Page 29 of Lost in Translation
‘And say what? Hey, guys, I’ve been sleeping with both of you, I’m up the duff, and there’s a fifty per cent chance you’re the daddy. Fancy going shopping for bootees?’
Despite the situation, Charlotte giggled. Ruth’s ability to wisecrack no matter how dire things seemed was one of her trademarks — and one of the many reasons she loved her to bits. ‘How far along are you?’ There was no discernible bump, although Ruth’s T-shirt could hide several months’ worth of baby.
‘Ten weeks, according to the doctor. Still early days, and time to deal with it.’ She took a sip of the fizz and wrinkled her nose. ‘God, not only am I chucking up like a demon, but booze tastes vile and the smell of coffee makes me dry-heave. Can I have those crackers, hon?’
Charlotte rummaged in the biscuit tin, producing an open packet of rye biscuits she only ever ate on diet days. Placing them on a plate, she helped herself to a sandwich; not that she felt hungry. ‘What do you mean, time to deal with it?’ Then an icy feeling in the pit of her stomach told Charlotte exactly what Ruth meant.
‘Charlotte, I’m the wrong side of forty. I run a successful business and pretty much do what I want, when I want. Mr Right never came along, but I’ve been happy seeing men — OK, younger men — on my terms. I’m not stupid; I caught a tummy bug and I guess it screwed up the Pill’s efficiency. Ironic, really, that a bout of vomiting leads to this.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Charlotte took Ruth’s hands and squeezed them tightly. ‘Please tell me you’re not thinking of—’
Ruth shrugged. ‘An abortion? Hon, it’s pretty much all I’ve thought about in recent weeks. Me, a single mother?’ She laughed, a harsh sound the opposite of her usual throaty chuckle. ‘I don’t think I’m cut out forthatrole, do you?’
Chapter 24
‘He didwhat?’Sadie put down her cup, tea spilling into the saucer.
‘He made a pass at me.’ Pamela picked up the complimentary biscuit and popped it in her mouth.
‘Jürgen?’ Sadie gaped at Pamela.
Charlotte said nothing. She’d heard what Pamela said the first time. As had Sadie, but disbelief had etched deep furrows in her brow.
‘Yes, Jürgen. I know you’ve got a soft spot for him, Sadie, but the man is reprehensible.’
Charlotte still had reservations about the enigmatic German. OK, she’d met him once more for coffee, but his comment about needing friends had moved her. The fact she’d met him (not something she’d shared with either Dom or the two women sitting with her) prickled at her conscience. Yet, somehow, she couldn’t square what Pamela was saying with the man she was getting to know a little better.
‘Why are you telling us this now?’ Sadie leant forward, her brow relaxed but her fingernails drumming a tattoo on the table. ‘We knew you weren’t a card-carrying member of his fan club, but we never asked why—’
Charlotte nudged Sadie in the ribs. Theyhadasked, several times. And Pamela had always clammed up, pink spots flaring on her cheeks.
‘Does Martin know?’ asked Sadie.
‘Of course not.’ Pamela’s straying husband, welcomed back into the fold after his dalliance with the au pair, cut a forlorn figure these days. He lingered on the sidelines at school events, pulling the twins close as if realising how close he’d come to being a part-time dad. ‘Because—’ Pamela lowered her voice, forcing Charlotte and Sadie to lean closer. ‘Martin would see it as my way of getting back at him for sleeping with that tart. Not that I’ve forgiven him, but I don’t want to give him reason to think he’s got the moral high ground.’
‘But you said Jürgen made a pass atyou. Surely Martin would be angry on your behalf?’ Charlotte struggled to imagine meek and mild Martin building up a head of steam about anything. He reminded her of a turtle, minus its shell. His head was slightly too large for his skinny body, poking out of an ill-fitting, crumpled shirt — possibly because the au pair was no longer around to do the ironing. Still, he must have something going for him; perhaps an enormous—
‘I’m not taking the risk. Anyway, my advice is to steer clear of him.’ Pamela directed this remark at Charlotte, those pink spots turning a vivid scarlet.
Had Pamela spotted them together? Lurked behind a pillar, phone at the ready to take incriminating shots of … what? Charlotte seductively swirling a spoon through a latte, licking the froth as Jürgen deftly sliced up a millefeuille? No, they’d done nothing wrong. Two people chatting in a coffee shop, fully clothed and guilty of nothing more than a fledgling friendship.
‘When did he make a pass at you?’ Sadie brought out a hand mirror and checked her reflection. Tutting, she produced her lipstick and did a touch-up job.
‘It was… I can’t exactly remember. A few months ago. Yes! At school. During the seniors’ disco. I’d volunteered to help serve drinks. Not alcohol, of course.’
‘Jürgen came on to you at a school disco?’ Charlotte tried but failed to keep a note of incredulity out of her voice.
‘Notatthe disco. Outside, when I realised I’d left my phone in the car. He followed me and … he tried to kiss me.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Sadie smacked her lips together, puckering up at an old man sitting in the corner with a beer and an ancient dog drooling at his feet. He raised his glass in a toast. Sadie reciprocated with her mug of camomile tea.
Something was off; Charlotte could sense it. Pamela’s version of events didn’t ring true.
‘I pushed him away, but he tried again.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Jürgen.’ Sadie frowned, putting down her tea. ‘Are you sure you didn’t get the wrong end of the stick? Like, maybe he thought you were upset or something, and he was trying to comfort you—’
‘I wasn’t upset, and even if I had been, trying to stick your tongue down someone’s throat is a funny way of comforting them.’ Pamela’s face contorted in fury, the redness spreading down her neck.
