Free The Accidental Life of Greg Millar by Aimee Alexander Page A

he’s watching. Rachel gets up.
    ‘Going up already, Rache?’ Greg asks.
    ‘I’m tired,’ she says, looking directly at me.
    Greg doesn’t see it. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Say goodnight to Lucy.’
    ‘’Night, Lucy,’ says Toby.
    ‘’Night, Toby.’ I smile at him.
    ‘Rachel?’ Greg prompts.
    She looks at me, eyes dark, then turns to go.
    ‘Rachel,’ says her father in a warning tone.
    ‘It doesn’t matter, Greg,’ I say, not wanting him to make a big deal of it. I smile at her. She glares back.
    ‘Rachel doesn’t like Lucy,’ offers Toby, matter-of-factly.
    I blush.
    ‘She doesn’t want her to be on holidays with us. She doesn’t want her to be in our family. She hates her, ackshilly.’
    For the second time in one day, I want to disappear.
    ‘Enough, Toby,’ says Greg. ‘Rachel, I told you to say goodnight to Lucy; now say it.’
    I don’t want him to force her. ‘Greg, please, it doesn’t matter. Really.’
    ‘Goodnight,’ she says, as if the word means ‘I hate you’. She races to the stairs and thunders up. Hilary follows, looking calm and unruffled.
    ‘You can’t force her to like me, Greg,’ I say quietly.
    ‘No, but I do expect manners.’
    ‘I have manners,’ says Toby.
    ‘And a big mouth,’ retorts his father, picking him up and turning him over so that his bare feet are against Greg’s face. ‘Bristle attack,’ he says, grabbing his feet and rubbing them against his evening stubble. Toby screams. And they both laugh.
    I have never felt like such an outsider.

    Hilary comes back downstairs. Though she returns my smile, it’s without any great warmth.
    ‘Is she all right?’ Greg asks her.
    ‘She’s a bit upset. The change, an’ all,’ she says, lifting Toby from Greg’s lap. ‘Maybe you could have a word with her when you go up. Come on, squirt,’ she says to the boy who is to become my stepson, a transition that seems monumental.
    ‘Do I have to?’
    ‘Yes. You have to.’
    Off they go, Toby twisting her hair in his fingers.
    Greg winks at me. ‘Let’s go for a beer on the terrace.’
    That’s where we are when Hilary returns with Toby, squeaky clean and dressed for bed. Hilary kisses the top of his head and says goodnight to him, then to us.
    ‘My God,’ Greg exclaims. ‘It’s a mass exodus tonight.’
    ‘Tired,’ she says.
    Greg takes Toby upstairs for a story. Watching them all disappear, the enormity of what I’m taking on finally hits. I’m marrying one man, two children and a nanny. Theoretical children are so much easier than real ones who come with personalities, opinions, objections. Can Rachel really hate me? Already? She doesn’t even know me. Then again, that’s the problem. Rachel doesn’t know that I’m on her side, that I want what’s best for her, that I want the two of us to get on. If only I could make her se e th at. Not that she’d listen to me. She probably wouldn’t listen to Greg either; he’s the one who brought me here. She’d listen to Hilary, though. It’s so obvious that Rachel loves her. But would Hila ry help?

    ‘Let’s go,’ I say, when Greg arrives back.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘To the apartment.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘So we can be alone for a while.’
    ‘We’re alone now.’
    ‘I know, but really alone. Just the two of us.’
    He looks hurt. ‘This is home. The apartment is for appearances, for you to sleep in, that’s all.’
    I have to get out of the villa. I go to him, kiss him softly on the mouth and whisper, ‘It could be for other things, too.’
    He smiles. ‘I know somewhere closer.’ He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. ‘See? Much quicker.’ He beams, tugging at my clothes.
    I tell myself that it doesn’t matter that we’re in the villa. In here, we’re alone. I close my eyes and try to think of nothing but what’s happening in this room. It’s getting easier and easier, but then the bed begins to groan with a telling rhythm. And I tense.
    ‘Greg, stop,’ I whisper.
    ‘What?’