Page 52 of Lost in Translation
‘Please cut to the chase.’ Charlotte didn’t want Dom and the boys wandering in mid-chat. She checked the time at the top of the screen. Only half-past eleven, so that was unlikely unless her darling husband had had enough of the delights of H&M and bought Alastair and Robson a takeaway lunch.
‘Once he’d processed it, which only took another cup of tea and a strong measure of whisky, he looked quite chuffed. No, scratch that, he gave me an enormous hug and assured me he’d be there for me in whatever way I wanted. Shadowy partner, part-time dad, source of cash with no strings attached. He covered all the bases, including some I hadn’t even considered. Mind truly blown, hon!’
Charlotte clapped with delight. ‘Oh Ruth, I’m so, so happy for you. Now you won’t have to go it alone. You must be over the moon!’
Ruth laughed. ‘Don’t go buying a wedding outfit just yet, hon. It’s early days — well, not so much for my burgeoning bump — and I’ve no intention of diving head first into a serious relationship. Simon agreed we should start dating again, but baby steps for now. Oops, excuse the pun!’
‘Speaking of bumps, didn’t he notice you’d expanded around the middle?’ Ruth was well into the second trimester, and should definitely be showing by now — unless she was one of those maddening women who only sprouted the tiniest of bumps in the final weeks. Charlotte had not been one of those.
‘I’m not too enormous yet,’ said Ruth, standing up and turning sideways. Sure enough, you’d be hard-pressed to notice anything. Charlotte’s stomach often looked larger after a particularly carb-laden meal. ‘Mind you, Simon’s such a gent that he’d never comment on a woman’s weight gain. Will, however, would have pointed out my paunch and prescribed a diet plan and some hideous abdominal exercises.’
Although Ruth made the comment in jest, Charlotte felt relieved that Will wasn’t the father of the baby. She didn’t know much about Simon, but the words ‘decent’ and ‘kind’ sprang to mind. Who knew what lay ahead for her best friend? Happiness, Charlotte hoped, and maybe love too.
After signing off with promises on each side to keep one another updated, Charlotte made herself a cheese and pickle sandwich. She’d taken one bite when she heard Dom’s car pull up outside.
‘A successful mission?’ she asked, as Alastair and Robson bowled in with full carrier bags. Dom trailed in behind them, glued to his phone with an irate expression.
‘Yes, Mummy. We got some cool shorts and topsandnew swimming trunks. Look!’ Robson delved into his bag and produced a lurid pair of Hawaiian-style board shorts with a flourish. Not to be outdone, Alastair scrabbled around with his good arm, and held up a pair featuring images of Bart Simpson.
‘And we went to the funniest restaurant for lunch. Didn’t we, Daddy?’ Robson looked expectantly at Dom, who shoved his phone in his pocket and waited for Robson to continue.
‘You had to choose things from a … a … what’s the word again?’
‘Buffet,’ replied Dom. ‘Listen, Charlotte, I need to head out for a bit. Antoine needs a hand assembling some furniture, and his partner is out of town. I won’t be long.’ He blew her a kiss which Charlotte ignored, focusing instead on Robson’s excitement.
‘See you.’ Charlotte relieved the boys of their bags and they sat together at the kitchen table. ‘OK, why was it funny?’
‘Well, you picked what you wanted and piled it on your plate. I had hummus and a pasta salad thingy and lots of meatballs.’
‘And I had couscous and chicken wings and big beans in a tomato sauce,’ added Alastair.
‘But when you got to the till, theyweighedthe food! Cos that’s how they work out the price. Isn’t that weird, Mummy?’
Charlotte smiled at their beaming faces. ‘Just as well you didn’t choose really heavy food, otherwise it would have cost a fortune.’
For the next ten minutes they chatted about their outing, which had also included a walk along the lakefront, now host to myriad food and merchandise stalls for the jazz festival. Under different circumstances Charlotte would have suggested a family outing to take in the atmosphere, but she didn’t feel like hanging out with Dom more than was necessary. Any summer holiday plans had evaporated, although Alastair and Robson were content to see friends and play in the garden. And when Charlotte had mentioned getting tickets for a concert or two a while back, Dom had shown little enthusiasm. Sadie had a spare one for Rag ’n’ Bone Man, but Charlotte hadn’t committed to going.
Once the boys had disappeared to put away their swag, or more likely, scatter it all over the floor, Charlotte gazed sadly at the wall calendar. So little was planned, apart from Alastair’s appointment in two weeks to check on his arm. Fingers crossed that he’d be liberated from his contraption, and they could venture to one or two of the lovely outdoor public swimming pools.
Taking a coffee outside, Charlotte slumped into a deckchair and soaked up the magnificent view. It was always breathtaking, even on those days when the sky darkened and dramatic bolts of lightning flashed across the lake and mountains. Alastair found the storms scary, but Charlotte and Robson loved them. They’d press their noses against the glass doors, squealing in delight every time the thunder crashed and the jagged forks touched down.
Inhaling the super-fresh air, laced with a hint of newly cut grass, Charlotte wished with all her heart for peace. Right now, her head felt like a small boat being tossed around on rough waters.
Chapter 43
Wanderingalong the lakeside in Montreux, Charlotte marvelled at how quiet it was — just a handful of joggers and cyclists, and a few dog walkers diligently picking up poop with the plastic bags provided by the local authority. It was such a contrast to the way it had been a couple of weeks earlier during the Jazz Festival, when people jostled for space, hunting for a spot to eat and drink amidst a sea of sweaty bodies.
Snapping another photo of Freddie’s statue, and double-checking that it had come out OK, Charlotte continued towards the shopping centre. Alastair and Robson were at Nathaniel’s for a play date, and Dom had left the house at seven for an early meeting.
Taking out a couple of folded shopping bags, Charlotte crossed the deserted market square and entered the building. The air conditioning cooled her skin and provided welcome relief from the midday heat.
As Charlotte popped a one-franc coin into the trolley release, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Twirling round, she saw it was Jürgen. He too clutched an armful of bags, and a broad grin stretched across his face.
‘It is a small world, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘Although we have a habit of meeting up in supermarkets.’
Charlotte laughed, more pleased to see Jürgen than she cared to dwell upon. ‘That’s because my social life is pathetic. It’s ridiculous how excited I get choosing the right ripe avocado or the perfect wedge of Brie.’
With a trolley each, they sauntered through the automatic barrier. Jürgen produced a handwritten list and a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket.
