The Accidental Life of Greg Millar (21 page)

‘Sebastian, that was amazing.’

He beams. ‘Thanks, Lucy.’

‘And to think that if you hadn’t gone to France, we’d never have discovered this Natural Born Designer,’ Fint says.

I feel a stab of something – regret, maybe? A touch of envy? It isn’t that I resent him his talent – far from it; I just wish I knew where mine had gone. It’s not good, being away from the office. Too much is happening without me. I’m losing my handle on things.
I shou
ld be at the centre of this project, not the perimeter. I need to come home more often. No, I need to be home, full stop.

I touch down in Nice, an hour late. With no baggage, I’m one of the first out. I look for Greg, but no one’s here to lift me up and swing me around. I check my watch. My mind takes off. Could something have happened? Has he reverted to his old ways? I’m about to pull out my phone when I catch sight of a blonde beauty rushing in the door, carrying a baby. Grace, as usual, is oblivious to the heads she’s turning.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says, out of breath. ‘I knew the flight was delayed, so I wasn’t rushing. Somehow, I ended up late.’

‘No worries.’ We hug. ‘Hey there, handsome.’ I kiss Jason. ‘
I was just go
ing to get a taxi.’

‘You should have known one of us would be here.’

We walk out into the sun.

‘Is Greg OK?’

‘Yeah. Fine. Though he seems a bit drained. Didn’t feel up to coming. He should probably take a tonic. He looks as if he might be coming down with something.’

‘He’s probably run-down. If we stop at a pharmacy on the way back, would you be able to pick out something?’

‘Assuming my French holds up.’

We get to the car and strap Jason in the back. Grace hops into the driving seat. I sit in beside her.

‘How’d your meeting go?’ she asks.

‘All right.’ I sigh. ‘Some bright young spark showed me up.’

‘Lucy, you’re not exactly old and dull,’ she says, before reversing out of the space.

‘Oh, yeah?’ It’s exactly how I do feel.

‘Is everything OK?’ She squints.

‘Yeah. I just should be back there more often.’

‘Maybe you should go over more regularly. Once or twice a week, say.’

‘Hmm. Maybe . . . Where’s Shane?’

‘At the villa. Rachel’s making up games for him and Toby. They’re in their element. She’s very good with them, isn’t she?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, still surprised at this fun side to her.

‘God, the way Shane trails around after her. It’s so cute. It reminds me of how you used to follow me around when we were kids, remember?’ She looks over.

‘All I remember is how you wouldn’t let me play with your friends.’ I smile.

‘You know, I still feel guilty about that. Let me take this moment to officially apologise.’

‘It’s OK, Grace.’ I laugh. ‘I think I recovered without major psychological scars.’

‘You were great, though. Remember when you were five? That was it: no more being my personal slave. You’d had enough.’

I smile, remembering. We stop at lights. I glance at the car next to us. A guy in a baseball cap is nodding his head to music.

‘You never really liked me, though, did you?’ she says.

‘
What?
Are you mad? Of course I liked you.’

‘You called me Little Miss Perfect.’

‘Not to your face.’

‘Which was even worse.’ She pulls away from the lights.

‘We were kids, Grace. Just because I called you a dumb name doesn’t mean I didn’t
like
you.’

She looks at me. ‘So, why did you do it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, irritable at being cornered. ‘Because you were perfect. And everyone loved you. And you did everything right. And I didn’t . . . OK, I admit it, maybe I
was
a bit jealous.’ I can’t believe I’m admitting to her something I’ve never admitted to myself.

‘Well, you needn’t have been. I wasn’t Little Miss Perfect. I was Little Miss Wanna Be Perfect. And that’s how I’ve spent my life – trying. Trying to impress a mother who can’t be impressed, followed by a husband who can’t be impressed. Which is a bloody big waste of a life, I can tell you.’ Her voice breaks.

I reach across and put my hand on hers.

‘I’ve wasted my life, Lucy. I married someone because my mother liked him. How stupid is that? What about what I liked? Why didn’t I think of that?
She
doesn’t have to live with him.
She
doesn’t have to listen to him.’

‘Do you want me to drive?’

She shakes her head.

‘You sure?’

She nods.

I rummage in my bag for a hankie and hand it to her. ‘I’ll hold the wheel.’

She nods again. And blows. Then drops the hankie in her lap. ‘I’m fine. Fine.’ She sniffles. ‘I just needed to blow off steam. Tell someone.’

I rub her arm. ‘Well, I’m glad it was me. And I may only be your sister, but I think you’re perfect. You’ve always been there for me. You’ve always encouraged me, complimented every drawing, every sketch, urged me to go to art college. You were there for me after Brendan. And you’re here for me now. I’m embarrassed it’s taken so long to appreciate that. You couldn’t be more perfect.’

And then she smiles. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, Grace. Thank you.’ She just needs a break. She’s been under a lot of pressure, handling the boys by herself, Kevin working so hard. It’ll get better. He’ll miss her while she’s away. He’ll be more attentive when she gets back. More loving. It’ll be fine.

Grace wants to clean up before facing everyone so she drops me at the villa and goes on to the apartment with Jason. I find the children indoors, playing an old board game of Toby’s, Frustration. Rachel’s sitting up on the back of the couch. Toby’s draped across it. And Shane is surreptitiously picking his nose.

‘Hi there,’ I call.

They all look up. The boys say, ‘Hi.’ Shane asks where his mum is.

‘Just gone up to the apartment to let Jase have his nap.’ Rehearsed excuse, and partly true.

‘’K.’

‘Would anyone like a drink?’ I ask.

I’ve two takers – the boys. I quickly sort them out.

‘Where’s your dad?’ I ask Toby when I hand him his blackcurrant juice.

‘Outside.’

‘Thanks.’

Greg’s on the terrace. Just sitting. Not reading and sitting, or doing a crossword and sitting, not jotting down notes and sitting. Just sitting. He seems miles away.

‘Hi!’ I kiss his cheek.

‘Oh, hi.’ His smile is low voltage.

‘You OK?’ I ask.

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘I got you a tonic on the way back from the airport. Grace was saying you’re feeling a bit drained.’

‘I’d have come to collect you, but I just didn’t have the energy.’

‘Not to worry.’ I pull up a chair beside him. ‘Miss me?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘That much?’ I joke.

When he smiles, it seems forced.

‘How did you all get on?’

‘Fine,’ says the man who never uses one word if fifty will do.

‘So, what did you get up to?’

He thinks for a moment, then abandons it. ‘Not much.’

‘Are you pissed off with me or something?’

He looks surprised. ‘No.’

‘Well, what’s wrong? You’re very quiet.’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m fine.’

I try a few openers, including how the ‘brainstorm’ went. He barely blinks. The only time he shows any interest is when I tell him that Grace is unhappy with Kevin. He’s sympathetic to the point of appearing personally sad about it. I take out the tonic and suggest two spoonfuls as a kick-start.

Later, when everyone’s asleep, I slip into his bedroom. And bed. In all the weeks we’ve been together, this is the first time I’ve
initiated
sex. He does get into it, eventually, but his enthusiasm doesn’t see him through. He can’t maintain an erection. This has never happened before. I don’t know what to say, or even if I should say anything. He doesn’t want to talk about it, just turns from me, saying he’s tired. I should have just accepted the fact that he was exhausted and left it at that. I wait until he’s asleep to leave.

The children have not commented on the fact that I’m still staying at the villa, perhaps because they’ve become used to me being around – as long as I stay in the guest room. And perhaps they, too, are nervous that their dad might revert to old ways.

In any case, there’s no room at the apartment for me now. Which is fine. The villa’s a very different place – with air conditioning, without Hilary, and with Greg back to normal. The office has changed, too. Gone are the chaos and noise. I work alone in the mornings while Greg sleeps. Grace insists on minding the children, with Rachel a willing and able helper.

One morning, I’m busy working on the supermarket job, which, to my humiliation, I’m now doing in conjunction with Sebastian, when Greg appears. He’s getting later and later. It’s practically lunchtime. I smile hello and watch him settle at his
computer
. His edits are finished and he’s attempting a new novel.

At first, I don’t notice that he’s having problems. It’s the silence that draws my attention. There’s none of the usual frantic keyboard tapping I associate with Greg. There’s no sound at all. He’s sitting, staring at the screen, fingers ready but not moving. I pretend not to notice and carry on with my work. But then he slams a fist on the desk.

‘Just one clear thought, is that too much to ask?’ He leaves before I can react.

After half an hour, I go looking for him. I find him lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. I don’t go in. Just close the door. He needs peace, a quiet place to think about Cooper and plots and pace and all those things writers have to get right. I wonder what it must be like to be expected to come up with something fresh and creative and not be able to. What am I talking about? I do know. I’m going through it. And I appreciate that you just have to keep pushing through to the other side. Then again, a design isn’t a whole nove
l. M
aybe that’s what’s stopping him, the magnitude of what’s ahead. Knowing there’s nothing I can do to help, I return to my own work.

Over the next few days, Greg spends less and less time in his office and more and more time lying down. When he’s up, he mopes in a chair, doing nothing, nothing at all. Except smoke.