Page 8 of Lost in Translation
Charlotte didn’t need to look at Dom to know his feelings on that one. His parents had two shelves of a cabinet devoted to trophies he’d gained over the years. Winning was everything in his eyes. Huffing and puffing at the rear equalled ‘loser’.
‘It all sounds wonderful.’ Much to her horror, Charlotte’s voice cracked. Dom reached over and squeezed her hand just a little too tightly.
Ms Chapuis sat back and steepled her hands, every finger bearing an ornate silver ring. ‘Moving to a new country is always a challenge, Mrs Egerton. Many of the tears we see on day one are from parents, not children. All I can advise is to reflect upon your decision. Young children pick up on negativity all too readily and transitioning to a new country and school needs to be handled with care. Of course, we do all we can to make it as smooth as possible, but…’ Her bright blue eyes regarded Charlotte with a mix of concern and compassion.
‘You don’t need to worry, Ms Chapuis,’ said Dom. ‘Charlotte’s just a little overwhelmed, but we are one hundred per cent committed to this exciting new stage of our lives. Aren’t we, darling?’
A tap at the door signalled the boys’ return. They entered the room, both fizzing with enthusiasm.
‘It’s so cool here!’ declared Robson. ‘This is definitely my favourite.’
‘I like it too,’ added Alastair, ‘even if we have to wear uniform.’
‘Well, I think we’ve made our decision.’ Dom got up and shook Ms Chapuis’s hand. ‘If you could arrange for your secretary to send over the relevant paperwork, we can get cracking.’
Moments later they left. The boys chattered nineteen to the dozen, each with at least one foot already firmly planted on Swiss soil.
Charlotte surveyed the surroundings and wished her heart agreed with her head. It was beautiful; the kind of environment thousands of people would want for their children. She needed to stop thinking of herself. They were a family and needed to pull together.
‘All we need now is a place to stay, and it’s all systems go.’ Dom draped an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. She murmured agreement, and they set off for the waiting taxi.
Chapter 9
Findingsuitable rental accommodation had been more challenging than choosing a school. Charlotte balked at a communal laundry in two apartment blocks they viewed. Having an allotted day and time slot to tackle the mountains of manky clothing produced by the boys filled her with horror. Another place featured an open-plan bathroom, meaning anyone doing their business was in plain sight of whoever was in the bedroom. Two houses seemed more promising, but the asking price was out of their budget.
‘What do you think of this one, sweetheart?’ Their final viewing of the day was a three-bedroom house set on two levels, including a smallish private garden and patio. Leaving Dom to measure up for his monstrous four-burner BBQ (used four times in the summer), Charlotte followed the agent into the building.
‘There is actually a fourth bedroom, although it is rather small,’ the agent said in perfect, heavily accented English. ‘It is normally used as a bureau. Sorry, I mean office.’ Glancing into the room, tucked away to the right of the main door, Charlotte thought small was an understatement. If she had a cat to swing — not that animal abuse was her thing — the poor animal would ricochet off the walls.
‘Mummy, where are our bedrooms?’ Alastair tugged at Charlotte’s hand, and her heartstrings tugged in sympathy at his use of the plural. The boys had been happy to share before, but she knew Alastair craved his own space. Unless the other rooms were considerably larger, the boys would share again. Not what she’d hoped for, particularly if — when — they had visitors.
‘I bags this one!’ Robson twirled around the space on the second floor, tucked into the eaves of the house. It was bigger than the cupboard-like office, thankfully. Enough for a bed, a desk and shelving for his books, toys and other detritus.
The remaining two bedrooms were considerably larger. One, clearly the master, had built-in wardrobes, an en-suite bathroom, and large windows overlooking the lake and mountains. The other could accommodate a double or two single beds, Charlotte quickly deciding on the latter. When visitors came — and Charlotte couldn’t wait for Ruth to come — the boys could bunk up in one room and the other would suffice with a bit of tidying and primping.
‘Is this one mine?’ Alastair wandered over to the window which overlooked the garden. ‘I don’t mind sharing, but—’
Charlotte pulled him in for a hug. ‘It could be, sweetie. Do you like it?’
Before Alastair could reply, Dom bounded upstairs, as enthusiastic as the puppy the boys desperately wanted, but were unlikely to have in the foreseeable future. Pets were a no-no in the properties they’d viewed. One owner, present during the viewing, had even eyed the boys with disdain and asked if they were ‘well-behaved and quiet’. Charlotte’s response that they loved playing electric guitars and singing ‘Highway To Hell’ at top volume hadn’t gone down well.
‘I’ve a good feeling about this one!’ Dom announced, prompting a glimpse of a smile from the agent. She shuffled a few papers around before backing out, presumably leaving them to decide. Charlotte wanted to back out, too. Not because the place was awful — it wasn’t at all — but her heart kept pulling her towards everything and everyone she knew and loved at home. Home might be where the heart is, but right now Charlotte felt a dull pain in the chest at the thought of leaving all she held dear.
‘What do you think?’ Dom addressed the boys, no doubt worried Charlotte would find reasons to reject it. He’d given her a talking-to last night, along the familiar lines of not wallowing in negativity, finding the positives, blah, blah. Charlotte had nodded, with the rictus grin she’d perfected since Dom dropped the ‘moving country’ bombshell.
‘It’s, erm, nice,’ said Alastair, tugging up the top of his sweatshirt and chewing on it. It was a habit he’d acquired recently and earned him a rebuke from Dom. Charlotte worried it was a sign of anxiety brought on by the upheaval ahead. She was trying to ignore it in the hope it would stop of its own accord.
‘I love it! ’Specially the slopey roof and the funny window,’ added Robson. ‘Do you like it, Mummy?’ His voice quavered with hope.
Charlotte raised the corners of her mouth as far as she could. ‘Well, I need to check out the kitchen and living area, but it all seems fine,’ she replied. ‘Come on, let’s see if the rest of the place matches up.’
The kitchen, with its seventies-style cherry wood cupboards and ancient floral tiles, was in stark contrast to Charlotte’s sleek modern one, installed two years ago. Sludge-brown flooring and a dark wood-panelled ceiling gave it a claustrophobic feel, and the appliances were functional but dated.
‘The owner will install a new dishwasher and double oven,’ the agent said, as Charlotte opened and closed doors, pleased at least to note the walk-in larder and sizeable fridge-freezer. ‘He is also willing to discuss other minor changes, within reason.’
The living room was off the kitchen, with an open fireplace and a bright corner spot adequate for a dining table and half a dozen chairs. Not Charlotte’s beloved dining set, which would never fit, and she didn’t need Dom’s tape measure to know their expensive suede corner suite was another no-go. Still, with some cheaper, smaller furniture and a few paintings and photographs dotted around, she could make it home. Or homely, at least. Somewhere the boys would be happy, and maybe she and Dom too. Marriage took work, and lately Charlotte had been too distracted by a silly business card and relocation fears to focus on her relationship. Dom worked hard, they had a comfortable life, and many women would give their back teeth to have the chances laid out in front of her.
‘I think we should take it.’ Charlotte moved next to Dom, whose face was a blend of disbelief and relief.
