Page 11 of Lost in Translation
‘Ooh, yes please!’ Alastair chimed in. ‘Spicy chicken noodles and spring rolls. Yum!’
Anything but death by cheese,thought Charlotte, as Dom returned and started the engine. ‘Work again?’ she asked.
‘Yup. I might have to leave you guys to your own devices tomorrow for a few hours. Sorry.’ Dom pulled an apologetic face, before backing the car out of the parking spot.
He didn’tsoundsorry, but Charlotte wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight. A pleasant stroll along the lakeside, a spot of lunch, and a browse around the Marché de Noel would pass the time. The boys had already clocked the giant Ferris wheel, although the thought of getting on it made Charlotte’s stomach do a pre-emptive heave.
‘Right, let’s hit those mountain roads,’ said Dom. ‘Last one asleep gets to wash my stinky socks in the morning!’
Chapter 11
‘Who’s that man, Mummy?’Robson halted next to the imposing statue, the figure raising a clenched fist to the sky. Bunches of flowers, old and new, lined the base. Tourists snapped photos and selfies next to it, waiting their turn to capture the moment.
‘He’s Freddie Mercury,’ said Charlotte, patting her pockets till she found her phone. ‘He was a very famous singer with a band called Queen. Right, stand on either side and… smile!’
‘But why is there a statue of him?’ asked Alastair. ‘Is he dead?’
Charlotte nodded. She’d only been a little older than Alastair when Freddie died, but her dad had been a big fan and introduced her to Queen’s music in her teens. ‘There’s a Queen museum near here, I think. If you’d like to go—’
The word ‘museum’ was enough to prompt some serious head-shaking. Robson twirled around and pointed at the McDonald’s set back from the lake, affording possibly one of the most stunning views in the world for a fast-food outlet. ‘Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.’
They’d ploughed their way through mountains of bread, croissants, boiled eggs and the ubiquitous cheese and ham platters at breakfast a few hours earlier. That wasn’t even considering the banquet-sized portions of Chinese food demolished the night before. Considering they were both of slender build, the boys’ appetites never ceased to amaze Charlotte.
‘We’re in Switzerland,’ she said, steering them in the opposite direction. ‘Let’s find something typically Swiss we haven’t tried before.’
Turning their noses up at tartiflette, more fondue and raclette, they opted for the very un-Swiss choice of paella. Perched on a wooden bench, they tucked in. Robson struggled to peel his prawns, Alastair nobly assisting and piling the discarded shells on a napkin.
‘Can we go on the big wheel after this?’ Robson licked his fingers, and Charlotte passed him a wet wipe.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ Charlotte had visions of them reaching the apex of the ride where she would hurl one of Spain’s classic dishes over innocent passers-by. ‘Maybe we should walk off the food first.’
They continued along the lake, Charlotte pointing out landmarks and the French border on the other side. She’d swotted up a little ahead of this trip, determined to prove to Dom — to herself — that embracing a new country and culture was doable. Experiencing the food smells, the chatter of the crowds and the locals going about their normal business filled her with a small bubble of hope.
‘When do we go home again?’ Alastair stopped at a stall selling churros, their sweetly fragrant aroma arguing with Charlotte’s full stomach. She sighed, pulled out her purse, and bought a bagful.
‘In two days. Plenty of time to get ready for Christmas.’ That wasn’t entirely true. Normally, Charlotte would have decorated the tree, wrapped all the presents and sent all the cards by now. Dom had nipped to Homebase the day before they left to pick up a tree, but it remained outside the house. She’d sent cards to close family and friends, but a bundle remained unwritten and unlikely to go anywhere this year. At least Charlotte had bought most of the presents for the boys, which she’d hidden at the back of her wardrobe. Nothing yet for Dom or Ruth, the only other person she shopped for at Christmas.
With the boys distracted by a stallholder performing magic tricks, Charlotte moved on a little further. A display of blown-glass ornaments hand-painted with festive scenes caught her eye. She picked one up: a tubular candleholder depicting the Christmas market, with indentations for tea lights. Charlotte paid and returned to Alastair and Robson.
‘Mummy, he made a coin come out of my ear!’ Robson grinned, and pointed at the silver two-franc coin in his hand.
‘Can I get this?’ asked Alastair. He touched a pencil case which promised to make the contents magically disappear.
‘And can I get this?’ Robson held aloft a mini-guillotine that looked capable of removing small fingers.
‘Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe,’ said the stallholder, a swarthy man in his mid-twenties.
Charlotte knew both the boys, particularly Alastair, loved magic tricks. She dug out her purse again and paid, adding, ‘Merci beaucoup’ even though the vendor spoke perfect English. Minor triumphs.
He winked. ‘De rien.’
‘The wheel, Mummy!’ Robson tugged at her sleeve, pointing at the massive structure carrying its occupants high into the chilly December air. ‘We have to do it. Right, Alastair?’
Alastair shrugged, his pale cheeks trembling at the prospect. He was always the more timid one, sticking to the gentler rides at fairgrounds and theme parks.
‘It’ll be fun,’ urged Robson. ‘You can hold my hand.’
A few minutes later they took their seats in the cubicle, exposed to the elements on all sides. As the wheel began its ascent, Charlotte made sure they all had their gloves and hats on. Robson squealed with delight as they reached the apex, passing the windows of an apartment block. An elderly lady appeared and waved, Robson and Charlotte returning the gesture. Alastair tucked his chin into his ski jacket and kept his eyes cast downward.
