the accidental life of greg millar Part 10

Greg, Hilary and the children go ahead to France while I finish up a job at the office. A week later, Greg collects me at Nice Airport. Looking tanned and fit, he lifts me up and twirls me round. I laugh. It’s only been a week, but I’ve missed him so much.

He grabs my case and takes off. I have to run to keep up.

Outside, his Range Rover is parked illegally. He throws my case in the back and makes for the front. I think he’s opening my door for me, like he always does, but when he jumps inside, I realise my mistake. Left-hand drive.

I go around.

The engine’s already running when I climb in. The car’s an oven. ‘Gordon Is a Moron’, a punk favourite of Greg’s, is blaring. Two months ago, I’d never heard of it. And, though it’s hilarious, I turn it down and the air conditioning up.

We follow a sign for Marseilles, Cannes, Antibes. The grey and green of Ireland have been replaced by hazy blue and faded olive. We hit a motorway. Sea on our left; mountains on our distant right. We really are on the Côte d’Azur.

Greg’s hitting a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour. The limit’s a hundred and thirty. Even that seems high.

‘Could you slow down a bit, Greg?’

‘Christ, sorry,’ he says when he sees the speedometer.

Soon, we turn off the motorway for Antibes and make our way through the outskirts.

‘Nearly there,’ he says, resting a hand on my leg.

At a roundabout, we take a smaller road. Then a smaller one again. We begin to climb.

‘There it is,’ he says, pointing up the hill. I catch a glimpse of a large, two-storey villa, surrounded by pine and eucalyptus trees. It has a terracotta roof and walls of a lighter shade, hidden in places by bright purple bougainvillea. Its shutters are a friendly light blue.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘I’ve found an apartment for you, about a kilometre up the road.’

‘Great, can we dump my stuff there first?’

‘Ah, come say hi to the kids first.’

Tired after the early morning flight, I was hoping to rest for a bit. Still, I shrug. ‘OK.’

As we pull up outside the villa, he gives my hand a squeeze.

He swings open the heavy wooden door. Inside, it’s darker, but only a little cooler. Overhead, fans slowly rotate. Terracotta tiles flag the floor. The walls are a warm yellow. Floor-to-ceiling pillars remind me of ancient Rome. In the living room, a fireplace dominates. It’s in the shape of the sun’s face, its wide-open mouth housing the hearth. Around it, three couches are strewn with children’s clothes, sunscreen tubes, books, a bottle of Evian and an inflatable, bright green turtle. A large, mahogany chest acts as a coffee table. On it is a pottery vase filled with eucalyptus and bougainvillea. A woman’s touch. Hilary, no doubt. I stop at an entire wall of books, wanting to explore.

‘There’ll be time later,’ he says, taking my hand.

From outside comes an echoey distant scream, followed by a splash.

‘Come on, they’re in the pool,’ he says.

We walk out to blinding white light. Everything seems over­exposed. I lower my sunglasses. To my left, beyond a low, stone wall, the view down to the bay is spectacular. Straight ahead, a wooden table is charming in its simplicity. Multi-coloured towels hide the chairs that surround it. On the ground are flip-flops and sandals, scattered as though abandoned in a hurry. Wet patches have small footprints leading to and from a large rectangle of blue in the near distance.

There they are: Toby being hurled into the air by Hilary, and Rachel swimming towards them. Toby reminds me of Mowgli from The Jungle Book: slight and sallow, with longish, dark hair and a little red triangle of swimming togs. His goggles are huge compared to the size of his face, making him look half alien, half fighter pilot. Rachel is a streak of dark hair and splashing arms and legs. Hilary, looking robust in a black one-piece, spins Toby around in the water.

‘Hi, guys,’ calls Greg as we approach the pool.

They turn.

‘Dad!’ shouts Toby. ‘Did you see that?’

‘You should be in the circus, Tobes.’

‘I know. Yeah.’

I smile.

‘Do you want us to come out?’ asks Hilary.

‘No, Hilary, we’re coming in.’

I look at Greg. My bikini’s packed at the bottom of my case. I’m visualising it when he grabs my hand and jumps, taking me with him.

‘Whee!’ he calls.

The sudden drop in temperature adds to the shock. I find myself underwater, face up, legs higher than the rest of me. His hand is gone. I can’t see him. I turn over in the water then kick and swim to the surface, breaking through into dazzling light, gasping for air and coughing. I make it to the side of the pool, where I cling, head down, trying to restore normal breathing. At last, I look up. He’s already out of the pool, shaking himself like a dog. I open my mouth to say ‘You big eejit,’ but close it again, remembering the children. Then I hear them. Laughing. I turn around. Clearly, I’m the entertainment. I smile to show I’m a good sport then press my palms on the hot slabs lining the pool and push myself up and out.

Greg comes to me with a towel.

‘That’s mine,’ says Rachel, who has stopped laughing.

‘It’s an emergency,’ says Greg, handing it to me.

‘It’s mine! I don’t want her to have it.’

Mortified, I hand it back to him.

‘I’ll get you another,’ he says, disappearing into the villa.

I stand alone, feeling conspicuous, stupid and wet.

‘Your legs are bleeding,’ Toby calls.

I look down. The dye from my red leather sandals is running in little streams down my feet. It looks like a scene from the Old Testament. I want to disappear, vanish. I make for the villa, dripping red.

‘Here you go,’ Greg says when I get inside. He wraps a large white towel around me.

I stare at him. ‘Why did you do that, Greg?’

He stops, as if considering that for the first time. ‘I don’t know. Fun?’

‘I’m trying so hard to make an impression with Rachel and Toby . . .’

‘But they thought it was hilarious.’

‘No, Greg. They thought I was hilarious. I want them to like me, not think I’m a joke. I felt like such a fool out there.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘How can they respect me if you don’t?’

He looks hurt. ‘I do.’

‘Well, that’s not how it seemed. It was such a stupid thing to do.’

‘I’m sorry, Luce. I was just trying to break the ice. Everyone’s so nervous. But you’re right, it was stupid. I’m sorry.’

We drive in silence to the apartment.

It’s in a small, upmarket block. On the second floor, Greg opens the door, then hands me one of two keys. My first impression is of a bright, airy space. Very modern, with clean lines and white walls. Most importantly, it’s air conditioned.

‘Where’s the shower?’ is all I say.

It’s a relief to be alone, warm water pounding down on me. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I wash my hair and start to calm down. Red dye swirls down the plughole, taking my anger with it.

Finally, I reach for a white towelling bathrobe. It still has its sales tag on. That he has thought to go out and buy this for me reminds me of what’s important – Greg’s a good guy who meant well. Normally, I love his childlike approach to life. Normally, it’s refreshing. Maybe if I hadn’t been so tense, so eager to make a good impression on his children . . . I don’t know. I wrap my hair in a towel and go in search of him.

He’s sitting on the bed, looking guilty.

And suddenly I wish it was just the two of us – no children, no complications, no one to impress or win over. I shake free my hair from the towel and the thoughts from my head. I sit beside him, wrap my arms around him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have given it more thought.’

‘Forget it.’ I smile when I say, ‘It cooled me down.’

He kisses me then gets up. ‘Come see the view from the balcony.’

Outside, the air is hot and dry and carries the fragrance of . . . I’m not sure, herbs? The cicadas sound as if they’re in overdrive. Off in the distance, a glittering sea merges with a clear, blue sky. Pine trees in the near distance are heavy with cones, like eco-friendly Christmas decorations. Closer still, almost within touching distance, is a eucalyptus, its drooping silver-green leaves looking cool and unruffled in the heat. Its bark is peeling off in thin strips, like flesh-coloured stockings, revealing smooth white skin underneath. I turn to tell Greg how magical it all is and how happy I am to be here with him, only to discover that he’s gone back inside. I find him sitting up in bed, bare-chested and beaming, clothes abandoned on the floor. He has draped a leg over the sheet in fake seductiveness. He raises and lowers his eyebrows. I laugh, let my robe drop and join him. And soon, I’ve forgotten everything, except how much I adore him.

When we eventually return to the villa, Hilary has made dinner – a tuna pasta dish, and the children’s favourite, apparently. Greg must have forgotten to mention that I’m vegetarian. I can’t afford to be more different than I already am. So I tuck in with what I hope looks like enthusiasm. At least it’s not steak.

I wear a friendly face, say little and listen, hoping to learn as much as I can about this pre-prepared family I’ve promised to become part of. Toby chats about sharks; in particular the fact that they have to keep moving to stay alive, which means they have to swim in their sleep.

‘Imagine that!’ he concludes.

That he seems oblivious to me is reassuring. Maybe I’m not such a big deal to him. Rachel, on the other hand, I frequently catch peeping out at me from behind a curtain of hair she’s let fall between us. When I smile, she looks away.

When dinner’s over, I start to collect the dishes. Hilary stands quickly, taking the plates from me.

‘It’s fine,’ she says. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘No, no. I’d like to help, Hilary.’ I certainly don’t expect to be waited on.

‘It’s OK,’ she says, looking down at the plates in her hand. ‘I know where everything goes.’

‘At least let me carry things to the kitchen.’

‘I’m fine. Honestly. Thanks,’ she says firmly.

She disappears into the kitchen.

I look at Greg, wondering how I’m ever going to feel part of this family.

He smiles reassuringly.

‘Do you want coffee?’ I try.

‘That would be lovely, thanks, Lucy,’ he says like he understands.

The kitchen is beautiful, with an old-fashioned sink and simple wooden cupboards painted pale green. The work surfaces are oak, as is the chunky, basic furniture. Really, really pretty. I wonder if Catherine designed it, or whether she and Greg did it together, or if it was like this when they bought the villa. That they shared so much reminds me of what little history Greg and I have. I bring myself back to the present – coffee. I start to search the obvious places.

‘What are you looking for?’ Hilary asks.

Instinctively, I feel I’ve walked into her territory. ‘Coffee?’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Hilary, look, I don’t want you to feel that you have to do anything for me. I’m going to be around a bit and I’d like to pull my weight.’ Her face is blank; I can’t read it. ‘It would be great, though, if you could show me where the coffee is.’

Without a word, she goes to various cupboards and pulls out an original steel coffee percolator (so romantic!) and the paraphernalia that goes with it.

‘Thanks,’ I say, and set to work.

‘Sorry, but could you move, please?’ she says after two seconds. ‘I have to use the dishwasher.’

‘Sorry.’ I shift along, thinking that maybe I should stay out of the kitchen for a while. I do not want to make an enemy of Hilary.

‘Hilary, aren’t you joining us for coffee?’ asks Greg, surprised.

‘No, thanks. I have to get Toby ready for bed.’

‘We’re on holiday; there’s no rush.’

‘I’d prefer to stick to routine, Greg, if that’s OK?’

‘Sure. Whatever you think.’

She coaxes Toby away from the DVD he’s watching. Rachel gets up.

‘Going up already, Rache?’ Greg asks.

‘I’m tired,’ she says, looking directly at me.

Greg doesn’t see it. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Say goodnight to Lucy.’

‘’Night, Lucy,’ says Toby.

‘’Night, Toby.’ I smile at him.

‘Rachel?’ Greg prompts.

She looks at me, eyes dark, then turns to go.

‘Rachel,’ says her father in a warning tone.

‘It doesn’t matter, Greg,’ I say, not wanting him to make a big deal of it. I smile at her. She glares back.

‘Rachel doesn’t like Lucy,’ offers Toby, matter-of-factly.

I blush.

‘She doesn’t want her to be on holidays with us. She doesn’t want her to be in our family. She hates her, ackshilly.’

For the second time in one day, I want to disappear.

‘Enough, Toby,’ says Greg. ‘Rachel, I told you to say goodnight to Lucy; now say it.’

I don’t want him to force her. ‘Greg, please, it doesn’t matter. Really.’

‘Goodnight,’ she says, as if the word means ‘I hate you’. She races to the stairs and thunders up. Hilary follows, looking calm and unruffled.

‘You can’t force her to like me, Greg,’ I say quietly.

‘No, but I do expect manners.’

‘I have manners,’ says Toby.

‘And a big mouth,’ retorts his father, picking him up and turning him over so that his bare feet are against Greg’s face. ‘Bristle attack,’ he says, grabbing his feet and rubbing them against his evening stubble. Toby screams. And they both laugh.

I have never felt like such an outsider.

Hilary comes back downstairs. Though she returns my smile, it’s without any great warmth.

‘Is she all right?’ Greg asks her.

‘She’s a bit upset. The change, an’ all,’ she says, lifting Toby from Greg’s lap. ‘Maybe you could have a word with her when you go up. Come on, squirt,’ she says to the boy who is to become my stepson, a transition that seems monumental.

‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes. You have to.’

Off they go, Toby twisting her hair in his fingers.

Greg winks at me. ‘Let’s go for a beer on the terrace.’

That’s where we are when Hilary returns with Toby, squeaky clean and dressed for bed. Hilary kisses the top of his head and says goodnight to him, then to us.

‘My God,’ Greg exclaims. ‘It’s a mass exodus tonight.’

‘Tired,’ she says.

Greg takes Toby upstairs for a story. Watching them all disappear, the enormity of what I’m taking on finally hits. I’m marrying one man, two children and a nanny. Theoretical children are so much easier than real ones who come with personalities, opinions, objections. Can Rachel really hate me? Already? She doesn’t even know me. Then again, that’s the problem. Rachel doesn’t know that I’m on her side, that I want what’s best for her, that I want the two of us to get on. If only I could make her see that. Not that she’d listen to me. She probably wouldn’t listen to Greg either; he’s the one who brought me here. She’d listen to Hilary, though. It’s so obvious that Rachel loves her. But would Hilary help?

‘Let’s go,’ I say, when Greg arrives back.

‘Where?’

‘To the apartment.’

‘Why?’

‘So we can be alone for a while.’

‘We’re alone now.’

‘I know, but really alone. Just the two of us.’

He looks hurt. ‘This is home. The apartment is for appearances, for you to sleep in, that’s all.’

I have to get out of the villa. I go to him, kiss him softly on the mouth and whisper, ‘It could be for other things, too.’

He smiles. ‘I know somewhere closer.’ He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. ‘See? Much quicker.’ He beams, tugging at my clothes.

I tell myself that it doesn’t matter that we’re in the villa. In here, we’re alone. I close my eyes and try to think of nothing but what’s happening in this room. It’s getting easier and easier, but then the bed begins to groan with a telling rhythm. And I tense.

‘Greg, stop,’ I whisper.

‘What?’ he whispers back.

‘Someone will hear.’

‘Have you seen how thick the walls are?’

‘Hilary’s next door.’

‘Hilary doesn’t have bionic hearing. Now, wait till I show you this little trick.’

His little trick shatters my resistance.

Afterwards, we lie in silence, a film of sweat covering our bodies; the air so heavy, it’s hard to breathe.

‘Greg, you need to get air conditioning.’

‘What do you think I am, a philistine? When in Rome, live like the Romans.’

‘I’m sure plenty of the “Romans” have air conditioning.’

He turns to face me. ‘This villa’s designed for the heat. And the Millars are a tough breed. Don’t want us becoming soft.’

‘How about a few electric fans, then?’

‘Wimp.’ He smiles. ‘We’ll get some tomorrow.’

‘Greg?’

‘Mm-hmm?’

‘Do you think Rachel will come around – eventually?’

He raises himself onto an elbow and tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. ‘Of course. Once she gets to know you. Right now, it’s the idea of sharing her life with you she doesn’t like; not you personally.’

I sit up. ‘I thought that maybe Hilary might put in a good word for me with her. But I think I annoyed her today. You know, got in her way or something.’

‘No. It’s a good idea. If Rachel listens to anyone, it’s Hilary.’

‘Might be unfair to ask, though; I’m not sure she likes me.’

‘Hilary? Of course she does. She’s just focused on the kids. She’d do anything for this family. Want me to ask her?’

‘Ah. No, not for the moment. Just let me get to know her a bit better first, OK?’

‘OK.’

We’re quiet for a while. ‘Greg?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘Could you drop me at the airport, tomorrow?’

‘Leaving already?’ He smiles.

‘I want to rent a car.’

‘A car? Why?’

‘Just to get around.’

‘Sure, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’

I smile. ‘I know. And thanks. But you’ve the kids. What if I have to go back to Dublin for work and you need to take them somewhere?’

‘I’ll figure something out.’

‘I don’t want you to have to. My being here is putting you all out already.’ I pause. ‘And, Greg, I really think that, for the moment, we should try to remain a bit separate, you know?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be a constant presence at the villa.’

He scratches his head. ‘I know what Rachel said to Toby sounds bad, but I think it would be a mistake to overreact, here. The children need to get used to you being around.’

‘I know, Greg, but slowly.’

I feel his disappointment.

We say no more on the subject until he’s dropping me off at the apartment.

‘We’ll get that car tomorrow, then,’ he concedes.

I smile. ‘Thanks, Greg. It’s the right thing.’

‘And I’ll pick you up for breakfast at the villa in the morning?’

I wonder if I got through to him at all.

Next Part Will come Soon