I didn’t want to leave the chalet in Gryon. I could have quiet easily spent the next six months there wandering along the snow covered paths to the shops, dropping our kids off at a local village school (except Jack and Noah who would have had to go up and down the slippery sharp bends of the mountain in a bus four times a day, but they would have coped, well I would have anyway). I would have liked to have stayed and watched the mountains slowly turn green as spring set in and the flowers uncurled their petals to the sun.

 But it wasn’t to be. The decision had been made a long time ago while we were back in Australia We needed to be down in the real Switzerland where the language most people spoke was French, unlike the mountains where it seemed everyone spoke English as well as we did.

 

The kids were surprisingly good about leaving the snow behind. Kai was particularly excited saying that it would be just like being back home again, he’d be able to run without having to negotiate snow that came up to his shins.

 

We hunted under beds, behind cupboards and in every possible corner that bits and pieces of us could have gone, trying to leave no trace of our visit. Then we stuffed everything back into the four suitcases, rolling, for the zillionith time every pair of undies, every t-shirt and everything else that had to be squeezed in. In the end, even though Pete and I thought we’d been meticulous about gathering all our gear together, it turned out we hadn’t lifted enough mattresses or looked behind enough doors. Christine found a shopping bag full of our stuff that she presented to us a few weeks later.

 

When all the bags were packed we waved goodbye to the chalet and followed Christine and Jean-Paul down to Moggy land.

 

The car trip was uneventful and unusually quiet except for a brief interlude when a suitcase slid out of its wedged position and fell on someone’s head, but there was no broken neck so everyone reassumed their position of pensive staring out the windows. I assumed the thoughts of school that were cart-wheeling through my head were doing the same through everyone else’s except perhaps with a faster spin in Jack and Noah’s head.

 

When we arrived Madame Moggy was there waiting for us, door open with the same smile that made her look like she had no eyes. The house looked exactly like it had three weeks ago except, after meeting our children, a bit of fear had obviously been generated. Now there were Indian sari wraps thrown over the two caramel suede couches, tablecloths covering the coffee and dining tables and a brightly coloured elongated t towel over the wooden shelf above the black stone kitchen bench top.

 

Pete, Jack and Noah started bringing in the bags while I walked around with Christine and Madame Moggy doing an inspection of the house. ‘Ca va?’ She kept saying, nodding and smiling. But nothing was Ca va at all.

 

We went into the room that Poppy and Kai were going to be sleeping in first. It was better than last time we’d been there, instead of a bed and a cot there was now a bed, a cot and a mattress on the floor. The cot though was taking up precious floor space. It was impossible to open the drawers underneath the bed where the kids would have to store their clothes, and the only way to get to the mattress on the floor was to climb up and over the bed.

 

‘That will have to go,’ I said in English pointing at the cot. I gave my best ‘Ca va’ smile back to Madame Moggy.

 

‘Pete,’ I called our over my shoulder, ‘can you come and move this cot down to the garage?’

 

Pete and Jack came in and lifted up the cot. Madame Moggy’s smile wavered but stayed put. Pete and Jack carried the cot past her. Pete said, ‘C’est meiller,’ as him and Jack squeezed the cot out the front door.

 

‘Oui, oui,’ Madame Moggy nodded biting on a fingernail as the cot went within millimetres of the paintwork on the doorframe.

 

Next we went into the room that Noah and Jack would be sleeping in. There was still one futon, except this time it had been folded open. I wasn’t sure if that indicated an expectation that two of the kids were going to sleep in one bed or not, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Jack and Noah in the same room was hard enough, in the same bed would be impossible.

 

I spoke to Christine in our secret French language and explained that we would need another bed in that room and she said ‘Mais oui, mais oui,’ she turned to Madame Moggy to put in my request. Madame Moggy nodded and said ‘Mais oui,’ too and something else that I didn’t understand. Christine turned back to me and told me (in our secret French) that there was a mattress down in the garage.

 

‘Pete,’ I called out into the house again.

 

‘Mmm,’ Pete said, sticking his head through the doorway.

 

‘There’s a mattress down in the garage for this room, can you and Jack go and grab it?’

 

‘Uh huh.’

 

There was a large dark timber cabinet in the room that covered three quarters of the length of one wall. It was full of grog bottles, glass wear and china. I pointed up on top of the cabinet at a small green replica of The Statue of Liberty. I told Christine it would have to go. We were going to have to find room in the cabinet somewhere for the Jack and Noah’s clothes, the last thing I wanted was the statue falling and smashing on the ground when one of the kids closed a drawer a bit too hard. I was sure it would be worth a lot more money broken than all in one piece, even though it was probably made out of plaster of paris and coated in green paint

 

Madame Moggy laughed nervously when Christine told her I wanted the statue taken down and even though I didn’t understand the French I’m sure her reply was something along the lines of, ‘What the hell are they going to be doing in here?’ Christine’s answer was simple, ‘They’re kids, its better to not have things around that can break.’ When she got the statue down she held it close to her chest and said, ‘Special cadeau, special cadeau.’

 

‘Oui, oui,’ I said. Then she put it on top of a cabinet in the lounge room and I made a mental note to tell the kids that corner of the house was out of bounds.

 

When all of the suitcases were in and the ski gear had been stacked in the garage Madame Moggy retreated to her moggy burrow, ground level of the two-story house. Christine and Jean-Paul said their goodbyes and Pete and I were left standing in the lounge room, the pile of suitcases between us.

 

‘So?’ I said.

 

‘It’ll be fine.’

 

‘Good views.’

 

‘Yep, great views.’

 

We spent the rest of the day unpacking, moving Moggy clothes so that there was enough room in the wardrobe for ours, moving crockery and glass wear so that Jack and Noah had at least one shelf each, we even had to empty out bedside table drawers which were full of medication and Moggy underwear so we could find somewhere to put our socks. The kitchen was still stocked with Moggy food. I packed it into a couple of shopping bags and took it downstairs to the Mogster who was very demur and quiet, no doubt contemplating the fact that she now only had three dark rooms to wander while we had the run of the top level.

 

Despite everything it felt good after six weeks of travel to be settled in one spot, to unpack our bags and feel like we had a home for the next six months.

 

That night, before Pete and I went to bed, we discovered that our glass front door, the door to the top level of the house, could only be locked from the outside. When you put the key in the inside it wouldn’t turn. So unless one of us wanted to climb back in over the two-story deck, which was impossible without a ladder from a fire engine, we were going to have to spend the night with the front door unlocked. I was very uncomfortable with the fact that a Moggy or anyone else for that matter, could walk in while we were sleeping. In the end though, exhaustion won out over worry. With the shutters pulled down on the windows, Pete and I slept the sort of heavy sleep that leaves dents in mattresses.

 

The next morning we woke late to the sound of the kids watching TV in the lounge room and a loud rapping on glass. My blurred mind struggled to grab onto reality, glass? Rapping? And then I remembered our glass front door. Before my thoughts had got together enough to form words there was the sound of a man’s voice inside our part of the house and I could hear Madame Moggy yelling in a high pitched Italian.

 

‘Pete?’

 

But Pete was already sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on a shirt. I pulled the doonas up under my chin feeling vulnerable for the fact that I was lying naked (yeah, so I sleep naked) under a blanket while there was a man just outside my bedroom door speaking French and a woman downstairs screeching in Italian.

 

The French kept coming from the man but I didn’t hear anything from Pete then I heard the front door close and the house was quiet except for the French cartoons on the TV. Pete came back into bed.

 

‘What did you say?’

 

‘I didn’t, I just gave him my best, “get the fuck out of here or I’m gunna kill you” stare and pointed at the door. He got the message and left.’

 

‘Who was he?’

 

‘Not sure, but I’m guessing we’ve just been visited by Mr Moggy.’

 

‘We need a lock.’

 

‘Yep, I’ll try and swap the lock from the bathroom over with the front door. If that doesn’t work we’ll figure out something else.’

 

I laid there snuggled up against Pete, the thought of looking for somewhere else to live already in my mind.

 

It was impossible to swap the lock from the bathroom to the front door. But that night, just before we went to bed, Pete came up with the idea of using one of the straps we’d been tying the skiies on to the car roof with. He wrapped it around the front door handle and then looped it around the handle of the cupboard that was next to the door and pulled it tight. At least now the door would only open a few inches.

 

I didn’t sleep well; in fact I don’t think I slept at all. Part of me was listening out for Mr Moggy coming through the front door and the other part was thinking about my kids having to walk into classrooms full of French speaking Swiss kids the next day.

 

So when the alarm went off at six thirty it wasn’t necessary, I was already awake. Jack and Noah didn’t grumble when I woke them, didn’t talk as they got dressed and were unusually quiet eating breakfast. Jack made the occasional moaning noise, half joking half serious.

 

‘Got everything?’ I said as they got up from the table.

 

‘Yep,’ they both nodded slinging their backpacks over their shoulders. Everything consisted of a piece of fruit and a pencil case with a pen and pencil. We’d been told at the meeting with the school that everything else the kids needed would be supplied, pencils, rulers, rubbers, a fountain pen, exercise books, even a geometry set. The apple was for morning tea, lunch would be at home.

 

Christine knocked at the front door. She’d offered to come with us to the schools, make sure we didn’t get lost or end up in some language drama we couldn’t sort out. When I opened the door she looked at me and laughed, ‘Pas dormir?’

 

‘Non, pas dormir,’ I said smiling. My reflection in the body length mirror opposite me said it all. My face was pale, my eyes small and puffy with dark circles underneath them.

 

‘Nous allons?’ She said.

 

‘Oui, oui. Pete?’ I called out to the bedroom. ‘You ready?’

 

‘Yep, coming.’

 

I’d taken the wimps option and said I would stay at home and get Poppy and Kai ready for school. I really wasn’t sure if I’d be able to put on the brave face that I knew Jack and Noah needed.

 

There were quick hugs and goodbyes and good lucks as they were walking out the front door, more for my sake than the boys, and then they were gone.

 

By the time Pete and Christine came back we were running late for Kai’s school. So there was no time for a run down on how everything had gone with Jack and Noah except for a quick, ‘They were fine.’

 

When we got to Kai’s school the classroom door was closed. My stomach lurched and a tingle prickled my skin as Christine knocked on the door. Not only was it Kai’s first day, he was also late. He was going to have to walk in to a room full of kids all ready seated and staring at the door.

 

When the door opened Christine explained in rapid French to a thin young man with dark hair and fingers which looked long enough to play good piano, why we were late. He smiled and nodded and then put his arm out for Kai to come in. Kai who had been counting down the days until school started had told me on the way in the car that his stomach felt all tingly and weird. There was no time for hugs or kisses and Kai didn’t even look round when I said, ‘We’ll see you at lunch Kai, have a good morning.’ The door closed. Pete, Christine and I stood staring at the closed door for a few seconds and then Pete said, ‘One to go.’

 

I had wondered how much Poppy understood about going to school in Switzerland. If she really got the fact that everyone spoke a language she didn’t understand, not only the kids but the teacher too. But when we got there I could tell by the way she wouldn’t let go of my leg that she understood perfectly well what school in Switzerland was going to be all about.

 

I took off her coat and hung it on the rack, took off her shoes and helped her put on her inside slippers, then hung her bag with her coat. Her teacher was a softly spoken woman in her early thirties, everything about her spoke of gentleness, even the she way walked, as if careful not to squash anything smaller than her. She spoke a bit of English but was quite shy about it and happier to speak to Christine in French than try and fumble through a conversation with Pete and me. When it came time to say goodbye, Poppy cried and clung tightly to my leg saying that she really, really, really didn’t want to go to school, she really, really, really, wanted to stay with me.

 

The teacher gently helped me prise Poppy from my leg. She smoothed her hair and wiped away her tears and spoke to her in a soft French. Poppy was still crying but she wasn’t looking back at me or reaching out for me, something about her teachers voice had her attention. When her teacher took her hand and led her into the classroom she went, sniffling but without screaming or trying to run to me. I didn’t dare call out to say goodbye.

 

When we got to the car Christine smiled, ‘Le premier fois est tout le fois le plus difficile. Apres aujourd’hui, facile.’

 

‘Oui,’ both Pete and I nodded. I hopped like hell that she was right. If it got any harder I could see myself seriously looking at the easy option out and simply wandering around Europe for the next six months instead of doing the whole school thing.

 

Pete and I spent the morning looking at our watches and rechecking time tables to make sure we had the lunch time pick ups right. It was hard to concentrate on anything else except for how many minutes there were to go until we could see if all the kids had coped.

 

Poppy was the first pick up. We watched her walk out and go to her jacket and her bag. All the other kids were talking and laughing, she was very quiet, concentrating on putting her jacket on and getting her bag off the hook. Then she spotted us through the glass and a huge grin spread over her face. She pushed the glass door open and ran into my arms. I lifted her up off the ground and hugged her to me.

 

‘So?’ I asked her.

 

‘So what?’ she said pulling her head back from my shoulder so she could look at my face.

 

‘So how was it?’ I said.

 

‘Good.’

 

‘Did you understand any of the French?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Did anyone speak English to you?’

 

‘The teacher did a bit but she’s not very good at it.’

 

‘Did you make any friends?’

 

‘Yep, and she’s a girl.’

 

‘Really, a girl?’ All Poppy’s friends in school at home are boys, one of the side effects of having three brothers I guess.

 

‘Yep, she’s called Ossianne and she has a pony tail.’

 

‘Fantastic. Do want to come back this afternoon?’ This was a dangerous question.

 

‘Yeah, of course, can I wear my hair in a pony tail?’

 

‘Course you can.’ Then she wiggled down out of my arms and grabbed Pete’s hand swinging it back and forth while she told him all about Osianne.

 

Kai was next. By the time we drove to his school and got out of the car there was still a twenty-minute wait before he finished. We stood in the playground playing hopscotch with Poppy to keep ourselves warm. Poppy won because you deserve to win hopscotch on your first day at a new school, particularly when it’s one where you can’t speak the language.

 

There was no bell at Kai’s school, just a clock at the top of a large tower which chimed every fifteen minutes. Just after the eleven thirty chime a group of kids came squealing into the playground, chasing each other up and down the slippery dip, then another group came out, then Kai, walking slowly and smiling shyly at the other kids. When he spotted us his shy smile opened up, his two his two front teeth poking out over his bottom lip.

 

‘Hello,’ I said knowing better than to cuddle him. ‘How’d you go?’

 

‘Good. Did you know that my teacher speaks English?’

 

‘Yeah, I did know that.’

 

‘And my friend, he speaks English too.’

 

How you could have a friend after only three hours in a class where you were going to be lucky if anyone understood you was beyond me.

 

‘Really? What’s his name?’ I asked.

 

‘Brian, he kept asking me if I wanted a cup of tea in a really strange accent.’ Kai laughed, obviously thinking Brian was very funny.

 

‘So you’re coming back this afternoon.’

 

‘Yeah of course.’ Two down, two to go.

 

When we got to Jack and Noah’s school we parked in the car park out the front. We had to sit and wait in the car for fifteen minutes. Outside the car there were kids everywhere. There were kids on bikes and scooters, kids running for buses, kids wandering across the busy road, kids who were a bit older driving off in cars. There were kids dressed in black who had black died hair and piercing through their lip and eyebrow, and then there were the other extreme of designer clothing with matching bag slung over the shoulder and hair which looked like it had been styled by a hairdresser, and there was of course everything in between. At least a third of the kids had a cigarette between their fingers or hanging from their lips apparently not at all phased if a parent or teacher saw them smoking.

 

By the time I spotted Jack and Noah walking towards us, their heads hanging, kicking pebbles across the concrete, most of the crowd had cleared.

 

‘Don’t look happy,’ I said to Pete.

 

‘Wait and see,’ he said, but I noticed he was watching them as intently as me.

 

Then Jack looked up and saw us waiting in the car, he tried not to grin but he couldn’t help himself. Then Noah, who had seen us too, started laughing.

 

‘Don’t think it was too bad,’ Pete said, obviously as relieved as I felt.

 

They threw their bags in the car and clamboured in.

 

‘So?’ I asked

 

‘Awww,’ said Jack.

 

‘What? What do you mean awwww?’

 

‘I was going to trick you guys, but as soon as I saw you I couldn’t help smiling. I was going to tell you that this school sucked and I was never coming back.’

 

‘But?’ Pete said.

 

‘It might be OK. My teacher’s really cool.’ That was a start.

 

‘And you Noah, how did you go?’

 

‘Yeah, s’alright, bit bigger and reblier than Currumbin Valley.’

 

It was nice having everyone home for lunch, slicing up fresh bread, ham and tomato, listening to all the stories of the morning.

 

‘Sure beats dried out vegemite sandwiches mum.’ Noah said woofing down a piece of fluffy white bread and ham.

 

Jack, who usually has the most to say at the table, started telling us about his morning.

 

‘Well. When we got there, there was this other kid there, it was his first day too. I think his name was Daniel.’

 

‘Yeah, Daniel, he’s Portuguese, he’s in my class,’ Noah added, his words tangled in ham and bread.

 

‘Anyway,’ Jack said, giving Noah the evil stare that means this is my story so you better shut the heck up. ‘Daniel was there with his parents who were all over him like a bad rash because Daniel is so precious that they can’t bare to let him go to school, you know, the whole kissing hugging and smooching thing.’

 

‘Were you feeling a bit deprived Jack?’ Pete asked.

 

‘No way, you were cool dad, no fuss, that’s what’s needed. Oh except the whole book thing.’

 

‘What do you mean the book thing?’ I asked.

 

‘Well you know those books we borrowed from the school over the holidays?’

 

‘Yeah.’

 

‘Well dad gives them to me and says, “You need to give them back to the teacher.” The only problem is that I don’t even know how to say “Here are the books that we borrowed over the holidays,” or even just, “Here you go,” so I spend all morning carrying these books around the school while they show us where the toilets are and everything else until I finally work up the guts two hours later to hand them over to my teacher.’

 

‘What did you say?’ Pete asked.

 

‘Nothing, just, “these are yours” in English.’

 

‘And was it OK?’

 

‘Yeah. But that’s not the story.’

 

‘Oh, OK, go on.’

 

‘Well, there’s Daniel spoilt baby, me and Noah with Madame Chatagny, and because I’m the oldest she thinks for some reason that I’m going to understand French better than the other two. So all of the questions get aimed at me first. She starts with “Je m’appelle Madame Chatagny, et vous?” And I think, OK, I know you want me to say something, but I haven’t got a clue what, and Noah and Daniel spoilt baby aren’t helping me out at all. So I just sit there like a dumb head and smile. I can’t even say, “I haven’t got a clue what you’re saying.” She repeats what she said a couple of times and then getting the idea that I’m lost without a map says in English, “OK, you repeat after me, Je m’appelle Madame Chatagny.” So I repeat exactly what she said, well I think I do, but apparently not, because she says “non”, and repeats it again looking at me expectantly. I try again, but again the “non”, louder. She says her sentence again and this time I hear all the spit gurgling around at the back of her throat and wonder if I’m going to get sprayed, but no, it all stays safely in her mouth. That’s when I get it. It’s all about the gurgling sound. So I repeat it, but with all the spit gurgling at the back of my throat threatening to come out and shower everyone. Tthis time she says “Oui, oui”. Noah and Daniel have to have a go too, but now it’s easy because I’ve figured it all out.

 

‘Then it’s back to me again, she wants me to put my name in the sentence, finally I’m starting to understand what she’s going on about. But when I say “Je m’appelle Jack” I get the, “non, non, non,” again and Madame Chatagny says my name for me with all the spit gurgling at the back of her throat. And it’s as if for all these years I haven’t had a clue how to say my name. But who am I to argue? If she wants to call me Jack in a way that rumbles around the back of her throat then that’s fine with me. I get it much quicker this time. Noah and Daniel didn’t have any problems because apparently their names don’t need any of this rolling of spit business.

 

‘So after this she starts with the ruler. She slams it down on the desk in front of me with a crack and then says something to me in French. I think she’s saying something to the effect of “and if you stuff around in class this is what will happen,” but as it turns out she’s asking what the ruler is called. How the hell am I supposed to know what a ruler is called in French? She slams it down on the desk three times before she tells me the answer; it’s a “regle” as it so happens. Again, Daniel and Noah get it easy. They get the same question which I’d already answered, well sort of answered. Then it’s a rubber, she slams it down on the desk, and says the same question again, which, surprise, surprise, I can’t answer. A “gomme” she finally says. Then a pencil, which is a “crayon” of course, and a pen, which is obviously a “stylo”. This game, which I have no chance at winning, goes on for what seems like hours although I think it was probably only an hour. Then we go to our classrooms. Again easy for Noah and the precious Daniel, they get to stay in the classroom that we’re all sitting in, but no, not me, I have to get up and go another classroom.

 

‘I’m the first one in the class there, waiting outside the door, then all these other kids start coming. They’re all mucking around and laughing and I just keep looking straight ahead at the door which will surely have to open soon. And then it does and I walk in and grab a seat off the top of one of the tables and turn it over and sit on it behind a desk. Then I think, “crap, what if they all have seats that they usually sit in? What if I’m sitting in someone’s seat?” And of course the first kid to sit down, comes in and sits straight down next to me. I want to say to him, “Is this someone else’s seat, do you want me to move?” But I can’t can I because no one can understand a word I say, so I just sit there staring at the desk wishing that I could somehow magically vanish.

 

‘Then the teacher walks in and all the kids stand up. You’d think that was an obvious one wouldn’t you? Everyone else is standing up so I better stand up too, but no, I just sit there like a dumb idiot until this know it all girl behind me starts going, “Ay oh, ay oh, ay oh,’ louder and louder until everyone is looking at her, but I don’t turn around I just sit there looking straight ahead. Then she reaches over and taps me hard on the back of my head, that’s when I realise she is “ay ohing” me. She indicates with her hand that I should stand up too, and I say ‘oh,’ real quietly and stand up.’

 

Jack took a breath and a bite of his sandwich, giving someone else a chance to talk.

 

‘So does this mean school was good or bad?’ Pete asked

 

‘I think it’ll be fine for the next six months. I’ve already made a friend, a kid from Portugal called Jaoo. He can speak English because he’s got family New York. He said he goes to New York all the time and that I can come with him next time, so that’ll be pretty cool won’t it?’

 

Yeah, real cool, I thought, wondering what sort of can of worms Pete and I have opened.

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