Chapter 1
‘Mummy, why are you driving so slow?’
Charlotte gritted her teeth, gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened, and resisted the urge to turn around. ‘Mummy is driving slowly because she’s not used to driving on the wrong side of the road.’ OK, technically it was the right side of the road in many countries, but until two days ago she’d only driven in the UK. Normally she wouldn’t be acting like the grammar police, but today’s first solo school run in Switzerland had her nerves jangling louder than the cowbells of the small herd inhabiting a field next to their rented house.
‘Are we going to be late?’ Robson, her youngest, was a stickler for punctuality. He’d learned to tell the time with incredible speed, and would sit, lunchbox and book bag ready, waiting to leave for primary school long before the appointed hour. Meanwhile, his older brother, Alastair, would remain glued to the TV, shoeless and lost in a world of cartoons. Charlotte fell somewhere in between. Either super-organised, with everything laid out the night before, or in a state of panic because a jotter couldn’t be located and she’d poked herself in the eye with the mascara wand.
‘No, darling. Almost there. Just—’
As she approached the sharp left turn into the school grounds, a swanky red sports car emerged; a large, open-topped beast which took a right and seemed to aim for Charlotte’s humble VW Polo. Oblivious to the queue of cars behind her, she swerved to avoid a collision. A hideous scraping sound ensued, accompanied by screeches of alarm from the back seat. Letting rip with a very rude word, Charlotte tried to beep her horn at the flash bastard. But she still wasn’t familiar with the car and merely set the windscreen wipers in motion.
‘Are you OK, Mummy?’ Alastair had already undone his seat belt and tapped Charlotte on the shoulder. Cursing again under her breath, she glowered at the sports-car driver. He didn’t even glance her way, speeding off along the narrow road at full throttle.
‘I’m fine, sweetheart.’ Aware of an ominous crunching noise, Charlotte crawled through the gates and praised the gods above that there was a free parking spot. The previous times she’d done the school run — with husband Dom in the driver’s seat — the parking area had resembled a dodgem track. One populated with people carriers, 4 X 4s and sporty numbers bearing personalised number plates. Oh, and with clusters of well-groomed men and women chatting and gesticulating as if they were at an upmarket garden party.
‘We need to hurry!’ Robson scrambled out of the car, followed by Alastair. Charlotte sucked in a deep breath and followed suit. They stood on the right-hand side of the Polo, surveying the damage. Most of the plastic strip running the full length of the car had been torn off, and deep gouges marred the silver paintwork.
‘Oops! Looks like someone came a cropper with the wall of doom.’ Charlotte looked up to see her new ‘friend’ (if someone you’d known a handful of days could be called that), standing beside them. For a moment, her brain addled by the incident, she struggled to recall the other mother’s name.
‘He’s a dickhead,’ said Robson casually. ‘In a fancy red car.’ Charlotte gulped, aware he was parroting her outburst at the point of collision.
‘I can probably guess who, although there are a few male candidates vying for that title!’ Her friend — damn it, was it Sue, Sarah, or something else beginning with S? — laughed. ‘Right, troops, let’s get you into class before Miss Andrews sends out a search party.’
Together they made their way up to the quaint chalet that housed the school’s junior department. Another woman called out. ‘Sadie!’ OK, close but not on the button.
‘Coffee after we dump the darlings?’ Sadie nudged her two girls toward their teacher. Robson sprinted ahead of them, Alastair trailing behind.
‘Erm, wait a minute.’ Charlotte hurried to Alastair’s side. ‘What’s that in your hand?’
With a puzzled frown, her eldest looked down. Unfurling his small fingers, he revealed the slim TV remote control. Silently he handed it over, and Charlotte tucked it into her handbag.
‘What are they like?’ Sadie stood next to her, tapping furiously on her phone. ‘My Miranda once took a box of chocolate liqueurs into class, because it was someone’s birthday and yours truly burnt the brownies.’
‘Did they get to eat them?’ Charlotte imagined a bunch of seven-year-olds fighting over the Cointreau and Grand Marnier-filled treats, lessons descending into chaos as the alcohol kicked in.
‘Nah,’ replied Sadie. ‘Miss Andrews confiscated them. I should have asked for them back, but I figured that as she deals with that rabble daily, her need was greater than mine.’
As the last of the year groups disappeared inside the building, Charlotte walked back to her car. Sadie deftly removed the flapping plastic, opened the door and tossed it in the back seat. ‘Right, no real harm done. Why don’t you hop in and follow me to the café? A few of us meet at Le Petit Train a couple of times a week.’
Gingerly, Charlotte got behind the wheel. Her instinct was to drive home, throw herself face down on the bed and sob until Dom got home from work. However, as his new job meant he rarely left the office before seven, that meant she’d be sobbing for the next eleven hours. Charlotte had a long list of jobs to do, but as most involved exercising her rudimentary French, a caffeine fix and a sugar-laden treat seemed very appealing. Starting the car, she set off in Sadie’s wake, wishing for the hundredth time that she was back in her familiar suburban enclave of England.
Chapter 2
‘It’s not the end of the world, Charlotte.’ Dom emerged from the en-suite bathroom, vigorously attacking his gum line with a strand of dental floss. He paused, looked at his wife huddled up under the duvet, and sighed. ‘It’s only a car, we’ll deal with it. Why don’t you come downstairs? We can have a glass of wine and admire the view.’
Bugger the view. Charlotte knew she was being overly dramatic, but she couldn’t imagine calling this place home. Yes, their rented house offered spectacular views across the lake towards the Alps, but it all felt so alien. Coffee with Sadie and a few others had been pleasant, but they were all old hands, already comfortable with the driving, the language and the shopping. Oh my God, the shopping. Used to the delights of Tesco, Waitrose and the friendly butcher and deli near her previous home, Charlotte nearly had a meltdown when she encountered the village supermarket. Basic didn’t cover it. The freezer cabinet was marginally bigger than the freezer she’d had at home in the UK, and everything closed early. And forget shopping on a Sunday. Those lovely impromptu barbecues they’d had in the past when the forecast brought sunshine instead of cloud were now ancient history. Virtually everything closed on the Sabbath, apart from the boulangeries (how much bread could these people eat?), petrol stations and churches. Even their local restaurant, a ten-minute downhill walk away (and a vertiginous climb back up), closed its doors the entire weekend.
‘I don’t want wine,’ Charlotte said. ‘I want to go home.’
The truth was, Charlotte hadn’t wanted to leave the UK in the first place. She’d sobbed for days when Dom announced the job transfer, always careful to repair her make-up and paint on a smiling face when the boys were around. Robson and Alastair had taken it in their stride, as young children do. They’d barely glanced backwards on their last day at the village school, bragging to their friends that they’d soon be learning to ski and eating chocolate in vast quantities. Charlotte stood trembling on the perimeter of the playground, afraid to catch the eye of another mum or dad. A gruff ‘good luck’ from perpetually grumpy single dad Jasper broke down her defences. The poor man was probably still recovering from the shoulder-soaking she’d given him.