Page 6 of Lost in Translation
‘We’re back!’ Charlotte ushered Alastair and Robson through the front door. Both clutched goodie bags packed with enough sugar to have dentists rubbing their hands in glee. ‘Right, you two, upstairs now. Goodie bags in the kitchen first — don’t give me that look, Robson — and get your face paint off. But don’t you dare pinch my cleanser. Soap and water, and as a treat you can shower in the en-suite.’
With squeals of delight, the boys disappeared at top speed. Charlotte collapsed on the sofa, psyching herself up to supervise the clean-up operation. Alastair and Robson loved the shower, with its giant rectangular head and smaller hand-held spray for rinsing. That bit was a particular favourite and usually resulted in the entire room being hosed down.
‘Hey, how was the party?’ Dom strolled into the lounge, shirt partly unbuttoned and a glass in his hand. His auburn hair needed a cut, although Charlotte quite liked the way it curled around his collar. Charlotte budged along to make room for him, but he stayed standing. ‘Your face is green. And a bit black around the eyes.’ Dom sipped his drink and gestured to his pristine white shirt.
‘That’s because I’m a witch. A tired, grumpy and very thirsty witch.’ Charlotte pointed at his glass, then looked at her watch. It was after nine, the boys needed to get to bed, and all she wanted was a cup of tea.
‘I’ll deal with the terrible twosome. You fix yourself a drink and … your face.’ Dom exited, leaving Charlotte unsure whether to laugh or cry. Getting to her feet, she glimpsed herself in the mirror above the fireplace. Lank, fake hair, topped by a droopy witch’s hat. The complexion of a reluctant sea traveller on the verge of some serious vomiting. And dark-rimmed eyes that weren’t entirely down to greasepaint.
Dunking a turmeric tea bag in a mug of boiled water, Charlotte yawned and tugged off the hat and wig. She went to pick up her phone, then paused. The one on the kitchen table looked identical to hers, but she hadn’t yet emptied her handbag. It was Dom’s. She turned it over, smiling at the grinning photo of the boys she’d had turned into a cover. To her shame, her phone cover boasted a smouldering picture of Liam Hemsworth. Bad mother. As she put it back, it rang. Charlotte hesitated, unsure what to do—
‘Bloody work!’ Dom dashed past her, grabbing the phone and glancing at the screen. ‘Just when you think the idiots have got their act together, another crisis rears its head.’ He scowled, shoved the phone in his pocket, and gave Charlotte a ‘what to do?’ look.
She lobbed her tea bag into the sink and faced him. ‘Are the boys OK?’
‘Yep. All clean and waiting patiently for a cuddle. I can read them a story if you like. You’ve probably had enough of that for one night.’ Dom’s phone pinged, signalling an incoming message. He ignored it and turned to go upstairs.
‘Shouldn’t you answer that? I mean, if there’s a crisis at the office.’ The niggling five percent of doubt reared its head again.
Dom shook his head. ‘I’ve fired out an email calling a meeting tomorrow. If they’d just read the sodding info in the first place—’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Charlotte’s doubt-o-meter registered double figures.
‘OK. You go read to the monsters, and I’ll scrub up and make us some supper.’ She’d offered to make the boys scrambled eggs on toast when they got back, but they’d already stuffed their faces at the party. Charlotte wasn’t hungry either, but for different reasons.
Standing in the bathroom, remarkably dry after the boys’ ablutions, she wiped the steam from the mirror. Squeezing a blob of cleanser on to a damp muslin cloth, Charlotte wiped away the green and black make-up. She turned off the tap, listening to the faint sound of Dom reading to Alastair and Robson. They’d just got into theCaptain Underpantsbooks and — judging by the howls of laughter — were thoroughly enjoying the latest adventure.
Before returning to the kitchen, having decided a plate of cheese and crackers would have to suffice, Charlotte bobbed into the boys’ room. ‘Right, you two, time for lights out. You still have school in the morning, remember?’
Alastair groaned. Robson scrambled out of bed and rummaged through his book bag. ‘Mummy, have you seen my spelling book? I need it for tomorrow, otherwise—’ He halted, holding up the battered jotter, jubilation on his face.
Alastair looked at Dom, who placedCaptain Underpantson the floor and grinned at Charlotte. ‘Mum’s the boss. Another chapter tomorrow night, if you don’t sleep in and unleash the morning demons.’
Despite her unease about Dom, Charlotte giggled. They’d taken to referring to ‘morning demons’ on the days when everyone was running late, the toast got burned and the car wouldn’t start.
‘Do I need to brush my teeth?’ Robson, normally obsessive about routine, crawled under his duvet.
Charlotte shot Dom a look, and he shrugged. ‘Sorry. Thought they’d already done it. OK, in the bathroom now! Chop chop.’
The boys meekly followed Dom, Charlotte hanging back. She fluffed up their duvets, recalling how Alastair used to love her doing that while he was lying underneath. ‘Give it a shake, Mummy! Again, please!’ So many small rituals that gradually fell by the wayside as the years passed. How much longer before the boys refused to hold her hand? Turned their noses up at building Playmobil or Lego castles with her, or spending hours working on an elaborate jigsaw puzzle? Their teens were still a long way off, but Charlotte caught glimpses of the young men they would become. Alastair, a dreamer with a heart full of kindness. He might hate spiders, but he’d never kill one. Robson, precise and orderly. An accountant in the making, she thought wryly.
Kissing their scrubbed cheeks, Charlotte bade the boys goodnight. She joined Dom in the kitchen, opening the fridge in search of a chunk of Cheddar and some home-made pickle.
‘Any chance of something more substantial?’ Dom eyed the cheese and biscuits Charlotte plonked on a plate. ‘I didn’t have time for lunch.’
‘It’s late, I’m tired, and the best I can offer is this. Or reheated soup.’Or make yourself a sodding sandwich.
Dom retrieved his glass from the counter and fetched a second from the cupboard. Charlotte didn’t really want alcohol, but something in his expression said she might need it. He poured the last of the wine, crouching down to ensure the measures were equal.
‘What’s up?’ Charlotte cut the cheese into chunks. She bit into one, gulping frantically as it welded itself to the roof of her mouth. Dom handed her a glass of wine, and she downed most of it in one go.
‘Stuff’s been going on at work,’ Dom said. ‘I don’t mean today’s shitstorm; that’s pretty standard when you work with a bunch of incompetents.’
Do those incompetents include Amelie?And why did he have to be so mean about them, anyway? Aside from Jack, Charlotte had only met a handful of Dom’s team, who all seemed perfectly nice and normal. It pained her to think it, but Dom’s ego had expanded recently. Since his last promotion he’d swaggered around, declaring that the next step up the ladder was just around the corner. Charlotte had celebrated with him — of course she had — but she didn’t understand his need to keep shooting for a higher rung. They were comfortably off, with a pleasant house, the boys in a good state school and no big issues to deal with.
‘I don’t quite know how to say it, but… We might have to move.’
Moving was the furthest thing from Charlotte’s mind. She felt paralysed, unable to process what her husband had just said.Move?He’d had his eye on a bigger property in the next village, with an extra bedroom, bigger garden and posher neighbours. But the additional cost would nuke their budget. Charlotte didn’t need to move. She didn’twantto move.
‘Darling, they’ve offered me a transfer.’
