‘I think the first two schools don’t have uniform, but the third does.’ Charlotte had a pile of glossy brochures, each extolling the virtues of the relevant school.
‘So can we skip the first two and just choose the third?’ Robson gave Charlotte his best pleading face.
‘We need to see them all,’ said Dom sternly. ‘You can’t make snap decisions based on some photos and a blurb. It’s important we agree on things like that.’
Charlotte stifled a snort of derision. There had been no consultation or discussion on the move to Switzerland; he’d presented it as a ‘fait accompli’. OK, the boys were young and considered the whole thing an adventure, but her opinion had counted for nothing. For every reason she presented against the move, Dom had an arsenal of counter-attacks. The climate: sunny in the summer, crisp, clear and snowy in the winter. The safety aspect: less crime, fewer homeless people cluttering the streets. Charlotte had winced at that one. Those poor people huddled in doorways weren’t criminals, just lost souls looking for help in a world that largely ignored them. She remembered Alastair crying once as they walked past a middle-aged man slouched in despondency, a handful of coins in his upturned cap. With little cash on her, they’d gone into a Costa coffee shop, bought a baguette and a flat white, and returned to the man. His expression had shifted from bewilderment to delight, his gruff thank you bringing an enormous smile to Alastair’s face.
‘The next stop is ours.’ Dom pulled their bags off the overhead rack, the boys strapping on their backpacks. The plan was to jump into a taxi to the hotel which was only a fifteen-minute journey away.
They alighted from the train, buttoning up their coats against the chilly air. All around were signs in French, and the smell of coffee and pastries filled their nostrils.
Robson tugged at Charlotte’s sleeve. ‘Can I have a pain au chocolat?’ Her mood lifted a notch at his perfect pronunciation. Ignoring Dom’s moan that they needed to get a move on, she led the boys to the bakery stand.
‘Deux pains au chocolats et…,’ Charlotte hesitated, unsure of the word for the unctuous delight before her. She pointed, and the assistant nodded, placing the three items in a paper bag. Charlotte paid, then dished them out. She took a bite, a dollop of gooey cream landing on her chin.
Dom laughed before wiping it away with a paper napkin. ‘Troops, it’s time to get this show on the road!’
School one didn’t hit the mark; the lady assigned to show them around seemed more concerned with keeping her long and swooping scarf in place than giving them information. Hordes of children, clad in everything from H&M to designer gear, swarmed around, clanging lockers and chattering excitedly. Alastair and Robson looked on in stunned silence, the contrast between this and their English school robbing them of speech. Dom barked out a few questions, but Charlotte was desperate to leave, hoping the next school would prove more successful.
It didn’t. The head was a nice enough chap, who at least tried to engage the boys in conversation, but both remained shell-shocked. Like First World War survivors emerging from the trenches, they sat mute. Now, everything was pinned on school three.
‘We run a tight ship here.’ The headmistress, a tiny woman, sat behind her solid mahogany desk, where pens, papers and folders were lined up in an orderly fashion. The only anomaly was her dog, a scruffy hound of indeterminate breed, curled up in a basket. He regarded them all with an uninterested stare, passed wind, then settled down for a snooze.
‘That sounds scary,’ replied Charlotte, hoping the intended humour came across. An older pupil had taken Alastair and Robson off on a tour of the school grounds. First impressions were favourable when their taxi swept into the impressive entrance. The junior department, a picture-postcard wooden chalet, stood at the top of a winding pathway, while the senior school was a more familiar modern structure. There were tennis courts, an expanse of lawn, and an outdoor swimming pool. As it was break time, clusters of children in maroon and grey uniform milled around, teachers and support staff on hand to ensure all went smoothly.
The headmistress, Ms Chapuis, smiled. ‘Not at all. What I mean is we adhere to standards, both educational and pastoral. With over fifty nationalities and differing backgrounds, we aim to provide top-level teaching, and a wider understanding of the world and our need to co-exist in harmony.’
Ms Chapuis explained the broad curriculum, with its focus on teaching both English and French from an early age, and its commitment to sport. ‘All students have weekly ski lessons during the season, as well as a ski trip. We encourage participation in football — both boys and girls — and everything from tennis and hockey to badminton and cross-country running. We emphasise that it’s not all about winning, but taking part.’
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
Finding suitable 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.