The Accidental Life of Greg Millar (26 page)

In the afternoon, Grace arrives with the boys and I leave for the hospital. When I arrive, rather than ask where the psychiatric ward is, I try to remember the ward name the nurse mentioned on the phone. I check the list of wards displayed. St Raphael’s sounds familiar. I follow the signs.

The doors to the ward are closed, I assume locked. I’m searching for a bell when someone simply walks through. I take a deep breath and follow. The mad bustle of the corridor outside dies. White walls are replaced by lavender. I wait for the impression of peace to be shattered by some patient going rogue.

I pass a television room to my left. Its occupants – a young, attractive man and a tiny, grey-haired woman – are dressed in outdoor clothes. They sit, five armchairs apart, ignoring each other, staring at the TV.

A woman’s coming towards me, dressed in black – polo-neck top, trousers and flat shoes. She makes eye contact. I stop, hoping she can help.

‘Hello. Excuse me. I was wondering where I might find a nurse.’

‘You’re talking to one,’ she says. ‘I’m Betty O’Neill. Can I he
lp you?’

‘Oh. Yes, Betty.’ The relie
f
! ‘I think we spoke yesterday? I’m Lucy Arigho. You rang me about Greg Millar?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She smiles. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

We walk, side by side, in silence. Finally, she stops at a two-bed ward and gestures to the bed nearer the door, which has its curtain pulled around it.

‘Is it OK to go in?’ I ask.

She nods. ‘He just wants privacy. Go on in.’

Greg’s lying with his back to the door, still in the clothes he was wearing when he came in. If he hears me, he doesn’t react.

‘Greg?’ I whisper, in case he’s asleep.

He turns.

I smile. ‘Hi.’

He drags himself into a sitting position, his clothes crumpled, his pillow flattened behind him. ‘Where are the kids?’

‘At home. With Grace.’

He sits forward, suddenly. ‘Jesus! You didn’t tell her, did you?’

I look at him in all his pain and wonder if I should lie. But what’ll we be left with if we can’t hold on to honesty?

‘I didn’t have to tell her, Greg. She’s a doctor. She worked it out for herself. And don’t worry, she won’t say a word to anyone.’

‘Not even Kevin?’

‘Not even Kevin. Can I sit down?’

He nods, and I perch on the edge of the bed, facing him.

‘You didn’t tell anyone else?’

‘No.’

‘Well, don’t. OK?’

‘What about your family?’

‘No.’

‘What if they’re looking for you?’

‘Make up an excuse. Lie if you have to. Just don’t tell them. Especially not my mother. Do you understand, Lucy?’

‘Yes, yes, of course I understand.’
I’m not stupid.
‘But I really think you should tell Rob.’

‘No.’

‘Greg, you’ll be in here for weeks. Won’t you?’ I hold my breath, make a wish.

‘Looks like it.’

‘Well, what if Rob calls over and the children tell him you’re in hospital? What’ll he think? And don’t tell me to keep him away. Rachel and Toby need all the familiar faces they can get just now. You’re suddenly gone. Hilary’s gone. And they’re left with me. It’s not like I’m their favourite person in the world.’

He drums his fingers on the bed for what seems like ages. ‘OK. Just Rob . . . But
I’ll
tell him.’

‘Fine . . . What’ll I tell your mother if she calls?’

‘Let me think about it, OK? Let me think. You can’t tell her . . . Promise me you won’t.’

‘I promise.’
I sigh deeply.
He’s not exactly making this easy. ‘Rachel and Toby made these for you,’ I say, opening my bag and pulling out two cards.

Rachel’s has a smiley, happy sun. Toby’s has a rocket.

They have the opposite effect to what was intended. Greg puts them down as though they weigh a ton. His once blue, now pewter eyes well up. It kills me to see him like this. I pick up the cards and stand them on the locker. I reach for his hand. He pulls it away.

‘We’ve done the right thing, Greg. I know we have. This is the first step to your recovery. Things will get better from here.’

He gives me a cynical look.

‘What was Professor Power like?’

‘Does it really matter?’

‘Did he start you on medication?’

Another deep, deep sigh. ‘For what it’s worth.’

I look at his dinner tray, lying untouched. ‘Will we ring the kids now?’

He closes his eyes. Then takes a deep breath. Finally, he nods.

I dial the number, expecting Grace.

Rachel must have beaten her to it. ‘Hello?’ she says, so
hopefully
.

‘Rachel, it’s Lucy. Your dad wants a word.’

‘OK.’

As I pass the phone to Greg, I hear her calling Toby.

‘Hello, pet,’ says Greg. ‘I’m fine. How’re you?’ He pauses to listen. ‘It’s fine . . . Soon . . . I’m not sure . . . She’s doing her best, Rachel . . . I’ll call you tomorrow, OK? . . . Love you, too.’ Another pause, then, ‘How’s my man? . . . I miss you, too, Tobes . . .’ His voice is rising. ‘I know . . . Very soon . . . I’ll talk to the doctor, O
K . . .
And I’ll ring tomorrow . . . Are you minding your sister?’
A pause. ‘Go
od boy, good man.’

I know he’s not up to me staying, and, clearly, he doesn’t want to be touched. So I say goodbye, tapping the bed with my hand.

On the way out, I see Betty O’Neill ahead of me. I hurry to catch up.

‘Betty? Hi. Excuse me. Would you have a moment?’

‘Yes, of course. Why don’t you come in here?’

I follow her into some kind of office.

‘How is he?’ I ask.

She folds her arms, smiles in an apologetic way. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy, but Greg has asked us not to talk to you about his condition.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Greg has asked us to respect his confidentiality. He doesn’t want us to talk to anybody about his condition.’

‘Not me, though, surely.’
He loves me. He trusts me.
‘I’ve been living with him through this. I’m his fiancée.’

Her voice softens. ‘I understand that. But I’m afraid he was very clear. And we have to respect our patients’ wishes. I’m sorry. If Greg doesn’t wish us to talk to you, we have to respect that.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘This isn’t unusual. Greg’s very down at the moment, but, as his condition improves, I’m sure he’ll open up. For now, though, we have to respect his wishes.’

I can’t believe he’s excluding me.

‘I can’t talk to you about Greg specifically,’ she continues. ‘But I can give you these.’ She holds out a bundle of leaflets and booklets. ‘You might find them helpful.’

I have to stop myself telling her where to shove them.

27.

E
vening. In a house that is not my own, with none of my things around me. Where there are too many rooms, all of them huge. Where the shadows and creaks are unfamiliar. Where my bedroom is the only place I can relax. I take out one of my step-parenting books. It’s my second time reading it. It’s either that or the leaflets.

My mobile rings.

‘So you’re home,’ Dad says, accusingly.

‘Yes.’

‘When were you going to tell us?’

‘I was just about to call you.’ Slight exaggeration.

‘We wouldn’t even have known if Grace hadn’t let it slip. It is nice,
occasionally
, to know what country your daughters are in. Your mother’s upset, Lucy. You’re home days and you never called.’

‘Three, Dad.’

‘She may not be your favourite person in the world, but she
is
your mother. She does love you. She does get hurt.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll call round. OK?’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know. Soon.’

‘Hang on a minute, your mother’s saying something . . . Why don’t you all come over tomorrow for dinner?’

‘It might be difficult. Greg’s very busy at the moment.’

‘Surely, he has to stop to eat?’

‘Well, it’s just that he has this deadline and he’s way behind. He’s working flat out.’ I hate lying, but am surprised at how easy it is.

Speaking of work, I have to face Fint. How can I tell him I’m home but not office-bound without admitting the truth? Does Greg realise the extent of what he’s asked me to do? Fint’s my best friend. We’ve always shared our problems. Outside of that, as my partner, he deserves an honest explanation as to why I can’t go in and why I behaved so appallingly at the pitch. But I promised Greg. And if a nurse at the hospital can respect his privacy, surely I can.

It’s noon the following day before I finally work up the courage to ring Fint.

‘Ooooh, it’s the globetrotter gracing us with a call.’

I force a laugh.
He’s joking, right?

‘Let me guess, you’re ringing from Monte Carlo, where you’re visiting dignitaries.’

‘I’m home.’

‘Oh. Great. So, what’s keeping you?’

‘I can’t come in, Fint. I need to continue working out of the office for August. I hope that’s OK.’

‘No, actually, Lucy, it’s not. I need you in here. We might be able to win the odd pitch if we could actually put our heads together on something.’

‘Fintan, I’m sorry about the pitch. I was out of line.’

‘You sabotaged the whole thing.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘I’ve been patient, Lucy, but this is a business. It requires effort. New accounts don’t just sail in without a bit of blood, sweat and tears . . .’

Speaking of tears . . . ‘You have no idea how much effort I’ve been putting in. You’ve no clue what’s going on in my life, how this is the last thing I need right now. Oh, forget it.’ I hang up.

It rings.

‘I’m sorry,’ says my business partner.

I say nothing.

‘Are you OK?’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ I stifle a sob. ‘I just need to be around here for a while.’

‘OK. Fine. Just tell me why.’

‘Things are tricky right now. I’m minding Greg’s children.’

‘Why? Where is he?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘What do you mean you can’t say? This is me, Fint.’

‘It’s awkward.’

‘Is he all right? Are you all right?’

‘I’m OK, but I’m not “swanning around” and I’m not having a good time; I’m trying to cope. And because Greg’s children are my responsibility now, I have to work from home. Or quit.’

‘Well, that’s not an option.’

Even the thought of working seems too much.

‘I wish you’d confide in me. I might be able to help.’

‘Believe me, you wouldn’t.’

‘Is he ill?’

He deserves to know that much. ‘Yes. But don’t ask me any more. Please. I promised him I wouldn’t talk about it.’

He’s silent for a moment. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘Just hold the fort for a little while longer. I’ll be back in a few weeks. And I’ll make up for it. You can take months off. A year.
I don’t ca
re.’

‘That’s the only way I can help – work?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK.’ His voice is tight, hurt.

‘I’m sorry, but I promised Greg.’

‘No, I’m sorry. I’ve been . . . a bit uptight. I shouldn’t have snapped.’

‘You had every right to. I haven’t exactly made life easy for you
, lately.’

‘Forget about it. Do what you can, OK?’

‘I could make client meetings . . .’

‘Let’s just see how it goes.’

‘Fint, there
is
another option.’

‘What?’

‘Buy me out of the business.’

‘Forget it, honey. We’re stuck with each other. Wouldn’t trust anyone else.’

Later, I’m mopping the kitchen floor, trying not to think, when the doorbell rings.

It’s Rob. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks, his voice filled with concern.

‘So, he’s told you.’ It’s such a relief.

‘Yeah, though I’m not to tell anyone else.’

I half smile.

The children come bounding down the stairs.

‘Rob, Rob,’ Toby shouts, hurling himself at him and clinging to his leg like a lonely koala.

‘Hey, bud,’ says Rob, rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. ‘How’s the champ?’

‘Fine. Dad’s in hospital,’ Toby announces.

I look despairingly at Rob.
How am I meant to keep this a secret?

‘He’s exhausted,’ Toby continues.

‘I know,’ Rob says, nodding slowly, probably trying to gauge how much they know. ‘Lucy, I was thinking of taking the guys out for the day, if that’s all right with you? Might give you a bit of time to catch up on things and maybe see Greg later if you like.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Aw, that would be great, Rob, thanks. I’m sure they’d love a break from me,’ I joke.

‘Ye-ah,’ says Rachel.

Rob throws her a surprised look.

‘Where’re we going?’ asks Toby.

‘Up to you. We can decide in the car.’

Rob’s so at ease with them, it makes me realise how tense I am in comparison, holding myself as though expecting a blow to the back of the head.

He winks. ‘See you later.’

‘Ah, Rob? What time will you be back? Just so I can make sure to be here.’

‘Eight OK? Would that give you enough time?’

‘Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks a mill. Really appreciate it.’

‘No probs. See you later.’

I call my parents to keep them at bay. After an exhausting performance of ‘All’s well’, I visit Greg, only to discover that the man I’ve promised to spend the rest of my life with won’t talk to me. He won’t even look at me, making me feel that it might be easier for him if I wasn’t here. My attempts at optimism sound trite, even to me.

I get back to an empty house feeling drained. And cold. I climb the stairs and crawl under the duvet fully clothed. If only I could get warm.

I wake. It’s dark. The house is quiet. I check my watch. It’s nine. I jump from the bed and hurry downstairs. I’d have woken if they’d knocked, wouldn’t I?

I bump into Rob in the hall.

‘Jesus,’ I say, my hand going to my chest.

‘Sorry. I thought you were still out.’

‘No. I just lay down for a second. Didn’t plan to sleep. Where are Rachel and Toby?’

‘In bed.’

‘I’m
so
sorry, I didn’t mean to nod off.’

‘You must’ve been tired.’

‘Cold. I was freezing. Anyway, sorry. Thanks so much for looking after them today. It was such a great help.’ I’m walking him to the front door.

‘Don’t I get a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’ I touch my forehead. What’s wrong wit
h me?

In the kitchen, he pulls out a chair. I put on the kettle.

‘How was he?’ he asks.

I sigh and join him at the table. ‘To be honest, Rob, I don’t know. He won’t talk to me. He says he wants to handle it.’

‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he asks, surprising me.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s just the way he is. He doesn’t rely on anyone, especially family. When Catherine died, I got the same – “I can handle it.” The only person he allowed to help was Hilary, and that was only because it was her job. I bet he opens up to the nurses and doctors in there.’

‘I don’t know. He won’t let them talk to me.’ I sigh. ‘Why is he blocking me out? All I want to do is help. We’re engaged, for God’s sake.’

He shrugs. ‘Survival instinct, or some shit. Ever since our father died, he’s always been the responsible one. It’s like his role, or
something
.’

‘But he should trust us.’

‘He thinks he’s protecting us.’

‘But it means we can’t help.’

‘You
are
helping, Lucy, by being here, by looking after the
children
. When Catherine died, that’s how I did my bit – with Rachel. I’d take her off, distract her, giving him time for himself. It did help. I know it did. Of course, I couldn’t let on I was deliberately
helping
.’

‘Is that what you were doing today?’

He shrugs. ‘Helping you is helping him. Speaking of which, I’d like to take Rachel and Toby for a few hours every evening. You could go see Greg.’

‘That’s too much, Rob. I’m sure Grace will do some nights. You have a life.’

‘I want to do it. It’s always been one-way with Greg and me. In fact, I don’t just want to help; I need to.’

‘And I get that, but you’ll want to see him yourself . . .’

‘I’m off for another few weeks. And when school starts again, I’ll work something out.’

‘Well, then, have dinner with us when you come to collect Rachel and Toby.’

He smiles. ‘That’d be nice.’

I wake three times during the night from the same nightmare.
I le
ave the children to sleep on the street, overnight, while I check into an upmarket hotel. I go back out to the street, tuck them up in sleeping bags and leave them again, hoping they won’t wander off or be attacked. It never once occurs to me to bring them into the hotel.