Page 18 of Lost in Translation
Charlotte ground through the gears, finally locating first and jolting forward. Yes, it wasfuckin’ perfect, she seethed. His protestations about Amelie being just a colleague — ‘a bit nutty, but harmless’ — replayed on a loop in her frazzled brain. They’d worked on something together, but what Dom had failed to mention was thatshewashere!In sodding Switzerland! Unless it was another Amelie? Hah, as if. Calming breaths were needed, and a change of radio channel. Charlotte stabbed at some buttons until a sultry female singer crooned about ‘amour’ and ‘peine’. Cursing again, she killed the music and focused on undetectable ways of killing Dom…
* * *
‘What did you think?’Dom uncorked a bottle of upmarket fizz, set aside to celebrate his first day at work in Lausanne. He didn’t start till the morning, but Charlotte suspected he needed a drink to deal with the fallout from what she’d overheard. The faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and the fidgeting with his left earlobe were definite giveaways.
‘About what?’ Charlotte replied, salting a pot of water to cook the boys’ favourite pasta. They’d hared upstairs on arrival, keen to challenge each other on the latest Play Station game. Charlotte dreaded the day they progressed from Spyro and Lego games to gore-filled battles featuring gruesome monsters and lethal weapons.
‘My new office, of course.’ Dom handed her a glass and began grating Parmesan for the boys’ dinner. He might as well have ‘guilty’ tattooed on his forehead, since Dom doing anything kitchen-related — apart from opening wine and moaning about absent items in the fridge — was a rare sight. ‘They’re a friendly bunch, not that you met everyone.’ He grated ferociously, wincing as a knuckle came to grief on the sharp blade.
‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ Charlotte put down her glass and snatched the plate of cheese away. ‘You didn’t introduce me to the late arrival. Now let me see, what was her name again?’
Dom flushed, grabbing a piece of kitchen towel to dab at his hand. ‘Amelie, as you heard. And before you get the wrong end of the stick, there is nothing going on between us.’
Admittedly, Charlotte couldn’t imagine anything going on between the rock chick fairy and down-to-earth Dom, but opposites attracted. And the fact he was so quick to deny any wrongdoing made her doubting antenna quiver alarmingly.
‘She’s here on a six-month contract.’ Dom wiped the kitchen paper over his brow, leaving a red smear. ‘Sweetheart, I knew that if I told you, you’d go off the deep end.’
Charlotte flinched. Had she become such a monster that her husband couldn’t tell her the truth? No, she wasn’t a monster. Just a woman who’d discovered a schmaltzy card in a suit pocket, and swallowed a story about stars and the future, and—
‘You knew she was coming here, didn’t you?’ Charlotte stabbed at Dom’s chest with her finger. For a moment she contemplated wiping the conciliatory half-smile off his face with the cheese grater. No, violence wasn’t the answer. She needed to keep her cool and let Dom speak. Except this time, Charlotte wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.
‘Erm, it was a possibility, but I honestly didn’t know about it until a week ago.’ Dom downed half a glass of fizz in one go, his free hand loosening the collar of his shirt.
‘So you’ve known for a whole week, but you didn’t think telling me was a good idea? Or were you hoping to keep it a secret? Silly old Charlotte, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Well, Dom, Iamhurt, and I need you to tell me the truth. Are you having an affair with that woman?’
The pot of pasta water chose that moment to boil over in a bubbling cauldron of fury. Charlotte felt an affinity with the pot, her rage echoing its furious hissing and spluttering. She grabbed the oven gloves — not attached to an apron — and shoved it to one side.
‘No. I. Am. Not.’ Dom moved towards her, but Charlotte stepped back. He tried again, and she reversed until her bottom pressed against the cutlery drawer. If theStrictlyjudges popped up, they might give them a few points for a cha-cha-cha.
Charlotte tried to wriggle away, but Dom grabbed her by the shoulders and thrust his face within inches of hers. ‘You don’t have to believe me, but nothing’s happened between us. I told you the card meant nothing, andshemeans nothing.’
Squirming in his grasp, Charlotte made contact with Dom’s crotch.Oh my. Either he’d stuffed the grater down his trousers, or become aroused by the situation. Charlotte didn’t feel remotely turned on; the complete opposite, in fact. Maybehewas turned on by talk of Amelie, and thinking of all the things he liked to do with her—
‘Mummy, is the food ready yet?’ Robson appeared, still holding his PS4 controller. ‘Why are you standing there like that?’
Charlotte executed a perfect pivot. Dom moved away and pulled on the joke apron she’d bought him for a birthday present, withMr Good-Lookin’ Is Cookin’embroidered on it.
‘Mummy had something in her eye,’ he improvised. ‘I was just helping get it out.’
Robson shrugged and plonked himself down on a chair. ‘You can’t cook pasta if the water’s not hot.’
Charlotte hastily replaced the pot on the hob and fetched a tub of home-made arrabbiata sauce from the fridge. ‘If you sort out enough pasta for us all, it’ll be ready in a jiffy,’ she said, handing Robson the spaghetti measurer. She never used it, but Robson enjoyed sliding the strands into the correct-sized hole, ensuring no gap remained.
Dom dished up the food, playing the role of perfect sitcom dad to perfection. He listened intently to the boys chattering about their latest PlayStation game, what they liked about their new school, and who their new friends were. Charlotte tried to tune in, but her mind wandered back to the previous conversation. Specifically, had she got it all wrong — again — about Amelie, and what had brought on Dom’s unexpected trouser salute?
‘Mummy, can Nathaniel and Jodie come over for a play date next week?’ Alastair expertly twirled strands of spaghetti around his fork, Robson going for the chop-it-up-and-shovel-it-in-with-a-spoon method.
‘Who? Sorry, I mean of course they can,’ replied Charlotte, staring at her own barely touched bowl. She still wasn’t up to speed with their classmates, which she needed to rectify.
‘Who’s for ice cream?’ Dom finished his pasta, giving Charlotte that twinkling smile she’d always adored, but which now only appeared on special occasions. High days, holidays, and when he fancied getting his leg over.
A few hours later, they were in bed. Dom sidled closer, and Charlotte bottom-shuffled towards the edge of the mattress. She hadn’t raised the subject of Amelie again, but her biker-boot-clad, elfin figure might as well be snuggled up between them.
‘Darling,’ murmured Dom, his finger tracing a line down Charlotte’s spine. Her treacherous body responded with a tingle of enthusiasm. It multiplied when Dom moved in for a neck nuzzle, his warm lips sending shock waves to the tips of Charlotte’s toes.
‘We’re good, aren’t we?’ His soft voice tickled her ear as she turned around.
Charlotte hesitated before replying. ‘Yes, we’re good.’ And, for the next half hour, they were very, very good.
