The Accidental Life of Greg Millar (5 page)

I sit up. Beam at him. ‘Yes, yes, he did.’
Good man, Dad
.

‘Is
that
him?’ asks my mother. ‘His books are filthy. He’s divorced. Or separated or something. Oh, Lucy.’

‘His wife died, Mum. Hardly his fault.’

‘Yes, well, just be careful. Men like that are complicated . . .’

‘OK, look, I’m going.’ I stand, trying to stay calm, keeping my voice upbeat. ‘Thanks for the tea, Mum.’ I kiss her cheek, grab m
y bag.

‘There’s no need to go . . .’ she starts to say.

‘I’m late, Mum.’ My standard excuse.

Dad follows me into the hall. ‘She didn’t mean it, love. She’s just worried about you.’

I say nothing.

‘She means well, Lucy.’

‘Sure.’

‘It’s like the apple tart.’

‘
What?
’

‘Did you see how I got that cross look of hers when I loaded on the cream?’

‘You noticed?’

‘Of course I noticed. Anyway, why do you think she made the tart, if she didn’t want me to have any?’

‘Beats me.’

‘She thinks that by fussing she shows that she cares.’

‘Oh, come on, Dad.’ This is what happens when your father retires early to take up psychology.

‘And d’you know why she’s like that?’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘Her mother was the opposite – airy-fairy, never around, no discipline whatsoever, let them run wild. That’s why Mum has always come down hard on you. Both of you. She thinks that’s what good mothers do. Trust me, Lucy. She only wants what’s best . . .’

‘That’s the problem. Nothing else is good enough. Nothing ever will be. I knew she’d have a problem with Greg. She had to. I don’t know why I came.’

‘She’s just a worrier, Lucy. Wait till I go back in there. She’ll be all upset. Guarantee you.’

I sigh.

‘How’s the work going?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good. Look, the main thing is that you’re happy. And you are, aren’t you?’

‘For the first time . . . in a long time.’

He smiles. ‘That
is
good news. Listen, when it comes to your mother, let it all wash over you. Like I do.’

5.

I
t’s our second month anniversary. Not that I’ve told him. I just asked him over. I’m cooking vegetarian curry. Curry, because it’s Greg’s favourite. Vegetarian, because I am one. I’ve gone all out, frying each of the spices from scratch. I’m way behind and hassled when he arrives. I haven’t even changed. He kisses me, lands a bottle of Bollinger down on the counter.

‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ he jokes.

I laugh. ‘Happy anniversary, cupcakes.’ I kiss him and turn back to the cooker.

‘Isn’t the
guy
supposed to call the
girl
cupcakes?’

I wink. ‘I live dangerously.’

‘Want to read the acknowledgements for
A
River Too Wide
?’ He pulls them from the back pocket of his jeans and hands them to me.

‘Oh, great!’ I put them aside. ‘Let me just get this under con
trol first.’

‘Here, I’ll do that.’ He takes the wooden spoon from me and starts to stir the sauce. ‘There’s another page when you’re finished with that,’ he says.

‘OK.’

‘You know what? Just skip to the second page.’

‘Why?’

He winks. ‘Humour me, Luce.’

There’s something about the way he says it. I hold my breath as I turn the page. Could one of my favourite authors of all time have dedicated a book to me?

On the page are three words. Marry me, Lucy.

I freeze.

He turns and presses into my hand a small, navy velvet box. I
kee
p my eyes fixed on the box – so I don’t have to meet his.

‘Open it,’ he says softly.

I’m stuck. If I do as he asks, he’ll assume it’s a yes. If I don’t, I’ll have to tell him it’s a no. He’s waiting. I have to do something. So I lift the tiny, resistant lid. Inside is a solitaire in the shape of a
triangle
. So simple. So special. It couldn’t be more perfect. That he went out on his own and selected this for me and got it so instinctively right breaks my heart, considering what I’m about to do. I
lo
ok up at him. I don’t want to hurt him. I love him,
I reali
se.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘Nothing,’ I croak.

Silence. I can smell the curry starting to burn.

‘You don’t want to,’ he says quietly.

I look down at the ring to avoid answering, but watch in horror as a tear falls, landing splat on the diamond. I worry that the shop won’t take it back.

‘You don’t love me.’

I look into his eyes. ‘I do, Greg. I do love you. But I can’t marry you.’ It’s what I planned with Brendan. It would be like slotting someone else into his place. And I can’t do that. Not now. Maybe not ever. ‘Marriage is such a big step.’

He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. ‘It’s Brendan, isn’t it?’

I nod. ‘I’m sorry.’ I close the box, place it on the counter and push it towards him, hating myself for hurting him. That I’m crying doesn’t make it any better. He takes my hands in his, kisses my forehead then pulls me into a hug.

‘It’s OK,’ he says, rubbing my back. Then, with a ‘Shit, the
dinner
,’ he lets me go, turns, lifts the pan and carries it to the sink. He opens the window and wafts the air. At last, he turns back to me and smiles. ‘So much for that.’

A wave of love swells inside me. ‘Greg. I’m sorry.’

He shakes his head. ‘No worries.’ He looks down, shoving his hands into his pockets, leaning against the sink. ‘I was wrong to ask so soon.’ He looks up. ‘I just wanted you to know how committed I am to you.’

I go to him and wrap my arms around his waist. ‘And I’m committed to you. But we don’t need grand gestures . . .’

‘It wasn’t a gesture. And it’s not a whim. I’ve thought this through. It would make so much sense. As it is, I live two separate lives – you and my family. I don’t want you to feel separate.’

‘I don’t want to either. I’d like to meet Rachel and Toby. I’d like to share the rest of your life. Just not as your wife.’

He nods. ‘You’re right. I have to stop rushing things for fear they’ll end.’

I press myself into his chest. ‘This won’t end.’ But I, of all
people
, know that it can, in an instant.

He pulls back. ‘Let’s pretend I never asked. OK? Let’s forget the whole thing.’

I try to think of ways I might have said no without hurting him.

He reaches for a roll of kitchen paper. ‘Here,’ he says, ripping a sheet off and putting it to my nose. ‘Blow.’

I half laugh.

‘Come on. Blow.’

I do.

He squeezes it over my nose. ‘You love me. That’s a start.’

I spend the night awake. Saying yes would have been wrong. But saying no feels equally so. I’ll never forget his face. Ever.

First thing next morning, I make my way to Fint’s office, bleary-eyed. He’s at his desk, juggling, something he does when trying to come up with ideas. I turn to leave.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks, letting the balls flop, one by one, into his hands.

‘You’re busy.’

‘Nah, nothing coming.’ He returns the colourful juggling balls to their shiny metal box. ‘So, how are things?’

‘I’ll just close the door.’

He raises an eyebrow.

With the world shut out, I slump into the chair opposite him, reach forward and help myself to one of his juggling balls. I drop it from hand to hand.

‘Well?’

I look up. Everything has shifted. Normally, Fint seeks my advice on his (complicated) relationships and I try to avoid his interference in mine. ‘Greg’s asked me to marry him.’

He eyes me carefully. ‘You don’t seem too happy.’

I shrug. ‘I can’t do it to Brendan.’

He gets up and comes around. Taking the ball from me, he sits on the desk. ‘Brendan’s dead, Lucy.’

‘But he’s not gone! He sees everything I do. I know he does; I
fee
l it. I can’t just marry someone else. I can’t do it to him.’

He eyeballs me. ‘So say no.’

‘I did.’

‘Well, then. What’s the problem?’

‘I love him.’

‘That
is
allowed, Lucy.’

I sigh deeply. ‘I
do
want to be with him. I want to be part of his life. I want to wake up to his face every morning. I mean, what if something happens to him and we never— ’

‘Hang on. Whoa. Slow down. Nothing’s going to happen to Greg.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because lightning doesn’t strike twice.’

‘Not true. A park ranger was struck by lightning seven times in the States. It’s in the
Guinness Book of World Records
.’

He smiles. ‘Remind me to include you in the next pub quiz.’

‘I’m serious, Fint. If Brendan and I knew what little time we had, we wouldn’t have hung around for all the practical things to be in place – apartment, furniture, whatever. We’d have married straight away. We’d have had a child. And I’d have a part of him to hold to me now. I don’t want that to happen again . . .’

‘Lucy, it won’t.’

‘I couldn’t bear it. He makes me so happy. I love him so much.’ I’m a mess.

‘Come here.’ He gives me a Fintan Special – a great big bear hug. And lets me cry. When I’ve moved to the intermittent sobbing stage, he pulls back. ‘OK. Here’s what Uncle Fint thinks. One: You love Greg. Two: I don’t blame you; he’s a great guy. Three: You’re lucky to get another chance. And four: You should enjoy it. That’s it.’

‘And Brendan?’

‘You know how close I was to Brendan. I miss him, too. And I miss him for you. I miss you being together. But do you
think
, for one
second
, he’d want you to be miserable for the rest of your life because of him? Really, do you? Because you know the way he loved you. And he wouldn’t want that. He’d want this – happiness, a future. I know he would. I feel it, Lucy.’

I want to believe him. So badly.

‘When you met Greg, you were in pretty shitty form, weren’t you?’

I remember back. ‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why. It was Brendan’s birthday.’

‘Well, have you ever thought that Greg might have been
Brendan’s
present to you?’

I squint at him. ‘Come on.’

‘Were you supposed to be at that meeting with Orla?’

‘No.’ One of our designers, Jake, had rung in sick.

‘And what a coincidence, you and Greg meeting like that – in traffic, on your way to the same place.’

‘Life is full of coincidences.’

‘Why did you even talk to him in the first place?’

‘You know why. He was driving like a maniac.’

‘Which upset you because of Brendan. So, really, it was fate, something set in motion in another world.’

‘You don’t believe that. You, of all people.’ The world’s greatest cynic.

‘So, how did I think of it, then?’

I can’t work. I leave the office and walk. Before long, I find myself lighting candle after candle in the Pepper Canister church. I try to talk to Brendan, but find I’m talking to myself. Not even the tiniest flicker of a candle flame in response. Nothing. I leave the church, and walk back to my car. Half an hour later, I pull up outside my sister’s house. If I’m not going to hear a spiritual voice, at least I’ll get a sensible one.