The Accidental Life of Greg Millar (23 page)

24.

F
int is wearing his favourite suit, his lucky tie. It’s pre-pitch fever, a bug I normally catch. When we run through the presentation and I can’t work up the necessary enthusiasm, Fint suggests that Sebastian presents the company blurb, while he pitches the
proposal
. Fine by me.

As soon as the potential client walks into our meeting room,
I g
et a bad feeling. The MD hasn’t bothered to turn up; it’s just Frank Haddon, Marketing Director. And he’s late. He doesn’t apologise. His air is of practised disinterest – he has something we want and he knows it. Normally, this would stimulate me into action, motivating me to convince him he’d be mistaken to go with anyone else. Now, I’m just furious. His is the attitude of a man who has already decided, without even seeing our pitch, not to go with us. Oh,
I kn
ow the type – insecure execs wanting to make the right decision, going for the safe option – the biggest, most expensive firm, the internationals. That way, if things don’t work out, they have a fall-back for their bosses: ‘I picked the market leaders.’ So, why didn’t Haddon just go with the big boys first instead of using up our man-hours? Because the smaller houses often have the best ideas, ideas that can be ‘adapted’.

He has wasted our time. Not just the time we’re spending looking at his ugly mug, or the time all three of us have put into preparation, but the time I could have spent with Greg, convincing him to come home. Well, I’m
sick
of being pushed around by people like him. Does he think he can just swan in here and treat us like this without any repercussions?

When Fint has finished his presentation and Haddon hasn’t come up with a single question – interesting or otherwise – I ask, with an innocent smile, ‘So, where’s your managing director today?’

He looks surprised, marginally uncomfortable. ‘Important meeting he couldn’t get out of, I’m afraid. Sends his apologies.’

‘Pity he didn’t try to reschedule.’

‘Didn’t want to put you out, I expect.’

‘Nice of him.’ My tone is sarcastic.

‘Quite.’ He looks annoyed.

Fint is glaring at me.

I ignore him. ‘So, how many other agencies are you seeing?’

He clears his throat. Smiles. ‘Two or three.’

‘And will you turn up late for them, too?’

‘Excuse me?’ He laughs.

‘I was just wondering if you’ll turn up half an hour late without an apology for them, too.’

‘Well, I . . .’ He looks at Fint and Sebastian, presumably to be bailed out.

‘Thank you, Lucy,’ says Fint, and looks at me as if to say, ‘Shut the fuck up.’

I carry on. ‘It’s just that I wonder if you appreciate our time, Mr Haddon.’

He starts to shove his phone, car keys and the jotter and pen we supplied into his briefcase. He stands abruptly. ‘Well, then, I won’t keep you another moment. Thank you for your presentation.’ He nods at Fint and an appalled Sebastian. He starts to leave, without a glance in my direction.

‘Ah, I’ll just show you out,’ says Sebastian.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Fint rounds on me. ‘What was
that
about?’

‘I’m sorry, he just pissed me off. We’ve been here before, too many times. Snotty-nosed marketing hotshot with his yaw-yaw accent.’

‘So, you decided to take him down a peg or two? That showed him, all right.’

‘We weren’t going to get the business, anyway.’

‘Is that right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And how do you work that one out?’

‘I knew the minute he walked in the door. Didn’t you? Rude bastard. Didn’t even apologise. And the attitude of him. Who did he think he was? These people think they can just waltz in here and steal our ideas. I really think we should stop getting involved in competitive pitches . . .’

‘Do you know how much work Sebastian and I put into tha
t pitch?’

‘Do you know how much work
I
put into that pitch?’

‘So, why did you just go and blow it? Did it make you feel better to watch him squirm? So what if he’s a prick? So what if he’s rude? A lot of our clients are, but they pay the wages. We’re in no position to start getting fussy.’

‘OK, I’m sorry . . . I’m just not in good form.’

‘Well, don’t take it out on the business, Lucy.’

I sigh. ‘Sorry.’

‘Fine for you. Jetting back off to the Riviera to your millionaire lifestyle. Some of us have to earn a crust.’

‘That is so not fair.’

‘You’ve lost your edge. You’ve lost your hunger. You used to be good, Lucy. Better than good. You used to be great. Where’s it a
ll gone?’

‘Stuff you,’ I say. And walk.

Flying down the stairs, feet pumping, I visualise that little pipsqueak sitting there so smugly, stealing our ideas, using us, and Fint fooling himself – he knew, deep down, that we hadn’t a hope. Well, I’m glad we didn’t get the business. Imagine working for th
at wanker.

But by the time I’m on the plane, fastening my seatbelt, ready for take-off, I’m seeing the situation from Fint’s perspective.
What
was I doing?
What
was I hoping to achieve? Get Smart is not my business alone; I’m a partner. I should behave like one. If I want to go blowing contracts, then I should work for myself. If Fint had done that to me, I’d have killed him.

In the taxi on my way to the villa, the sun is sinking behind cypress trees, bathing everything in warm, glowing, optimistic light. If only I’d never left. I wouldn’t have ruined everything, behaved like a lunatic.

It’s nine when I finally push in the front door. All is quiet.

Grace comes to greet me. ‘Hey! How did the meeting go?’

‘Disaster.’ I drop my briefcase to the ground. She opens her mouth to speak. ‘Don’t ask.’

In the kitchen, I pour myself a juice. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Bed.’

‘Already?’

‘Rachel’s reading in her room. Jason’s asleep.’

‘Where’s Shane?’

‘Having a sleepover in Toby’s room.’

I smile, imagining them.

Grace’s face is suddenly serious. ‘Greg is really low. You have to get him home.’

‘What did the doctor say?’

‘What doctor?’

‘He said he’d go to the doctor today.’

‘He didn’t budge out of bed all day. I brought him up lunch, but he didn’t eat. He barely drank anything. All he did was smoke. I hid the whiskey.’

‘Shit.’

‘This is very serious.’

‘I know. But what can I do? He won’t listen to me. I can’t forc
e him.’

‘You’ll have to.’

‘How?’

‘Scare him. Bluff. Give him an ultimatum – either he goes home with you or you leave – for good.’

I look at her. ‘What if he tells me to leave?’

‘You have to get him home, Lucy. Concentrate on that, and you will.’

‘He doesn’t listen to me.’

‘You have to make him. If he is bipolar, and I’m not saying he is, but
if
he is, his moods and feelings are out of control. It’s up to you to get him home. Be brutal if you have to. But get him home. I’ll come with you. I’ll help you through.’ She holds my hand. ‘
I p
romise.’

‘But you have your own life, your own marriage . . .’

‘I know. And I need to get home and try to sort that out. I can’t do it from over here.’

‘Oh, Grace, I’m glad.’ I hug her. ‘I knew you just needed a break from each other for a while, that’s all.’

‘Let’s just get Greg home, OK?’

I nod. ‘OK.’

There’s never going to be a good time. So I pick what I hope is the least disastrous time. Late afternoon, next day. Greg’s up. And hasn’t started drinking – the whiskey’s still hiding. Grace has taken the children to Aqua-Splash. Greg’s sitting with his head leaning back over the top of one of the couches, eyes closed.

I sit beside him.

‘What did the doctor say?’

He lifts his head like it’s made of lead. ‘What doctor?’

‘The doctor you were supposed to see yesterday.’

‘Oh,’ he says quietly. ‘I didn’t go.’

‘It’s time to go home, Greg.’

‘Not this again.’ He pushes himself up from the chair and leaves the room.

I follow him, trying to keep calm.

He stands at the window of the office, arms folded, staring ahead. Blotting me out.

‘Greg, this isn’t going to get better by itself.’

He ignores me.

‘It has to end. Now.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. We’re going home. And we’re going to a doctor.’

‘The last person who tried to bully me was fired.’

What’s he talking about? He fired Hilary because she came on to him. But I’m not going to think about her now. I’m not going to get distracted. ‘Here’s the thing: If you don’t come home to Dublin with me now, I’m leaving you. I’m going. I’m not staying to watch you ruin yourself. And I’m not letting you take me down with you.’

‘All right. Go then.’ He doesn’t budge.

‘Fine. I will.’

I turn and walk, thinking
Damn, damn, damn
. But I’ve gone this far. I have to keep going. He has to believe I mean it. Maybe I do. Maybe I
have
had enough. I pull my case out from under the bed, march to the wardrobe, snatch clothes from hangers. I throw them onto the bed and start to pack. How far will he let me take this? All the way? Just like that? Relationship over?

I sense him at the door. I don’t look, afraid he’ll see weakness in my eyes.

‘Don’t go,’ he says, his voice gentle.

I look at him.

‘I just have to control it. I can do it, Lucy. It’s mind over
matter
.’

I put my not-so-red sandals into their canvas bag. ‘I meant what I said, Greg.’

‘Don’t force me, Luce.’

I turn my back to him, and when I start to cry, it’s because
I kno
w, all of a sudden, I’m going through with it, all the way. I turn slowly and meet his eyes.

‘I’m going, Greg. I don’t want to, but I am.’

I zip up my case then remember my toiletries. I go to the bathroom and start to fill my make-up bag. My hands are shaking, my legs weak. This is it. It’s over. I reach into the bathroom cabinet. Toiletries begin to tumble out, landing in the sink and clattering onto the tiled floor. I drop to my knees to scoop them up. This is it, my lowest moment.
I pull myself up using the side of the bath and see him, at the bathroom door, looking wretched.

‘All right,’ he says, letting his head fall forward as if conceding victory. ‘I’ll come home.’

I look at him, waiting for the catch.

‘But I’m not making any promises about a doctor.’

‘No, Greg. Not good enough. All or nothing.’

I walk past him, open the case and squash the make-up bag in.
I zip it shut, lift it off the be
d, pull up the handle and begin to wheel it behind me as I make for the door.

‘All right. All right. I’ll see someone, OK?’

‘You mean like you promised to do when I was away?’

A wave of guilt crosses his face. ‘I’ll go. In Dublin. I promise.’

‘You really promise?’

He crosses his heart like he did when we first met. And I want to cry.

‘Thank you.’