Free The Accidental Life of Greg Millar by Aimee Alexander

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 whe re 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 wond er if Catherine designed it, or whether she and Greg did it together, or i f 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 obvi ous 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