Page 15 of Lost in Translation
Charlotte laughed, her mood lighter now she’d unloaded some of her fears. Dwelling on things that might not happen was pointless and only added to her anxiety. If they were going to make this new life work, she needed to focus on the positives and stop being a negative Nellie.
‘Speaking of testicles, are you seeing anyone at the moment?’ Ruth kept quiet about her love life, probably because men flitted in and out of her life like testosterone-fuelled moths. Charlotte had only met a couple. Both seemed perfectly nice and besotted with Ruth. Perhaps that was the issue. Her friend marched to her own tune and didn’t need — or want — the complications of a long-term relationship.
‘Hmm, I might be juggling a few balls, so to speak.’ Ruth winked and reached for the Tia Maria bottle.
Charlotte shook her head. She had to drive home (the thought of it being their last night there cut deeply) and hoped that Dom wouldn’t be in a foul mood.
‘Well, I’m having a top-up. Business is slow at the moment and knowing my bestie’s leaving me is enough to drive anyone to drink.’ Ruth’s eyes filled with tears and Charlotte’s followed suit. A full-on sobbing session ensued, the two entwined in a snot-filled and mascara-spilled embrace.
Charlotte pulled away first, looked at Ruth, and rummaged in her handbag. Producing a compact mirror, she angled it so they could see their reflected images.
‘Good lord, we look like death warmed up,’ hooted Ruth. ‘Or a pair of Goths caught in a downpour.’ Red-rimmed eyes framed with black smudges, foundation smeared and streaked down their cheeks.
‘Should I take a selfie?’ Charlotte pulled out her phone, but Ruth immediately slapped it away.
‘If that ever got out on social media, I’d hunt you down and kill you. And given that I know your new address, it wouldn’t be hard to do.’
Charlotte put her phone away and hugged Ruth again. She wanted to keep hugging her, to preserve the moment and stay exactly where she was. Freeze time — rewind it if she could — and make the sad stuff go away. But she had to leave, and return to Dom, to the boys, to whatever lay ahead. First, though, she had to repair her face. Slap on the war paint, then saddle up and gallop towards the future.
‘Do you mind if I raid your make-up bag? If I go back looking like this, Dom will definitely run off with someone else. Even one of the removal men: Hump It and Dump It.’
‘Who? Are they like the Chuckle Brothers? Charlotte, you’re madder than a box of frogs, but I love you.’
Armed with Ruth’s arsenal of under-eye concealer, hide-everything foundation and mascara that promised to give her lashes powerful enough to fan a small fire, Charlotte fixed the damage. The residual pinkness of her eyes she’d put down to an emotional parting. Heck, itwasan emotional parting. She couldn’t imagine meeting anyone else who understood her the way Ruth did.
‘I don’t know if I can do this.’ Charlotte stood trembling on the doorstep. ‘I feel like I’m on the edge of an abyss and no one will catch me when I fall.’
‘But you won’t fall.’ Ruth held her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. ‘You are smart, beautiful and more resilient than you know. I’m here, your parents are … well, they’d never let you down, and you can do this. Charlotte,you can do this.’
* * *
‘How the helldid you deal with those morons?’ Dom huffed around the virtually empty house, his angry voice ricocheting off the bare walls. ‘Uncouth doesn’t begin to describe them. And their constant demands for tea. Do Ilooklike the office junior?’
No, you look like a petulant schoolboy who's been told to put away the stuff he left all over the stairs.Charlotte rubbed her temples, the start of a rare headache nudging at her vision. All she wanted to do was see Robson and Alastair, hug them till they begged for mercy, and eat dinner somewhere nice. ‘Did you book a restaurant?’ she asked.
The answer came in Dom’s sheepish expression. ‘I, erm, forgot. We could go to the pub, I suppose, or order takeaway.’
‘Mummy! You’re back!’ Robson bowled into the room, wearing a strange combo of jogging pants and an ancient pyjama top. ‘Everything’s gone, and it’s really weird, but I want a pizza. With lots of spicy bits and maybe pineapple too?’
‘Pineapple on pizza is gross.’ Alastair strode in, big brother laying down the rules. ‘Pepperoni is fine, fruit is for weirdos.’
Dom reached for the drawer that normally contained takeaway menus, but Charlotte intervened. ‘They’ve all gone in the recycling, and the cutlery and plates are packed.’
‘We don’t need cutlery and plates for pizza. Straight out of the box, only fingers required.’ Dom gave Charlotte his finest ‘I’m in the wrong, but you’ll forgive me’ look. Once upon a time it would have melted her defences as effectively as de-icer spray on a frosty windscreen. Now, however, she felt her backbone stiffen.
‘We can go for pizza at the Italian ten minutes away,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to eat here, and I need at least a half-carafe of Chianti to wash dinner down. The wine rack’s empty, the corkscrew’s packed, and I need to get out of here.’
Charlotte grabbed both the boys, giving them the hug that she knew would restore her equilibrium: temporarily, at least. Alastair relaxed into her embrace, but Robson wriggled furiously.‘Do I have to change?’ He looked at his mishmash of nightwear and sports gear. ‘I don’t know what else to wear.’
‘Sweetheart, Luigi’s couldn’t care less if you turned up in your birthday suit, as long as the bill’s paid,’ said Charlotte.
Robson frowned and turned to his big brother. ‘Do we have birthday suits? Are they like the black one Daddy wears to special things?’
Both Dom and Charlotte laughed. The sound broke through the tension in the room, and the boys joined in.
‘It means going nudey,’ said Alastair, proudly. ‘Like, totally naked.’
‘Eurgh!’ Robson pulled a disgusted face. ‘Who wants to eat looking at everyone’s dangly bits?’
