time.
We get back to the apartment that evening and sit on the balcony as the light leaves the sky, watching swallows swoop and dive through the branches of the eucalyptus, like fighter pilots on manoeuvres.
The following morning, there’s an email from Fint. Get Smart is up for a big pitch. Four agencies, three of them international, are in the running for an account to design the corporate identity for a retail giant planning a shopping mall in a busy suburb of Dublin. Fint wants me home next week to meet the managing director and take the brief.
I ring him straight away. He’s as excited as I am. This is an opportunity to move us up a notch, to become one of the big guys.
I go down to the villa to tell Greg. But he’s not there. According to a sour-looking Hilary, he has taken the children off on his own. I’m surprised he didn’t tell me. Still, he must need time alone with them, especially Rachel, so I just text him to have fun.
I return to the apartment to try to finish the projects I’m working on so I can be free next week to tackle that pitch.
At dinnertime, I return to the villa, assuming they’ll be back. They aren’t. I ring Greg. They’re in Cannes – at the kiddies’ bumper cars. He’d forgotten the time, but says they’ll grab a pizza rather than come home yet.
On my way out, I notice that Hilary has started to prepare dinner.
I let her know that they won’t be back.
She slams down a knife. ‘He could have told me.’
‘I think he lost track of time.’
‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ She looks at the half-prepared food.
‘I’m sure it’ll keep till tomorrow.’
‘That’s not the point,’ she says, moodily.
I leave her to it.
At ten, Greg calls to say they’re on their way; he’ll meet me at the villa. I arrive before them and keep out of Hilary’s way, reading a book on the terrace. I get up when I hear the car outside. Greg bounds through the front door, an inflatable swimming ring around his neck, roller-blades in one hand, a giant, blow-up toothpaste tube under an arm, keys in his mouth, eyes incredibly bright. I stop laughing when I see the children, sunburnt and laden down with shopping bags and exhaustion. Rachel closes the door with her heel. Toby lets his bags spill onto the floor and slumps down beside them.
‘I’m thirsty,’ he says.
‘Anyone for a swim?’ Greg asks, heading for the pool.
Hilary’s face is thunderous. ‘Can’t he see they’re exhausted?’
I say nothing; just go to get two glasses of water. When I return to the hall, she’s lifting Toby up, muttering about how children need their sleep.
I follow them upstairs. When she settles Toby, I give him his drink and say goodnight.
Rachel refuses hers. I leave it by her bed, anyway.
I go back downstairs and out to the pool. Greg’s churning through the water like a human propeller. I stand and watch. Up, down, up, down. Not stopping, not resting. Where is he getting the energy? Is this what happens when he hits a creative burst? He overworks, then has to blow off steam? Is that what this is, some sort of stress? Looking at him is making me stressed. I call out that I’m going back to the apartment. He doesn’t seem to hear.
14.
T he following day, I go down to the villa to see if he has recovered. Hilary tells me he ‘popped out’ three hours ago to buy screwdrivers and hasn’t returned. I go into his office t o call him.
‘Where are you?’
‘In Nice.’
‘Did you get the screwdrivers?’
‘Screwdrivers?’
‘You left three hours ago to get screwdrivers.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Screwdrivers. God, I’d forgotten. Why did I need them again?’
‘No idea, Greg.’
‘OK. It probably wasn’t urgent.’
‘What are you doing now?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I’ve just met some people. We’re having a beer. Anyway, listen, I’ve just booked a super restaurant for us tonight. I’ll pick you up from the apartment at seven.’
‘Aren’t you going to be back before
We get back to the apartment that evening and sit on the balcony as the light leaves the sky, watching swallows swoop and dive through the branches of the eucalyptus, like fighter pilots on manoeuvres.
The following morning, there’s an email from Fint. Get Smart is up for a big pitch. Four agencies, three of them international, are in the running for an account to design the corporate identity for a retail giant planning a shopping mall in a busy suburb of Dublin. Fint wants me home next week to meet the managing director and take the brief.
I ring him straight away. He’s as excited as I am. This is an opportunity to move us up a notch, to become one of the big guys.
I go down to the villa to tell Greg. But he’s not there. According to a sour-looking Hilary, he has taken the children off on his own. I’m surprised he didn’t tell me. Still, he must need time alone with them, especially Rachel, so I just text him to have fun.
I return to the apartment to try to finish the projects I’m working on so I can be free next week to tackle that pitch.
At dinnertime, I return to the villa, assuming they’ll be back. They aren’t. I ring Greg. They’re in Cannes – at the kiddies’ bumper cars. He’d forgotten the time, but says they’ll grab a pizza rather than come home yet.
On my way out, I notice that Hilary has started to prepare dinner.
I let her know that they won’t be back.
She slams down a knife. ‘He could have told me.’
‘I think he lost track of time.’
‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ She looks at the half-prepared food.
‘I’m sure it’ll keep till tomorrow.’
‘That’s not the point,’ she says, moodily.
I leave her to it.
At ten, Greg calls to say they’re on their way; he’ll meet me at the villa. I arrive before them and keep out of Hilary’s way, reading a book on the terrace. I get up when I hear the car outside. Greg bounds through the front door, an inflatable swimming ring around his neck, roller-blades in one hand, a giant, blow-up toothpaste tube under an arm, keys in his mouth, eyes incredibly bright. I stop laughing when I see the children, sunburnt and laden down with shopping bags and exhaustion. Rachel closes the door with her heel. Toby lets his bags spill onto the floor and slumps down beside them.
‘I’m thirsty,’ he says.
‘Anyone for a swim?’ Greg asks, heading for the pool.
Hilary’s face is thunderous. ‘Can’t he see they’re exhausted?’
I say nothing; just go to get two glasses of water. When I return to the hall, she’s lifting Toby up, muttering about how children need their sleep.
I follow them upstairs. When she settles Toby, I give him his drink and say goodnight.
Rachel refuses hers. I leave it by her bed, anyway.
I go back downstairs and out to the pool. Greg’s churning through the water like a human propeller. I stand and watch. Up, down, up, down. Not stopping, not resting. Where is he getting the energy? Is this what happens when he hits a creative burst? He overworks, then has to blow off steam? Is that what this is, some sort of stress? Looking at him is making me stressed. I call out that I’m going back to the apartment. He doesn’t seem to hear.
14.
T he following day, I go down to the villa to see if he has recovered. Hilary tells me he ‘popped out’ three hours ago to buy screwdrivers and hasn’t returned. I go into his office t o call him.
‘Where are you?’
‘In Nice.’
‘Did you get the screwdrivers?’
‘Screwdrivers?’
‘You left three hours ago to get screwdrivers.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Screwdrivers. God, I’d forgotten. Why did I need them again?’
‘No idea, Greg.’
‘OK. It probably wasn’t urgent.’
‘What are you doing now?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I’ve just met some people. We’re having a beer. Anyway, listen, I’ve just booked a super restaurant for us tonight. I’ll pick you up from the apartment at seven.’
‘Aren’t you going to be back before
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