The Accidental Life of Greg Millar (33 page)

When Greg finally feels up to greeting the outside world, he recharges his iPhone and switches it on. It’s a big step. Which is ruined by Hilary. Within hours, she calls. The first I learn of it i
s w
hen Greg comes to my bedroom, all colour gone from his face.

‘Did Hilary call here?’

I put down the book I’ve been reading, knowing instinctively that this is it. The Hilary showdown has arrived, I fear, before he’s ready. ‘Yes.’

‘What did she say?’

One thing I’ve learned is that when you’re dealing with
Hilary
,
it’s wise to be straight. ‘That you sacked her because you and sh
e . . 
.’
I finish the sentence with my eyes.

‘Shit. Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I was waiting till you were ready, Greg.’

‘Jesus.’ He runs his hand over his mouth. ‘What, exactly, did she say?’

‘That you came on to
her
, not the other way round.’

‘Not true.’

‘She said that it didn’t matter, either way, because the end result was the same – you fucked her, then fired her because you couldn’t admit to what you’d done.’

‘Christ,’ he whispers.

‘What happened that night, Greg? I need to know.’

He nods. ‘When you left the villa, Hilary came downstairs. She started the same thing about me needing to see a doctor. I didn’t want to hear it, not twice in one night, not when I knew there was something in it. But she kept going. Then she started on about you not understanding me like she did, not seeing that anything was wrong. She said I was making a mistake with you. And then, well, basically, she . . . started to get physical. I’m going to be
honest
with you, Lucy. I was tempted – not because it was Hilary, but because I was high as a kite. I’d have jumped on a goat. But I didn’t. I swear.
I left
. Drove. Tried to sort my disorganised, wired-to-the-moon mind into logical thought. I decided she had to go. It was the only way. To keep her on, knowing how she felt, would have been dishonest. To everyone.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me the next day when I asked what
happened
?’

‘You know the way I was. Everything was spinning out of control. I couldn’t organise my thoughts. I couldn’t trust myself to tell you and not botch it. Lucy, I love you. I’d never consciously do anything to hurt you.’ His eyes are so sad when he says, ‘But, somehow, I always seem to manage it.’

‘But why does she keep ringing?’

He sighs. ‘I was hoping to protect you from this.’

I give him a look that says, ‘Enough protecting.’

‘OK. When the calls started, she was looking for her job back, saying she’d made a mistake. I felt a bit sorry for her, then. I didn’t know how she’d been with you. I knew she missed the kids. But I couldn’t risk her coming back. I tried to explain that she needed a life apart from us. She wouldn’t listen. Then she changed her attitude completely. Started to threaten me. She said if I didn’t take her back, she’d sue me for sexual harassment.’

‘What? Oh my God!’

‘I hoped she was bluffing. Waited for the solicitor’s letter, but none ever came. Then one day she rang to ask if I’d enjoyed the visit from Ben and Ruth. I felt the pressure building. I was dealing with a loose cannon. She seemed intent on causing trouble. I sometimes wonder if the pressure of all that sent me into the depression.’

‘I can’t
believe
the sexual harassment thing.’

‘It would’ve ruined everything – our relationship, my reputation, career. God knows how I’d have kept it from Rachel.’

‘Why d’you think she didn’t go through with it?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe she got legal advice. Maybe it would have cost too much. Or maybe it was just a threat she never intended to carry out. I don’t know.’

‘What did she say, just now?’

‘That she hoped you’d got over the news OK.’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t understand how she thinks that this kind of behaviour will get her job back.’

‘It’s gone beyond that, Lucy. She knows there’s no hope of that now. It’s gone to another level. She wants to cause as much damage as she can.’ He sits on the bed and reaches for my hand. ‘Thank God, you didn’t believe her. Thank God, you had faith in us.’

I can’t look at him.

‘Lucy?’

I meet his eyes.

‘You do still love me?’

I nod.

‘If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll understand. I’ve put you through so much. And who knows what’s ahead? If you want to leave, then maybe now would be a good time.’ He’s looking at me as if he knows everything that has been going on in my mind.

‘I’m not leaving.’

‘Think about it. Your life would be easier, freer, less complicated. You could start again with someone else – someone who doesn’t have . . . this.’

‘I don’t want anyone else.’

‘We’re not married; we’re not tied to each other. Don’t feel guilty if you want to go. Just do it. Please. I don’t want to live with a martyr.’

I leave my spot on the bed, crawl to where he’s sitting and put my arms around him. ‘I love you, Greg. I’m going nowhere.’

We hold each other for a long time until one thing leads, happily, to another.

I fall asleep with his arm around me.

In the morning, when Greg is returning to his room before the children wake, he speaks decisively.

‘It’s time to put a stop to Hilary. We need to talk to her as a
couple
– present a united front. The reason she’s got away with this for so long is that we haven’t been united. We are now. And we need to tell her nothing she does will break us. She’ll give up; she’ll ha
ve to.’

I look doubtful.

‘We have to end this, Lucy. Once and for all.’

Hilary calls at the house the following morning. She’s made an effort with her clothes, wearing a clean, white shirt and a long, navy skirt. She has also washed her hair.

‘You never said
she’d
be here,’ she says as Greg shows her into the sitting room.

‘Hilary, why don’t you sit down?’ says Greg, taking control.

She does.

We all do.

‘Hilary,’ he says. ‘The reason we’re both here is to show you that we’re still very much a couple. Whatever you do to try to spoil that only brings us closer. I’m sorry if you ever got the impression that your job was more than a job. That was partly my fault. I made a mistake a long time ago, and I’m very sorry about that. You were a great nanny. The best. But you stepped over the line. I love Lucy. And that’s that. It’s time you moved on now, built your own life, around yourself.’

‘End of lecture?’

Greg raises an eyebrow.

‘I’ve invested years of my life in this family,’ she says. ‘I won’t be discarded like a used cloth. I love Rachel and Toby. You can’t keep me from them. And, let’s not forget, you were the one who stepped over the line back then, not me.’

‘Hilary. You’ve done nothing but lie. You tried to turn Lucy against me, the children against Lucy, Ben and Ruth against us. We can’t trust you.’

‘You can, you can. I’m sorry about that. It was a mistake.
I wa
s afraid.’ She’s leaning forward, clutching her mini rucksack. Her
fingernails
have been bitten so low, the fleshy parts of her fingers are peeping over the top.

‘Hilary,’ says Greg, ‘it’s time to move on, start your own life, separate from us.’

‘Don’t sit there so smugly and tell me what I need. How do
you
know what I need? Who are you to decide? Who are you to take the children from me? You can’t just dismiss me with the snap of your fingers after all I’ve done for you. I’m a person. I have feelings. You can’t treat me like this.’ She breaks down.

I remind myself of what she’s done, how she’s created this situation for herself.

She wipes her tears impatiently, stands suddenly. ‘This isn’t over. I’ll find a way. I won’t give up. I’ll bide my time. Do it right. You’ll see.’ She storms from the house.

My heart’s hammering. ‘Oh, Greg! This was a mistake. It was like two against one. Maybe you should have met her alone.’

‘No. She had to see that we’re a couple. She had to see that we won’t be bullied.’

‘But we’ve only made her madder than ever. She wants revenge. I feel she’s going to do something, I really do.’

‘Don’t worry.’ He puts an arm round me. ‘It’ll be fine.’

I wish I could believe him.

34.

W
eeks pass with no word from Hilary. We begin to breathe again. Maybe Greg was right. All she needed was to see that we’re together, properly together. As Christmas approaches, she starts to fade from my mind. Toby’s questions begin as soon as the decorations make their first shimmer in the shops. Are Santa’s elves slaves? Is he
covered
in soot when he gets back to the North Pole? Has he only one suit?

As soon as Toby sees cars going by with trees strapped to their roofs, the requests begin for ours. Before long, we are inhaling pine, listening to Frank Sinatra and imagining chestnuts roasting on open fires. I still prefer ‘The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head . . . The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay,’ which is being sung over and over by Toby as rehearsals continue for the school play.

Rachel makes a crib out of three black cardboard sheets stuck together into a triangle, the Get Smart logo turned in. You can tell, by the care she takes, that this isn’t just a crib, but a home for Mary and Jesus. It’s their first year without Joseph, who met an untimely death last Christmas when he fell and his head rolled under the fridge. Mary stands guard behind Jesus. The Three Wise Men and shepherds line up on the right-hand side of the crib, the animals on the left. Nice, orderly crib. And still I wait for her to turn to me and ask where I’ll be spending Christmas. Greg seems to assume that we’ll be together. But it’s such a traditional time and I don’t want to upset anyone. And so, one night, I ask him.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘Of course.’

‘But Rachel . . . ?’

‘Has already asked if you can spend Christmas with us.’

‘Really?’ I touch my heart. My eyes fill. It is the best gift I co
uld get.

Greg and I shop together when the children are at school. That they both want surprises forces me to really think about their personalities. Walking around the shops, I realise that I have started to know them. It no longer seems impossible that one day we might become a family.

The Christmas plays signal the final run-in. Toby’s is first. He is Rudolph. The spotlight is on his nose when he picks it, demonstrating that even legends can have bad habits. To prove the point, he removes his cardboard antlers and begins to chew them. When we go up to the stage to collect him, we overhear him say to another reindeer, probably Donner or Blitzen, ‘I’m so proud of myself. Are
you
proud of
yoursel
f
?’ One thing’s for sure. I’m proud of him.

Rachel, for her performance, swaps with someone, to become one of the Three Wise Kings. Angels are so boring. She makes a very beautiful, very wise king. My claps might be loudest.

It’s customary, on Christmas Eve, for Ben and Ruth to break with tradition and come to the house with their gifts. It’s a simple enough evening. Their focus is on the children. They sit, a little less straight-backed than usual, sipping politely on sherry, commenting on the decorations and weather. They leave before nine.

On Christmas morning, Greg slides an arm around me as we watch the children rip open their surprises. And while they’re busy with their newly discovered treasures, we slip into the kitchen to exchange gifts. I found it hard to choose for him – everything has been so delicate between us – but, in the end, I settled for a giant telescope so he could look to the stars.

‘Excellent. I’ve always wanted to spy on the neighbours.’

The oil painting he gives me means so much. Not just because it is beautiful and by one of my favourite artists, but because, for the first time, I have an excuse to hang something of my own here. I have my own little space.

Turkey in the oven, we go to Christmas Mass, then on to my parents’. As requested, the children have made, rather than bought, their gifts: Toby, an apple tart for my dad and shortbread biscuits in the shape of angels for Mum. Rachel has sewn a pink gingham apron for Mum. For Dad, she has fashioned a kind of holder for his tools. Made from heavy fabric, it ties around his waist so that, when he’s working, everything is at hand. My parents are thrilled. Grace and Kevin arrive with the boys, and the tempo rises. I notice the lack of eye contact between my sister and her husband; independently, they focus on the children. Neither smiles at the other as if to say, ‘Aw, look at that.’ There isn’t one look, one word between them to reassure me. I want to wave a magic wand and make it right. More than anyone, Grace deserves happiness.

We arrive back to the smell of turkey, which has been roasting away all by itself. Within the hour, Rob and his mother arrive for Christmas dinner. I’ve had a few glasses of wine, which softens the edge of Phyllis. I ignore her comments, concentrating instead on how far we’ve all come in the last few months.

On St Stephen’s Day, I go horse racing at Leopardstown with Fint, a sacred tradition that can’t be broken. We put our money down, lose it all, eat steak sandwiches and warm our insides with port. I make an early New Year’s Resolution to spend more time with friends.

New Year’s Eve sees Greg and me return to the
restaurant of our
first date. I look across at him, as handsome as ever, but with eyes that seem more knowing and humble. So much has happened between us in so little time. There’s a temptation to say, ‘Let’s
forget
it all and start over.’ Neither of us does. We’ve seen each other raw, laid bare, and, hard though that’s been, to lose it would be a
mistake
. It’s part of who we are now.

Still, at midnight, we toast to a year that will be nothing like the last.

January sees Greg sitting down to write again. It’s like going back in time. He stares at the screen, stuck.

‘I can’t do this,’ he says, eventually. ‘It’s cotton wool in here,’ he adds, tapping his head. He looks at me. ‘How can I be creative with my thoughts reined in by lithium?’

I don’t have an answer. But I try. ‘Maybe if you just write something to get started. Anything. And just keep going till you reach the end,
then
worry about what you’ve written. Isn’t that what
Stephen
King says?’

‘Stephen King. The fucking expert. Bet
he’s
not on lithium.’

‘Well, coming off it isn’t an option, Greg.’

He pushes back his chair. ‘Why not? I’m fine. If I stop and get a bit high or low, I’ll just take it again.’ He’s looking at me as if it’s a great idea.

‘If it was that easy, they wouldn’t spend so much time warning you against it.’

‘They just say that to be on the safe side. I bet some people can control it, once it’s been tamed. I bet I can. I know I can.’

‘Greg, don’t risk it. Everything’s coming together for us now, finally. The only problem is the writing and . . .’

‘Writing’s my life. If I can’t write, I
will
get depressed.’

A point.

‘Have you any idea what it’s like to have to take pills every single day for the rest of your life?’

Another point.

‘Every time I reach for one, it reminds me that I’ve a mental illness.’

Make that three.

‘Lucy, if I come off, you can keep an eye on me, tell me if I’m heading up or down. I’ll go straight back on them, I promise.’

I’ve made another New Year’s Resolution: to move back to my apartment and return to work full-time. That won’t happen if Greg stops his lithium. I’ll have to hang around the house watching his every move. And so, because my motivations aren’t entirely pure, I feel guilty. Which weakens my resolve. Especially as he keeps on about it over the next few days.

But then I speak to Grace.

‘Lucy, this happens all the time. As soon as people feel well again, they think it’s OK to stop. It isn’t.’ She’s unpacking Shane’s lunch box.

‘But the lithium is making his head muzzy.’

She turns to me, Tupperware in one hand, bread crusts in the other. ‘No, it’s not. It might be slowing things down a bit, but it doesn’t cause muzziness. It’s probably the antidepressant.’ She throws the crusts in the bin, the Tupperware in the dishwasher, rubs her hands together and joins me at the table.

‘He’s convinced it’s the lithium,’ I say.

‘Well, unconvince him. You have to make him stay on it. It’s that simple.’ She sips the coffee I’ve made her.

‘He thinks he’s different from everyone else. He thinks he can control it, that he can take the lithium again if his moods start t
o change.’

‘And that’s exactly what has sunk so many people. The next “up” could be way up, the next “down”, further down – and harder to get out of. Greg needs to keep taking the lithium. And it’s up to you to convince him to.’

‘How, though?’

‘Remind him what he was like. Warn him you won’t go through it again. Tell him you’ll leave.’

‘Do I have to spend my entire life bullying him?’

‘If it means he’ll continue to take his lithium, yes. Look, no matter how sensible or rational or frustrated he gets, you can’t let him stop. Go see Professor Power. He’ll know a way around this. Maybe he’ll cut down the dose of the antidepressant.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Lucy, don’t make the mistake of forgetting how bad it got. Don’t forget what it was like coming down that mountain.’

I let out a long breath. ‘OK. I’ll try to get him to see Professor Power.’

‘Well, do. Otherwise he might just stop and not tell you.’

That convinces me. Now all I have to do is convince Greg. And I do. I take him back, make him relive his high from our point of view. Remembering it all, I get upset, distressed. When I say I can’t go through it again, I mean it.

We go to see Professor Power together, who reduces the dose of the antidepressant and explains that this is the beginning of weaning Greg off. He suggests waiting a week or two before trying to write again.

‘Why did you stay with me?’ Greg asks that evening, staring into the fire.

I sit on the arm of his chair. ‘Because I love you.’

‘But I treated you so badly.’

‘
You
didn’t. The illness did. I only told you how bad it got so you’d stay on the lithium. It’s over now. I just want it to stay tha
t way.’

‘I knew it was bad. I knew I hurt you. But . . .’

‘It wasn’t you.’

‘You didn’t know that.’

‘I loved you.’ It’s the truth. And I love him now. Does it
matter
that I had moments of doubt? It may be a different kind of love from the one we started out with, but it’s stronger. I feel it.