Read Online The Accidental Life of Greg Millar by Aimee Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aimee Alexander
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want us to come out?’ asks Hilary.
‘No, Hilary, we’re coming in.’
I look at Greg. My bikini’s packed at the bottom of my case. I’m visualising it when he grabs my hand and jumps, taking me with him.
‘Whee!’ he calls.
The sudden drop in temperature adds to the shock. I find myself underwater, face up, legs higher than the rest of me. His hand is gone. I can’t see him. I turn over in the water then kick and swim to the surface, breaking through into dazzling light, gasping for air and coughing. I make it to the side of the pool, where I cling, head down, trying to restore normal breathing. At last, I look up. He’s already out of the pool, shaking himself like a dog. I open my mouth to say ‘You big eejit,’ but close it again, remembering the children. Then I hear them. Laughing. I turn around. Clearly, I’m the entertainment. I smile to show I’m a good sport then press my palms on the hot slabs lining the pool and push myself up and out.
Greg comes to me with a towel.
‘That’s mine,’ says Rachel, who has stopped laughing.
‘It’s an emergency,’ says Greg, handing it to me.
‘It’s mine! I don’t want her to have it.’
Mortified, I hand it back to him.
‘I’ll get you another,’ he says, disappearing into the villa.
I stand alone, feeling conspicuous, stupid and wet.
‘Your legs are bleeding,’ Toby calls.
I look down. The dye from my red leather sandals is running in little streams down my feet. It looks like a scene from the Old Testament . I want to disappear, vanish. I make for the villa, dripping red.
‘Here you go,’ Greg says when I get inside. He wraps a large white towel around me.
I stare at him. ‘Why did you do that, Greg?’
He stops, as if considering that for the first time. ‘I don’t kno w. Fun?’
‘I’m trying so hard to make an impression with Rachel and To by . . .’
‘But they thought it was hilarious.’
‘No, Greg. They thought I was hilarious. I want them to like me, not think I’m a joke. I felt like such a fool out there.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘How can they respect me if you don’t?’
He looks hurt. ‘I do.’
‘Well, that’s not how it seemed. It was such a stupid thing t o do.’
‘I’m sorry, Luce. I was just trying to break the ice. Everyone’s so nervous. But you’re right, it was stupid. I’m sorry.’
We drive in silence to the apartment.
It’s in a small, upmarket block. On the second floor, Greg opens the door, then hands me one of two keys. My first impression is of a bright, airy space. Very modern, with clean lines and white walls. Most importantly, it’s air conditioned.
‘Where’s the shower?’ is all I say.
It’s a relief to be alone, warm water pounding down on me. I close my ey es and breathe deeply. I wash my hair and start to calm down. Red dye swirls down the plughole, taking my anger with it.
Finally, I reach for a white towelling bathrobe. It still has its sales tag on. That he has thought to go out and buy this for me reminds me of what’s important – Greg’s a good guy who meant well. Normally, I love his childlike approach to life. Normally, it’s refreshing. Maybe if I hadn’t been so tense, so eager to make a good impression on his children . . . I don’t know. I wrap my hair in a towel and go in search of him.
He’s sitting on the bed, looking guilty.
And suddenly I wish it was just the two of us – no children, no complications, no one to impress or win over. I shake free my hair from the towel and the thoughts from my head. I sit beside him, wrap my arms around him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have given it more thought.’
‘Forget it.’ I smile when I say, ‘It cooled me down.’
He kisses me then gets up. ‘Come see the view from the balcony .’
Outside, the air is hot and dry and carries the fragrance of . . . I’m not sure, herbs? The cicadas sound as if they’re in overdrive. Off in the distance, a glittering
‘No, Hilary, we’re coming in.’
I look at Greg. My bikini’s packed at the bottom of my case. I’m visualising it when he grabs my hand and jumps, taking me with him.
‘Whee!’ he calls.
The sudden drop in temperature adds to the shock. I find myself underwater, face up, legs higher than the rest of me. His hand is gone. I can’t see him. I turn over in the water then kick and swim to the surface, breaking through into dazzling light, gasping for air and coughing. I make it to the side of the pool, where I cling, head down, trying to restore normal breathing. At last, I look up. He’s already out of the pool, shaking himself like a dog. I open my mouth to say ‘You big eejit,’ but close it again, remembering the children. Then I hear them. Laughing. I turn around. Clearly, I’m the entertainment. I smile to show I’m a good sport then press my palms on the hot slabs lining the pool and push myself up and out.
Greg comes to me with a towel.
‘That’s mine,’ says Rachel, who has stopped laughing.
‘It’s an emergency,’ says Greg, handing it to me.
‘It’s mine! I don’t want her to have it.’
Mortified, I hand it back to him.
‘I’ll get you another,’ he says, disappearing into the villa.
I stand alone, feeling conspicuous, stupid and wet.
‘Your legs are bleeding,’ Toby calls.
I look down. The dye from my red leather sandals is running in little streams down my feet. It looks like a scene from the Old Testament . I want to disappear, vanish. I make for the villa, dripping red.
‘Here you go,’ Greg says when I get inside. He wraps a large white towel around me.
I stare at him. ‘Why did you do that, Greg?’
He stops, as if considering that for the first time. ‘I don’t kno w. Fun?’
‘I’m trying so hard to make an impression with Rachel and To by . . .’
‘But they thought it was hilarious.’
‘No, Greg. They thought I was hilarious. I want them to like me, not think I’m a joke. I felt like such a fool out there.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘How can they respect me if you don’t?’
He looks hurt. ‘I do.’
‘Well, that’s not how it seemed. It was such a stupid thing t o do.’
‘I’m sorry, Luce. I was just trying to break the ice. Everyone’s so nervous. But you’re right, it was stupid. I’m sorry.’
We drive in silence to the apartment.
It’s in a small, upmarket block. On the second floor, Greg opens the door, then hands me one of two keys. My first impression is of a bright, airy space. Very modern, with clean lines and white walls. Most importantly, it’s air conditioned.
‘Where’s the shower?’ is all I say.
It’s a relief to be alone, warm water pounding down on me. I close my ey es and breathe deeply. I wash my hair and start to calm down. Red dye swirls down the plughole, taking my anger with it.
Finally, I reach for a white towelling bathrobe. It still has its sales tag on. That he has thought to go out and buy this for me reminds me of what’s important – Greg’s a good guy who meant well. Normally, I love his childlike approach to life. Normally, it’s refreshing. Maybe if I hadn’t been so tense, so eager to make a good impression on his children . . . I don’t know. I wrap my hair in a towel and go in search of him.
He’s sitting on the bed, looking guilty.
And suddenly I wish it was just the two of us – no children, no complications, no one to impress or win over. I shake free my hair from the towel and the thoughts from my head. I sit beside him, wrap my arms around him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have given it more thought.’
‘Forget it.’ I smile when I say, ‘It cooled me down.’
He kisses me then gets up. ‘Come see the view from the balcony .’
Outside, the air is hot and dry and carries the fragrance of . . . I’m not sure, herbs? The cicadas sound as if they’re in overdrive. Off in the distance, a glittering
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