Page 31 of Lost in Translation
Rounding off the chat, Ruth dodged the ‘you need to tell them’ bullet again. But she promised Charlotte she’d decide soon.
Chapter 26
‘I was thinkingof going to visit my folks for a few days.’ Dom muted the TV, silencing the couple bickering over whether they should build an extension to their home, or move to a bigger place in the countryside. Charlotte threw him a filthy look. It was one of her favourite UK shows, although she rarely guessed correctly whether they’d ‘love it or list it.’
‘Really? Is something up?’ Charlotte wandered into the kitchen where meat sauce for the boys’ favourite lasagne bubbled on the hob.
‘Erm, Dad called earlier when I was at work,’ said Dom. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the cap. ‘Mum’s been a bit off-colour recently — nothing serious, mind — so I thought I should go over. Play the dutiful son for once, seeing as they’re not getting any younger.’
Charlotte sliced a chunk of butter and lobbed it into a pan for the béchamel sauce. Nobody was getting any younger, including themselves. She was still coming to terms with turning forty over six months after the event. Torquil and Jean were only in their early seventies and built of stern stuff. Nothing short of a full-blown nuclear attack would fell those two, she thought.
‘Do you want us to come too?’ Charlotte metaphorically crossed her fingers in the hope Dom would say no. It wasn’t as if his parents expressed any regular desire to see her or the boys. Occasional brief and stilted FaceTime chats comprised their contribution to grandparent participation. Not that they saw Charlotte’s parents often either, but she hoped they’d visit at some point. And their online chats with Alastair and Robson happened most weeks and lasted up to an hour.
‘There’s no need, it’s just for a few days. Anyway, the boys have summer camp coming up.’
With Dom adamant they couldn’t book a summer holiday yet — ‘too much going on work-wise’ — Charlotte had enrolled Alastair and Robson in the school’s expensive five-day camp. Running from mid-morning till late afternoon, it promised an action-packed programme of sports and craft-making activities, and included lunch and snacks. Sadie’s kids were also taking part, as were Pamela’s twins.
‘What’s wrong with your mum?’ asked Charlotte, stirring the sauce frantically. Damn it, she’d need to sieve out the lumps.
‘Oh, just a touch of the flu,’ mumbled Dom. ‘Nothing serious, but it’s been ages since I saw them.’
He wandered off, clutching his beer and saying that he’d get on with booking his flights. Normally Charlotte dealt with family trips, but as he was travelling solo, she left him to it.
Robson appeared. ‘Mummy, can I help with the lasagne?’
Hot on his heels came Alastair, with a 500-piece Harry Potter jigsaw and foldaway puzzle board in his clutches. ‘Can I set this up on the dining table?’ he asked.
Charlotte nodded, and Robson knelt on a stool next to her. Lining up the lasagne sheets and sauces, she explained which order they went in.
From the hallway, she could hear Dom on the phone. He gave a low chuckle, but Charlotte couldn’t make out what he was saying. Perhaps he was talking to his mum, though that seemed unlikely, as Jean Egerton was to humour what vegan burgers were to carnivores.
Dom reappeared, stuffing his phone in his shorts pocket. ‘All booked. I leave tomorrow and I’ll be back on Thursday. Will you miss me, guys?’ He directed the question at the boys, although he winked at Charlotte.
‘Why would we miss you, Daddy?’ said Robson, sitting back to admire his culinary skills. The lasagne was a little lopsided, with white sauce oozing over the edges of the dish. ‘You go away a lot, and sometimes you’re not here at bedtime.’
Dom frowned and patted Robson on the head. ‘Sorry, bud. I do my best, and you’ve always got Mum around. And your brother.’
Alastair looked up from his jigsaw. He’d picked out most of the border pieces and started lining them up neatly. ‘I’ll miss you, Daddy. Is dinner nearly ready?’
After dinner, which Dom pronounced a triumph, he insisted on helping Charlotte locate the various bits of kit the boys would need for summer camp. Charlotte tasked Alastair with scrubbing their filthy football boots outside, and Robson with tracking down their tennis rackets.
‘How do they ever find anything in here?’ Dom complained, pulling out a drawer packed with higgledy-piggledy socks, underwear and vests. ‘It looks like an explosion in a clothing factory.’
Dom liked everything in his wardrobe and drawers arranged with regimental neatness — not thathewas personally responsible for such order. Since they’d got married, it was Charlotte who paired the socks, ironed and hung up the shirts and folded T-shirts with military precision. She had followed in the footsteps of her mother, a woman who staunchly believed that a wife’s duty was to cater for her husband’s every need. Ruth had teased Charlotte about it often, calling her a Stepford Wife and asking if she had to charge her batteries each day.
‘They’re children, Dom, and it’s not that bad,’ Charlotte retorted, tossing a handful of school PE shorts on Alastair’s bed. ‘I spend enough time making sure your boxers are perfectly aligned without having to stress about the boys’ stuff. It’s clean, it’s put away, and that’s all that bloody matters.’
Leaving Charlotte to locate the last few items, Dom went off to pack his own carry-on bag. Passing their bedroom, Charlotte peeked in and saw several of his favourite shirts hanging on the wardrobe handle. She was about to offer to fold them — she usually did — but a general feeling of irritation washed over her, and she stomped downstairs.
‘Glass of vino?’ Dom joined her in the living room where she was curled up on the sofa with a hideously overpriced UK women’s magazine bought from the village. Alastair had returned to the jigsaw, and Robson was outside practising his tennis moves with an ancient Swingball set.
‘Sure.’ Charlotte flicked to the beauty section, eyeing up the editor’s picks of must-have serums and exfoliators. Some brands were impossible to find in Switzerland, and she’d had a nasty surprise early on when she ordered her favourite cleanser and moisturiser online. Her delight at receiving the package turned to disbelief when the postman demanded cash payment of taxes — almost half the cost of the products — on the doorstep.
Handing Charlotte a glass of chilled rosé, Dom plonked himself down next to her and squeezed her knee. ‘I’ll try to ping you once a day while I’m away, but I think Dad’s got a few jobs lined up for me. Stuff in the garden, and you know Mum’ll expect a few outings. If she’s up for it, of course,’ he added quickly.
‘Fine. I’ll be busy anyway, running the boys up and down to camp, and hopefully having some fun with the ladies.’ Charlotte, Sadie and Pamela had already planned some shopping trips and a lunch outing across the lake to France.
‘Good stuff. Enjoy.’ Dom clinked his glass against Charlotte’s and grinned. ‘I’ll pick you up something nice at the airport. What’s your favourite perfume again?’
