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 placed Captain Underpants on 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’t want to move.
‘Darling, they’ve offered me a transfer.’
Dom fiddled with a loose button on his shirt. Charlotte prayed it didn’t fall off as sewing wasn’t one of her strengths. Right now she didn’t know what her strengths were, but dealing with out-of-the-blue proclamations wasn’t one of them. She shivered, although she wasn’t cold.
‘To where?’ Design For Life wasn’t a big company, but its ethical stance and reasonably priced homeware meant an increasing presence in the UK and abroad. Small shops, often tucked away in remote industrial estates. Their stock was limited, but all sourced from artisan producers, with not a whiff of cheap labour. They planned to expand, though Dom had been tight-lipped about the ins and outs. Charlotte’s chest tightened as she waited for him to continue.
‘Overseas. But not that far: Switzerland. They’re opening up more to international business, and it’s a great country to live in. In fact, I’ve booked a trip for all of us to visit in two weeks.’
Charlotte’s chest tightened another notch. Two weeks? Didn’t he know that they could be thrown into jail (perhaps a mild exaggeration) for taking the boys out of school in term time? Was he insane? Did she even know this man, sitting there looking cooler than an iced cucumber?
‘I don’t get it. Why do we have to move? Isn’t the head office here?’ Charlotte tried to breathe normally, but her lungs wouldn’t cooperate.
‘They want me to head up a satellite office. Small, but hands-on, just to get things running. They reckon I’m the perfect man for the job. We’re opening two stores, one in Lausanne and the other in Zurich. Early days, but it could be big. Charlotte, it’s another step up the ladder. The company’s already lining up schools to visit, and they’ll pay the fees. Plus accommodation and relocation costs.’
Dom’s eyes sparkled with excitement. Charlotte felt nauseous and dizzy.
‘It’s too good an opportunity to turn down,’ he continued. ‘You’ll love it, I’m sure.’
Charlotte wasn’t sure at all. Without a word, she left the room.
Chapter 8
‘Isn’t it stunning?’ Dom pointed out of the train window as it trundled past vineyards, now stark and devoid of fruit, and the boys oohed and aahed at the expanse of Lac Leman. It was mid-November, and the sun shone, although the outside temperature was only a few degrees above zero.
They would check into their hotel, freshen up, then embark on three school visits. The next day, a relocation woman had lined up a few rental properties for them to look at. Much would depend on the favoured school in terms of where they should live.
Charlotte loosened her scarf, the heat from the carriage making her sweat. She passed the boys extortionately priced sandwiches and bottles of water purchased on arrival at Geneva Airport. Switzerland was notoriously expensive, though Dom assured her that a downturn in international companies bringing in expats meant things had changed over the past decade.
‘Prochain arrêt, Lausanne,’ purred the train announcer. How could a simple announcement sound so much sexier in French?
‘Mummy, will we have to wear a uniform at our new school?’ Robson loved his embroidered polo shirt and grey shorts (trousers in the winter), whereas Alastair loathed them. If he could get away with casual, he’d be a much happier bunny.