Page 36 of Lost in Translation
‘No, it’s going to voicemail. He must be somewhere with no signal.’Or, a disturbing little voice whispered in her ear, he isn’t where he said he would be.She willed the voice to shut up, feeling the calm instilled by Jürgen’s presence give way to a churning wave of anxiety.
An hour later, they left the hospital. Alastair was under strict instructions to keep the half-body cast dry, which meant shallow baths and damp flannels to wash around his upper half. ‘Won’t I get smelly, Mummy?’ he asked, as they made their way home. ‘If I can’t wash under my arms, I mean.’
Jürgen signalled to turn into their road. ‘Perhaps you can spray yourself with your dad’s cologne. Or your family can all wear masks!’
Alastair giggled. ‘That would be funny. Do we have masks, Mummy?’
Pulling up in the driveway, Jürgen insisted on escorting them into the house. He offered to make coffee for Charlotte, but she declined. Leaving Alastair installed in the lounge with Cartoon Network, she texted Sadie to say they’d returned. Once her friend had assured her they’d be on their way soon, she joined Jürgen in the kitchen.
‘I’m so grateful, Jürgen. I’m not sure I’d have managed without you being there.’ That wasn’tentirelytrue; the process had been easy, even if she might have muddled up a few words. But having him there had been as comforting as a warm blanket on a chilly winter’s evening.
‘It was my pleasure. That’s what friends are for.’ And with that, he kissed Charlotte lightly on the cheek, called out a goodbye to Alastair, and left.
Charlotte was busy dolloping passata and mozzarella on a pizza base when the doorbell rang.
‘How’s the walking wounded?’ asked Sadie, ushering in Robson, who immediately called out to his brother.
‘He’s OK,’ said Charlotte. ‘Come and see.’
Robson went into the lounge first and immediately exclaimed, ‘That’s so cool!’ in response to Alastair’s unorthodox attire.
Sadie followed Charlotte in. ‘Oh, you poor lamb!’ she announced, delving into her capacious handbag. ‘I’m guessing no more footie for a while’ — Alastair’s face fell — ‘but I happen to know you’re an ace artist, so these are for you.’ She produced a giant tin of Caran D’Ache colouring pencils and passed them over.
‘Thank you,’ said Alastair shyly, stroking the embossed lid with his good hand.
In the kitchen, Charlotte fixed iced coffees for Sadie and herself. Robson carefully measured out orange cordial in two glasses and topped it up with water, then took the drinks into the lounge.
‘Is Dom dashing back to be with you?’ asked Sadie, scooping ice into her drink.
Charlotte shrugged. She’d never confided her concerns about Dom and Amelie to her friend. Much as she liked Sadie, she’d only known her a few months, and with the whole Pamela/Jürgen situation she hadn’t wanted to suggest anything was amiss with her own marriage.
‘I haven’t been able to get hold of him,’ she said. ‘I’ve left messages, but no call back so far.’
‘What about ringing his folks? Didn’t you say he was spending time with them? Sorry, dumb question. They’d be the next people you’d try, wouldn’t they?’
Before she could explain about not having their numbers, Charlotte slapped her forehead.Duh!She might not have their mobile numbers, but she maintained an old-school phone book in which she kept contact details for friends and family. Dom had called her a dinosaur, but she found it satisfying to score out old addresses and note who did (or didn’t) send Christmas cards. Torquil and Jean’s landline number was definitely in there.
After Sadie left, Charlotte went in search of the phone book. She hadn’t used it since Christmas and feared it might be languishing in one of the many boxes cluttering up the garage. Before embarking on the daunting task of looking there, she pulled out the drawer of the bureau in the hallway. Voilà! Charlotte wrestled the dog-eared book from under a pile of leaflets and catalogues.
Checking that the boys were OK first, she took the book into the kitchen and flicked to the letter E. Grabbing her phone, she keyed in Dom’s parents’ number, and waited.
Chapter 30
‘Hello? Who’s calling?’
‘Hello! Is that Jean?’
Of course it was. Charlotte would recognise that hoity-toity voice anywhere. She swore that Dom’s mum had studied old recordings of the Queen’s speech to perfect her received pronunciation. The woman came from Hull!
‘Yes, who is this?’
Charlotte bit back a sarcastic response. Perhaps Jean’s ailment had affected her hearing, and it wasn’t as if they had cosy chats regularly. ‘It’s Charlotte,’ she replied. ‘How are you?’
There was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of a dog barking in the background. Clementine the corgi, no doubt. A squat little creature with a penchant for leaping into the laps of those who least welcomed it.
‘Oh, hello, my dear. How lovely to hear from you.’ If sincerity could be measured on a scale of one to ten, Jean’s reply barely scraped a three. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Well, no, actually.’ Charlotte stammered over the words. ‘There’s been an accident, nothing serious, but I just wanted—’
