Page 22 of Lost in Translation
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.
Alicia squished the tea bag into the tall glass mug, its colour spreading in kaleidoscope swirls.
‘Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’
No idea. Buggered if I know why I bothered to ask. Alicia reminded Charlotte of the cool girls at her old school, the ones who stalked the hallways like young lionesses, ready to rip apart anyone who didn’t meet their gold standard of casual ennui. Charlotte had kept out of their way, mostly, but many had suffered their withering put-downs and subtle bullying.
‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.’ Charlotte gathered up her things, leaving Jürgen’s more than adequate payment on the table. ‘See you soon.’
Alicia mumbled something Charlotte didn’t quite catch. Probably ‘bye’, but it was hard to hear over the buzz of the café. She headed for the door, looking back once as she waited for an elderly lady pulling a laden bag on wheels to shuffle in. Alicia didn’t look up, her focus on the mug of tea.
Chapter 19
‘I don’t like mayonnaise.’Nathaniel peeled open his sandwich and inspected the ham filling, his freckled nose crinkling with distaste.
‘Here, have my cheese one.’ Alastair swapped plates, eager to please his new friend.
Jodie, his other new friend, chomped on a slice of toast slathered in peanut butter. ‘I’m vegan,’ she had announced on the way up from school. ‘My mummy says we shouldn’t eat anything that has a face.’
Charlotte loved meat, but images of forlorn lambs, crestfallen chickens and sad cows filled her head as she wended her way past the vineyards. The vines were blossoming after the winter; fresh growth which would one day be transformed into Swiss wine.
‘There’s egg and cress too,’ she said, pointing at the platter in the centre of the table.
‘I can’t eat eggs,’ Jodie replied. ‘Vegans don’t eat eggs.’
Eggs don’t have faces. Unless you paint silly ones on them at Easter. OK, Charlotte knew eggs hatched, so technically they did, but how could anyone live without eggs?
Popping another slice of bread in the toaster for her vegan guest, Charlotte checked her phone on the kitchen counter. A text from Dom, saying he’d be late home and wouldn’t need dinner. Fine. No need to bother with the confit du canard and cassoulet she’d planned to prepare — well, dig out of the freezer and open the tin. Charlotte and the boys could have fish fingers, a tin of Heinz’s finest — even if they cost three times the price here — and a side of oven chips. There’d be plenty of sandwiches left for Dom whenever he got home.
‘What’s a vegan?’ asked Robson, reaching for the pickle jar. He spread a thick layer on his cheese sandwich, slurping his drink. Charlotte smiled and wiped away his milky moustache with a napkin. Robson flinched, embarrassed, and Jodie sniggered, unaware that she had a large blob of peanut butter on her chin.
‘We talked about it in the car,’ Charlotte said. ‘Vegans don’t eat meat, or fish, or eggs, or dairy products, or … erm, I’m not sure what else.’
‘That’s silly. What do you eat when you go to McDonald’s?’
Judging by the look on Jodie’s face, a trip to the Golden Arches didn’t feature on her social calendar.
With the children hunkered down for a cartoon-viewing session, Charlotte made a coffee and opened up her iPad. A number on her email inbox signalled a bunch of new emails. She clicked on the icon, sighing at the usual promo material, predominantly in German. Charlotte doubted she’d ever master French, never mind German. So many people in Switzerland were fluent in multiple languages. It was embarrassing, and a good reason to insist the boys work hard in their French lessons.
Hitting ‘delete’ on offers of discounted furniture and fitness gear, Charlotte grinned. An email from Ruth, buried beneath the special offers. They emailed from time to time, Ruth’s missives packed with gossip, funny stories and assurances that life wasn’t perfect in Blighty. Charlotte tried to reply similarly, keeping her gripes to a minimum. She opened the message, praying for no interruptions.
Hi, hon. How’s things in the land of cheese and chocolate?
Hope Dom’s behaving himself. I bought some new, super-sharp secateurs for the garden. Just saying.
Life goes on here, the usual lumps and bumps (and I ain’t talking about my midsection). Or maybe I am. Sorry, rambling on. My mum’s on a detox at the moment and she keeps sending me recipes of revolting green sludge that’s supposed to cleanse your colon. Think I’d rather shove a hosepipe up my bum!
Work’s super busy, which is good for the bank balance but not so good for my sanity. What’s new with you? Have you made a new BF yet? Hope I haven’t been relegated to the bottom of the friendship league…
Speaking of which, I need to get away for a bit (not that kind of ‘bit’, you filthy-minded mare!) Soooo, I was wondering if you fancied a bit of company in June. Can be flexible on dates, looking at staying maybe three/four days if you can put up with me for that long. Really need some girlie time, and a proper chat. All this texting and email malarkey is a poor substitute for getting together and chewing the fat. Oops, back to talking about blubber again!
Charlotte looked up as Alastair bowled into the room. ‘We’re still hungry,’ he said, reaching for the biscuit tin. ‘Do we have any biscuits Jodie can eat?’
A quick scan of ingredients revealed that Hobnobs and Digestives were a safe bet. Alastair piled them on a plate, and Charlotte made up a jug of diluted juice. Satisfied, Alastair disappeared into the living room, biting his lip with concentration as he carried the tray of snacks and drinks.
Charlotte returned to Ruth’s email.
I can fly direct to Geneva and take the train to you if that’s easier. Or you can book me a stretch limo with a hunky chauffeur and a fully stocked minibar. The choice is yours… Anyway, let me know how you’re fixed and I’ll get on to booking stuff asap.
