Page 35 of Lost in Translation
Charlotte blushed. Hoping Jürgen hadn’t noticed, she followed him to his car. It suddenly dawned on her that it wasn’t the swanky sports beast, but a more modest Audi. Clocking her expression, Jürgen grinned. ‘Yes, I would have had a problem fitting both you and Alastair into my expensive toy.’
They got Alastair into the back seat as gently as possible. He hadn’t said a word and continued to fiddle with his T-shirt. Once he was settled, Charlotte got into the passenger seat and buckled up.
‘The Ferrari is in the garage for a small repair,’ Jürgen explained as he started the engine. ‘I had a minor disagreement with a wall the other day when I was reversing.’
Charlotte couldn’t stop herself from giggling. ‘I guess we both have a thing about walls,’ she said, ‘although you can’t blamemefor your mishap this time!’
Chapter 29
During the brief journey,Charlotte tried repeatedly to call Dom. Each time, his phone went to voicemail. She left a terse message, urging him to call back as soon as possible. Biting back her anger, she focused on keeping calm and chatting to Alastair. His colour had returned to near-normal, but he gave the occasional gasp as the pain kicked in.
‘Here we are.’ Jürgen pulled up at the entrance to the ‘Urgence’ department of the hospital. ‘Let’s get Alastair inside, then I’ll park and help you get him checked in.’
Guiding Alastair to a plastic chair in the small lobby, Charlotte found her purse and dug out Alastair’s private medical insurance card. She racked her brains for the words in French to describe what had happened, but got no further than il a tombé (he fell) and cassé (broken). Or was it caché? She always got those two muddled up.
Luckily, when Jürgen arrived, he spoke perfect French and the whole signing-in process took five minutes. A nurse directed them to the X-ray department and told them to wait. Shortly afterwards, another nurse came and administered a mild painkiller which Alastair swallowed gratefully.
‘Will I be able to go back to summer camp, Mummy?’ he asked, when Jürgen wandered off to get coffees from the vending machine.
‘Sweetheart, I don’t know,’ Charlotte replied. Deep down she doubted it, and certainly not on the sports field. ‘Let’s just wait and see what the doctor tells us.’
Several more attempts to reach Dom failed. Sadie texted that they were safely home, Robson’s team had won their match, and the children were glued to the TV. Charlotte scrolled through her phone looking for numbers for Dom’s parents, but she couldn’t find any. Then she remembered that she’d had a problem with her phone when they first arrived in Switzerland and lost all her contact details. And keying in Torquil and Jean’s numbers hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind.
‘Here you go.’ Jürgen passed Charlotte the plastic cup of coffee. ‘I think I pressed the button for one with sugar by mistake. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ she replied, taking a tentative sip. ‘Look, you don’t have to hang around here. I can always get a taxi home when we’re finished.’ As she spoke, Charlotte realised she didn’t want Jürgen to leave. His presence was comforting, but she felt guilty about him staying.
‘I’m going nowhere,’ he said firmly, fixing Charlotte with that direct gaze she’d become familiar with. ‘My plans for a wild evening of watching TV with Marcus and whipping up an omelette can wait.’
Half an hour later, Alastair went off to have his arm X-rayed. Jürgen had popped outside to vape, and Charlotte paced up and down nervously.
It seemed an eternity until a doctor appeared, holding the X-rays and a lollipop for Alastair. He took it shyly and popped it in his mouth.
‘You speak English?’ the doctor asked. He looked in his mid-forties, with thinning dark hair and a kindly face. Charlotte nodded gratefully.
‘So, young man,’ he continued, addressing Alastair, ‘you have a rather nasty break here,’ — he pointed to just above Alastair’s elbow — ‘which is a little more difficult to immobilise.’
Alastair gave Charlotte a puzzled look.
‘It means it’s harder to keep it still so that it heals,’ she said, looking at the doctor for confirmation.
‘Indeed,’ he confirmed. ‘We will first try to strap you up like an Egyptian mummy and see how that goes.’
Alastair’s face crumpled when the doctor said there would be no sports of any kind for at least six weeks. ‘Are you left-handed?’ the doctor asked.
Alastair shook his head.
‘In that case, you can use your right for writing or drawing, although playing computer games might be a little challenging!’
Jürgen reappeared as a junior nurse led Alastair off to be trussed up, and Charlotte filled him in on the diagnosis.
‘Ah, that is not so good,’ he said, his eyes filled with sympathy. ‘But time will pass quickly, and he will soon be as right as rain. An English expression I always find strange, because what is right with rain?’
Charlotte smiled. ‘Well, after three weeks of solid sunshine, we could do with some. No wonder poor Alastair broke his arm. The school pitch is rock hard!’
They waited together in companionable silence. A few staff members drifted by, and a young woman hobbled into another room, pain etched on her face. At least the doctor had assured Charlotte that swimming would be helpful as physiotherapy once the bone had healed.
‘Did you reach your husband?’ Jürgen touched Charlotte lightly on her hand, which she realised was holding her skirt in a death grip. She released the fabric and smoothed it down.
