The Accidental Life of Greg Millar by Aimee Alexander Page B

otter and darting towards the villa.
    Hilary calls, ‘Toby. Walk. Don’t run.’ He looks at her and slows to a walk. ‘Good man.’
    He comes racing back out with a thumb in the air. When he reaches me he asks, ‘Can we do it now?’
    I smile. ‘Sure.’
    ‘Hey, Rach-el. I’m going to learn to dive before you.’
    Oh, dear.
    ‘I can dive already.’
    ‘Nah. You’re crap.’
    ‘Ah, ah’ is out before I can stop it.
    He looks at me and stops.
    I feel like laughing; I’ve disciplined by accident. And the world is still spinning.

    I teach Toby to dive from a sitting position first. He does as I say, no fear, head down, arms straight, and fingertips pointing at the pool. I wait in the water and catch him every time he surfaces.
    ‘You’re brilliant!’ I exclaim in admiration.
    He beams.
    Soon, he’s diving standing up. I’m stunned by his progress.
    He’s so proud of himself. He can dive. But, more importantly, his sister can’t. Not really. Not as well. I recognise that feeling. I experienced i t the first time my father realised I could draw.
    The children grow hungry and Hilary takes them inside. Still waiting for Greg, I swim a few lengths before coming out. As I cut through the water, I wonder if the best way forward is to concentrate on Toby. Maybe, then, Rachel will see that I’m actually an O K person.
    After another half-hour, I give up waiting. I shower by the pool, dress and go looking for Greg.
    In the living room, Hilary’s on one of the couches with Toby, rubbing sunscreen onto his legs.
    ‘That was fun,’ I call to him.
    ‘Oh, Jesus,’ says Hilary. A worm of white sunscreen shoots from the tube she’s holding and lands on the couch. ‘You gave me a fright.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I’ll get a cloth.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says. ‘Greg won’t mind.’
    I rub at it with my towel anyway. ‘Did you enjoy that, Toby?’
    ‘ Yeah ! ’
    ‘Yes, thank you,’ corrects Hilary.
    ‘Yes, thank you.’
    I smile.
    ‘Guess what? Hil’s bringing us to Aqua-Splash after lunch.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘This cool place with lots of pools and slides and stuff. Wanna come?’
    Greg and I had planned to get that rent-a-car. But it can wait.
    ‘Lucy has work to do, Toby,’ says Hilary.
    ‘Actually, I’m not that busy today. I’d like to go with you, if it’s not a hassle for you.’
    She colours. Quietly, she says, ‘It’s just that I’m not sure Rachel is ready for you to come on trips with us yet.’
    ‘Of course.’ I tussle Toby’s hair. ‘Another time, Toby, OK?’
    ‘OK.’
    I find Greg in the office, on the computer.
    ‘What happened to you?’ I ask.
    ‘What?’
    ‘We were supposed to be going for a swim.’
    ‘God, sorry. I got distracted by the phone call, then had some ideas for the book.’
    ‘No worries.’ I’ve made progress with Toby. And it feels amazing .
     

12.
    T alking to Toby is proving a bigger challenge than I thought. Hilary is always there, and always joins in. Because she knows him so well, the conversation takes off without me. She knows how to interest him, how to make him laugh. By the time the conversation ends, usually with Hilary taking him off somewhere, I’m on the perimeter again. As for getting to know Rachel? She exits rooms whenever I enter.
    It’s hard to imagine ever becoming stepmother to children who already have a mother in Hilary. She makes the meals, cuts up Toby’s food, is naturally physical with them. She hugs and touches them in such a casual, easy way. She carries Toby when he’s tired. They snuggle into her when watching DVDs. They run to her when hurt. Hilary can call Toby ‘runt’ or Rachel ‘idiot’ and make it sound loving. I can only imagine what would happen if I used those terms with them.
    In desperation, I hit on an idea and suggest to Greg that we take the children off for the day, just the two of us.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘In France, Hilary usually comes everywhere with us.’ He’s