhere.’ He kisses me softly, again and again, until I kiss him back. We make it to the bedroom and I find comfort where I always have been able to with Greg.

Later, I try to sound casual when I ask, ‘How soon after her marriage ended did Hilary start working for you?’

‘Months.’

‘Must have been good for her to have a distraction.’

He smiles. ‘I’d call us more of a challenge than a distraction; we were such a mess. But you’re right. I think that did help Hilary.’

‘What age is she?’

‘Thirty-two, thirty-three. Why?’

‘I don’t know. I guess I’m just surprised that she’s still happy to live in, especially having been married. I mean, I’m twenty-nine and I’d want my own place.’

He frowns. ‘I never thought of that; Hilary’s been with us for so long. When she started, I needed her, round the clock. It seemed to suit her, then. Of course, she’s probably changed. God, she must have. I never thought about that. Of course, you’re right. She should be out there, getting on with her life. Not stuck with us twenty-four hours a day. Especially after we’re married. I’ll talk to her.’

I don’t want to go back to the apartment tonight. I want to fall asleep in Greg’s arms. I set the alarm for six thirty and snuggle in
to him.

I wake at three in the morning to find Greg sitting up in bed,
furiously
writing.

‘Greg?’

He looks over. Beams. ‘Behold! Athena awaketh!’

‘What?’

‘Athena. The Greek goddess of wisdom and victory. Fierce,
fearless
and righteous.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Can’t sleep. My mind’s buzzing. I keep getting these amazing ideas. If I don’t write them down, they’ll be gone in the morning.’

I close my eyes to the light, the energy.
Are all writers like this?

‘Oh, and sorry about the book,’ he says.

‘Hmm?’ I lift heavy lids.

He’s holding up what looks like the novel I was reading. ‘I’ll buy you another.’

‘It’s yours. I got it from the living room.’

‘Phew! I’ve written all over it. Couldn’t find anything else.’

‘It’s three o’clock.’

‘Already?’

I squint at him. ‘Are you like this every night?’

He smiles and ruffles my hair. ‘Go back to sleep, my little Greek goddess.’

I yawn. ‘OK, ’night.’ I turn over and put a pillow over my head.

Daylight wakes me before the alarm. My watch says six. Greg’s already up and gone. I pull back the sheet. Already, the air’s hot.
I dress q
uickly and check to make sure I’ve left no evidence of myself. I find Greg in his office, at the computer, wearing nothing but boxers, staring at the screen, his fingers racing across the keyboard. I smile. No wonder he’s so good at what he does. He’s obsessed. I yawn, kiss the top of his head and tell him I’m heading back to the apartment. He glances up, his unshaven face and spiky hair giving him an almost wild look that makes me smile wider. He winks, then is back to the computer, flying. I rub my eyes and decide that, actually, it’s too early to be up.

A few days later, after a morning’s work, I call down to Greg, hoping that he’ll join me for a swim then lunch out, just us two. When I get there, he’s on a roll at the computer. He suggests I go ahead to the pool; he’ll be right out.

Hilary and Rachel are finishing up their swim. Toby’s getting up from the towel he’s been sunbathing on – it’s funny to see such a young sun-worshipper. The pool is settling back to calm, the inflatable turtle, Paddy Power, still bobbing up and down. Goggles and flippers lie abandoned by the steps.