the accidental life of greg millar Part 11

Next morning, I wake early and walk to the villa, taking in the scenery and getting some exercise. It seemed like a great idea, until I arrive at the front door and can’t decide what to do. I have a key, but if I use it, it might seem pushy. If I don’t, it’ll just seem stupid. Everyone knows I have it. Oh, what the hell. I slip it in.

I’m heading for the living room when, from inside, I hear Rachel say, ‘She talks to us like babies. Is she some kind of dork or something?’

I stop; my stomach twists.

‘She’s probably just not used to kids,’ Hilary says.

‘I don’t want her to get used to us. I want her to get lost.’

‘Rache, remember when I came first? You didn’t like me either.’

‘I did so.’

‘No, Rachel, you didn’t. It took a long time. But you did in the end. Lucy seems nice. Maybe you should give her a chance.’

‘Why? I don’t want a stepmother. Did anyone ask me? No. He never asked, Hilary. He never checked. He always checks big decisions with us. Always.’ She breaks down.

Oh, God. I feel so guilty.

I close the front door quietly. I race back up the hill. We’ve done everything wrong. We should have been more measured in the way Greg introduced me. I should have been his ‘friend’ first. We could have got to know each other as individuals before bringing the whole stepmother thing into the equation. But that would have been deceitful. If only things had happened more slowly. If only Greg hadn’t parachuted me into their lives. Hilary was so sweet, standing up for me like that. I’ve been wrong about her, too. She mustn’t resent me being here, after all.

I’m not long back at the apartment when Greg arrives – with croissants and pains au chocolat. ‘You want to be a bit separate. So. Here I am.’ He smiles.

I hug him.

We make coffee and go out onto the balcony.

Then I tell him what happened.

He grimaces. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah. It’s Rachel I’m worried about.’

‘I need to sit down with her and have a chat. She needs to let off a bit of steam with me.’ He pulls out a pack of cigars and holds it up as if to say, ‘Do you mind?’

‘Have you started smoking?’

He smiles. ‘Let’s just say, I’ve stopped stopping.’ He cups his hand over a cigar and lights it slowly, ritualistically.

I look out over the trees, remembering the conversation. ‘It was nice of Hilary to say what she did.’

He places the lighter on the table. ‘Told you she was like that.’

I realise I know nothing about her. ‘What did she do before coming to work for you?’

‘Worked in a crèche for a while.’

‘Why did she leave?’

‘She wanted to work more one to one with kids. Her own marriage had just broken up because they couldn’t have children.’

‘That’s terrible.’ I try to imagine the sense of loss she must have felt as someone who so clearly loves kids.

‘They were married five years, trying for children most of that time. In the end, the whole IVF thing wore them down. It had become their sole focus. When they finally gave up, there didn’t seem anything left to salvage from their relationship.’

‘That’s so tough. When did she tell you all this?’ It doesn’t strike me as the kind of thing a nanny would unburden herself of easily to a male boss.

He stubs out the cigar, stands and goes to the balcony rail, placing his hands wide apart on it and leaning forward. After a few moments, he turns and looks me in the eye. ‘Actually, Lucy, there’s something I need to tell you.’ My stomach lurches. ‘I wasn’t sure how to bring it up before because I didn’t want to make it any bigger than it is . . .’

I want to tell him to stop. At the same time, I need to know – every detail.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a deep breath. ‘OK.’ He comes over and sits down. ‘Way back, at the beginning, not long after she started, when I was pretty low’ – he pauses – ‘something happened between Hilary and me . . .’

There it is, absolute confirmation. Jesus.

‘Once. Only once. I was so down after Catherine died. For the first few months, I drank a bit. One night, Hilary was there, saying the right things, doing the right things. And . . .’ his voice trails off. ‘Afterwards, I was so ashamed; I was her boss, for Christ’s sake. I apologised profusely, told her that if she wanted to leave I’d understand, that maybe it would be better if she did. I was straight with her, explained that it had happened as a result of grief, nothing more. She understood. Said she was grieving too, for the family she couldn’t have. It was all about loss – on both our parts. We agreed to forget that it ever happened. Never spoke of it again. Hilary does her job. And does it well. Life has carried on. It’s ancient history. I just thought you should know. I want to be straight with you, Luce.’

I nod. Can’t trust myself to speak. That they’ve shared this makes the foundations between us a little less steady. But then he has told me. And it was just once. And a mistake. Still, I’d feel a whole lot better if they didn’t have that history, ancient or otherwise.

We manage to finish breakfast. We even have sex and shower together. Greg’s more affectionate, gentle and loving than ever, and I want to be fine about this. But when he asks if I’m coming to the villa to work from his office with him, I find myself explaining that I’d make more progress here, that I like to work alone, that the villa’s too warm and that the children need a break from me. He looks disappointed, but says nothing, just that he’ll collect me at twelve thirty for a swim and lunch. That would be lunch prepared by a woman he’s had sex with, eaten in the company of a girl who hates me.

When Greg’s gone, I open up my computer, but concentration escapes me. I pick up the phone, needing to hear a familiar voice.

‘Bonjour!’ I say when Fint answers.

‘Bonjour, yourself! How’s life in heaven?’

‘Oh, you know, just hoovered my cloud.’

He laughs.

‘Any news?’

‘Yeah, I’m single again.’

‘Aw, Fint.’ There was always one issue in his relationship with Simon. ‘He wouldn’t “come out”, would he?’

‘Nope. And that’s not as simple as it sounds.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m past all that angst, Lucy. He needs to deal with this himself; I’m not a shrink. So, how are you?’

‘Fine. Good. Great.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, this is Uncle Fint you’re talking to here.’

I share the reality of life on my cloud, ending with the Hilary newsflash.

‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’m going to ask you one question. Do you trust Greg?’

If it wasn’t Fint, I’d be indignant. ‘Of course. Absolutely.’

‘Well then, you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?’

He always was a clear thinker. ‘No. I suppose not.’

‘What are you going to do about Rachel?’

‘I don’t know. Be patient. Try not to take it personally. Get out a bit more with Greg, just the two of us. I was hoping to try to get to know Hilary a bit better, but I don’t know. After what Greg’s said . . .’

‘Forget about that now. Greg’s marrying you, isn’t he? If he’d wanted Hilary, he’d have asked her a long time ago.’

He has a point. ‘Thanks, Fint. I needed that. What are you going to do?’

‘Work.’

I laugh. We’re so alike, Fint and I.

Greg collects me for our swim. As we’re heading for the pool, his phone rings. It’s his agent. He goes inside to take the call, leaving me standing on the terrace, watching Toby, Hilary and Rachel play together in the pool. I take a deep breath and stick to the plan. I dive in and swim the full length, underwater, in complete and blissful silence. I pop up at the shallow end, suck in air and flick back my hair.

‘Deadly,’ says a voice beside me.

In the time it has taken me to swim the length, Toby has extricated himself from the others and is bobbing in the water beside me. The whites of his eyes seem so clear against the brown; his lashes are clumped together by water. I smile.

‘You’re a great diver,’ he says.

‘Thanks, Toby. And you must be a great swimmer to get over here so fast.’

‘Yeah. I am. But I can’t dive.’ He has a dimple on one cheek.

‘It’s very easy. All you have to do is relax.’

‘I can relax.’ He lowers his goggles, then lies on his back, sticks his tummy in the air and tilts his head so far back that if it weren’t for the goggles, his eyes would be flooded.

‘That was very good relaxing, all right,’ I say.

He stands up, just managing to keep his chin above water. ‘Can you learn me to dive?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe we should ask your dad if it’s OK with him.’

‘He wouldn’t mind.’

I’m sure he wouldn’t. But Toby isn’t my child. I’m trying to decide what to do.

‘Want me to ask him?’

‘Not now, he’s on the phone.’

But Toby’s already gone, slipping up out of the pool like a frisky otter and darting towards the villa.

Hilary calls, ‘Toby. Walk. Don’t run.’ He looks at her and slows to a walk. ‘Good man.’

He comes racing back out with a thumb in the air. When he reaches me he asks, ‘Can we do it now?’

I smile. ‘Sure.’

‘Hey, Rach-el. I’m going to learn to dive before you.’

Oh, dear.

‘I can dive already.’

‘Nah. You’re crap.’

‘Ah, ah’ is out before I can stop it.

He looks at me and stops.

I feel like laughing; I’ve disciplined by accident. And the world is still spinning.

I teach Toby to dive from a sitting position first. He does as I say, no fear, head down, arms straight, and fingertips pointing at the pool. I wait in the water and catch him every time he surfaces.

‘You’re brilliant!’ I exclaim in admiration.

He beams.

Soon, he’s diving standing up. I’m stunned by his progress.

He’s so proud of himself. He can dive. But, more importantly, his sister can’t. Not really. Not as well. I recognise that feeling. I experienced it the first time my father realised I could draw.

The children grow hungry and Hilary takes them inside. Still waiting for Greg, I swim a few lengths before coming out. As I cut through the water, I wonder if the best way forward is to concentrate on Toby. Maybe, then, Rachel will see that I’m actually an OK person.

After another half-hour, I give up waiting. I shower by the pool, dress and go looking for Greg.

In the living room, Hilary’s on one of the couches with Toby, rubbing sunscreen onto his legs.

‘That was fun,’ I call to him.

‘Oh, Jesus,’ says Hilary. A worm of white sunscreen shoots from the tube she’s holding and lands on the couch. ‘You gave me a fright.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll get a cloth.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says. ‘Greg won’t mind.’

I rub at it with my towel anyway. ‘Did you enjoy that, Toby?’

‘Yeah!’

‘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.

Next Part Will come Soon