Page 61 of Lost in Translation
‘Oops!’ Marcus grimaced in fake pain. ‘I hope a hospital visit will not be necessary.’ He rubbed his left foot, winking at Charlotte.
‘Marcus!’ Alastair and Robson bowled down the path, grinding to a halt in front of their much-loved babysitter.
‘Ah, I will miss you two.’ Marcus shook each of their hands formally, before drawing them in for a group hug. ‘Now, remember to be good for your mum and work hard at school. In fact, I would very much like to be your pen pal.’
‘What’s a pen pal?’ Robson looked at Charlotte for an explanation.
‘It’s someone you write to with all your news. It’s a nice way to stay in touch, although most people use email these days.’
‘I am old-fashioned, and prefer to write proper letters,’ said Marcus. ‘There is something special about a letter arriving by post.’
Jürgen laughed. ‘I sometimes think my son belongs in a different era. He’d be happier if we still travelled using coaches and horses!’
The light-hearted conversation helped ease Charlotte’s raw emotions. As Marcus continued to chat to the boys, she looked at Jürgen. She saw her sadness reflected in his eyes, mirrored in the dip of his generous mouth.
‘Please may I have your address, Mrs Egerton?’ Though she had corrected him several times, Marcus never called her Charlotte. Jürgen was right; Marcus had an air of bygone days about him. He was unfailingly polite, chivalrous and charming. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
‘Here you go.’ Charlotte scribbled the address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Marcus. ‘Now we really have to leave.’
Jürgen and Marcus walked them to the car. Popping open the boot, Charlotte dumped all the bags, then strapped the boys into the back seats. ‘Bye Marcus, bye Jürgen,’ they chirruped in unison before Charlotte closed the door.
Marcus gave Charlotte a half-bow, before pecking her on the cheek, his own cheeks reddening as he did so. ‘Dad, I left some files in my locker. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
Left alone with Jürgen, Charlotte didn’t know what to say or do. Her arms drooped at her sides, one hand clutching the car key, the other digging her nails into her palm. She should leap into the driver’s seat, speed through the gates, and not look back. But Jürgen’s presence was a magnetic force field she struggled to escape from.
‘Charlotte.’ He reached out as if to hold her, then stepped back. The line they couldn’t cross, the place they couldn’t go, was marked out in invisible chalk.
‘I’m glad Marcus will keep in touch with the boys. That’s such a sweet thing to do. I’ll help them reply, of course.’
‘May I keep in touch too?’ Jürgen kept his distance, but the energy between them was palpable.
‘I don’t know — I’ll be so busy getting the boys back to school and sorting out the house and… things.’ The excuses dried up, none of them a valid reason for not staying in contact. Charlotte just felt the pain of not seeing Jürgen would be very hard to bear.
‘I’ll leave it with you. Please take care.’ With a last smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Jürgen turned and walked away. Back to his own car, his son and his life, and out of Charlotte’s for ever.
Chapter 51
Charlotte sat backwith a satisfied sigh. A mere three hours, and she’d self-assembled a bookshelf and a desk. Remarkably, there’d been no missing screws, and she’d only sworn half a dozen times.
Getting to her feet — her knees were definitely getting creakier — she headed to the kitchen for a well-earned cup of tea. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she flicked through her beloved wall calendar, pleased she’d found one with three columns instead of four. She’d headed each with their names: Charlotte, Alastair and Robson. Dom was excised from the day-to-day activities, although not from their lives. He called or FaceTimed the boys regularly. Charlotte joked with Ruth that he had more contact with them now than when they lived under the same roof.
Adding some appointments to next month’s page, including a job interview for a medical receptionist’s position, Charlotte paused, pen in hand.June 29. That was exactly a year since the Elton John concert. So much had happened in between, and memories of both the good times and the bad flooded her mind.
Dropping a tea bag into one of the boys’ hand-painted mugs, Charlotte circled the first of August. That was the day the boys broke up for the summer holidays. She’d agreed that Dom could fly over — on his own — the day after, and take them to Switzerland for two weeks. He’d visited a month ago, staying at a local B & B, and taking Alastair and Robson out in the evenings for pizza and movies.
‘How are you?’ he’d asked Charlotte when he arrived on the Friday evening. He looked thinner, with bluish shadows under his eyes and decidedly crumpled clothes.
‘I’m good. Great, in fact,’ she’d replied. Tempted as she was to comment on his appearance, Charlotte had said nothing. Perhaps Amelie demanded all-night sex which left them both too exhausted to tackle the ironing.
‘That’s, erm, good.’ Dom had shuffled awkwardly on the doorstep. Charlotte hadn’t invited him in. At some point soon they’d need to discuss the divorce and settlement, but for now Dom was covering the mortgage and paying a reasonable monthly amount into Charlotte’s bank account. Then the boys had appeared, launching themselves at their dad like heat-seeking missiles. Charlotte had waved from the window as they drove off in Dom’s hire car, before settling down with a book and some soothing background music.
Now, sipping her tea, Charlotte looked forward to seeing Ruth, Simon and Jacob later. Her best friend and partner had been total rocks since her return, helping with everything from unpacking to setting up new phone and internet packages and shopping around for a decent second-hand car. Seven years old, with low mileage, the red Nissan Juke now took pride of place on the driveway. Alastair and Robson loved its quirky look and insisted on sending a photo to Marcus. Jürgen’s son had been as good as his word, his first letter arriving in the post a week after they left Switzerland. Charlotte helped the boys to draft a reply: two pages of around ten sentences written in a mix of coloured pencils.
‘I can’t believe you haven’t sent him a single text!’ Ruth gave Charlotte a disbelieving look as they prepped nibbles together in the kitchen. ‘Who are you torturing the most, yourself or poor Jürgen?’
‘What’s the point?’ Charlotte upended a pot of mixed olives and feta cheese chunks into a bowl. ‘He lives there, I live here, and never the twain shall meet. Anyway, it’s far too soon to think about another relationship. I’m not even bloody divorced yet.’
Ruth rolled her eyes. ‘Hon, when you meet someone who makes your insides melt faster than a Magnum in a heatwave, you don’t let a little thing like geography get in the way. Isn’t that right, Simon?’
