Gaby Book 25 Only Five Minutes by Maddy Bell Copyright© 2019 Madeline Bell After all the excitement of the last few weeks culminating in the trip to Austria, surely Gaby can get back to some sort of 'normal'? Well it wouldn't be Gaby if it was that simple would it?

 
Well the Mofa might do fifty with grav assist but once back on the almost flat valley floor there was no way it would go above twenty five, a fact I hadn't really factored into my journey planning. I've had my old Schauff faster along here and that weighs like twenty kilos! I bzzzd back to Altenahr, stopping briefly to take a snap with my phone of the cabin and especially the 'Gab's Garten' board – well Gran's not seen it has she?

“Have I got time to shower?”
“If you're quick,” Dad advised, “you got anything else to go in the car?”
Have I? “just me I think.”
“Don't be long, we'll have a cuppa then get off.”

I checked my watch, why are girls watches so flippin' small? I guess i've got about fifteen minutes tops to remove the Drea dribble, dry my hair and get dressed. At least I don't need food, cheers Bern.
 
“Coat, purse, knickers?” Mum posed as we assembled to depart.
“Mu-um,” I complained – look it was only once and I was in a rush.
“Leave the girl alone Jen,” Dad suggested, “for once she's here on time, in one piece and packed, lets just enjoy that eh?”

Mand did a bad job of suppressing her amusement which earnt her a swat from me.

“Hey!”
“Come on you two, I want to miss the traffic,” Dad encouraged.

So of course we launched into a very adult exchange of tongue poking out.

“Children!” Mum intoned propelling us out into what remained of the afternoon.
 

Of course we've made this same journey dozens of times over the last couple of years, on a good day it might be about ninety minutes or its not, which could be twice that. You can, by doing a huge loop, miss the pinch points, Bonn, Köln and Düsseldorf, but that costs time too, Dad generally just tries to avoid the busy times. We actually made it up to Düssel before finding the traffic, Dad took us off the autobahn at the next turn and threaded us through the collection of commuter towns that sit on the slope between Solingen and Düsseldorf.

“Thought we were going to Ron's?” I queried as we ignored the turn I know goes up to their bungalow.
“We're meeting them in town first,” Mum advised.
“We'll not get everyone in the car,” Mand observed.
“Does that mean Marcus is home?”i queried.
“I believe so,” Dad absently agreed turning us in towards downtown Mettmann.

I'm glad I was dressed for travelling, it was flippin' arctic when we got out of the car on a dark side street next to what looked like a half demolished multistory.

“So where're we meeting them?” I asked surveying the lifeless dark around us.
“Up in the market,” Mum told us, “a bar called the Engel.”

Well that sounds promising.
 
It was one of those cases of heading in what we thought was the right direction, we picked up a bit of other foot traffic and the strains of a PA system playing Weihnachts music drew us into the centre.

“A weihnachtsmarkt?” I posed.
“That's what Angela said,” Dad told us, “i think its called something else though.”

Hmm, I could already smell, lets see, something in batter, pommes and the heady notes of Glühwein on the air. Mettmann isn't that big, the market was never gonna be huge and so it turned out, stalls encircling the church and clearly an enthusiastic local clientele. Not really that much different to Ahrweiler except its Thursday and our market is only open at the weekends.

Clearly Dad had directions for this bar, leading us through the stalls to the rear of the church. There it was, hiding just off the market, a discrete doorway in an otherwise unremarkable old building, a slightly arty 'Engel' on the wall identifying our destination. We pushed through the door exchanging the bustle of the market for the more muted conversational buzz inside.

“Bond!”

Dad was the first to spot the Grönberg's, at a table on a sort of mezzanine floor, we made our way to the stairs and up to join them.

 
If you recall, Marcus is a pilot with Lufthansa so we have never seen much of him – even less since Ron moved up to the senior squad. Of course Ron was with us in Austria but i've not seen Angela since the training camp wound up before Kanada. It took a few minutes for everyone to get reacquainted by which time, clearly using some secret signals the table was bearing a forest of beer glasses.

Of course the adults were soon deep into it leaving me, Ron and Mand to our own devices.

“This place is a bit weird,” Mand opined.

I wouldn't go as far as weird but its certainly different. Outside it looks like any other old building round here but inside, well its all timber framed, the lighting barely adequate, the furniture 'rustic' and the wall behind the bar is made of those glass brick things in a sort of dark green. Change everyones clothing and you'd think you were in the Mittelalter!

“Thought you worked in a bar sometimes,” Ron mentioned.
“I do but its nothing like this,” Mand noted.
“It is a bit of a local 'icon',” Ron advised bracketing icon by waggling her fingers.
“Its certainly something,” I added.
“The Weihnachtsmarkt open every day?” Mand asked.
“Blotschenmarkt,” Ron remarked.
“I didn't think it looked that bad.”
“Its what its called you daft bint,” Ron giggled, “yes its open everyday of Advent.”
“Looks like a Christmas market to me,” Mand told her.
“You want to go take a look,” Ron offered.
“What about?” I motioned to the parents.
“We won't be long, they probably won't notice we're gone.”
 
To be honest my tolerance for bier is pretty low, i've been concentrating on wein and I could just fancy a Frikadel or something. I did catch Dad's eye and used my fingers to indicate that we were going for a walk. I think his wink was agreement, leastways there was no outcry as we made good our escape.

The atmosphere reminded me of the market in Feldkirch the other week, friends and family meeting to eat and drink, enjoy the entertainment, real Heimat. The difference is that the stalls are much more food orientated, there are some 'gift' stalls but I don't think you'd come looking to buy stuff. On the other hand the variety of food is pretty cosmopolitan, fried fish, noodles, waffles, crepes plus of course the usual sausages and frites.

“I know that look,” Mand stated.
“Hmm?”
“Mum's got Stroganoff waiting at the house,” Ron advised.

Damn, those potato fritters look good.

“So what's with the tree decorations, can't they afford the real thing,” Mand enquired.
“Its a thing they do with the local kindergartens, each decorate a tree using recycled stuff, see , its CD's this year, ah Sankt Josef's, that's where I went,” Ron explained.

If I get a portion of fritters we can share them.

“Gab, you listening?” Mand enquired.
“Eh?”
“We're going up to stage, there's a band playing in a few minutes.”
“Oh right, erm I'll find you up there.”
“She's gonna get food,” my friends chorused much to their amusement and the surprise of a nearby family.
 
With the exception of the fried fish stall all the food was being sold by local organisations raising funds, the THW, Rot Kreuz, the football club and so on. The fritters were being delivered by the local Lions, and like amateurs everywhere you got more for your money than at any commercial stand, four chunky fritters and a veritable sea of apple sauce all for three euros. I wandered towards the stage which was opposite the main church doors, it's bound to be some local covers band, popular and probably free but who am I to turn my nose up.

I spotted Ron -well she's quite tall and her off white bobble hat stands out in a crowd too, and headed over, doing a fair job of protecting the frtters from elbows, balloons and oblivious pensioners. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a familiar voice boomed out over the PA.

“Hello Mettmann, I'm Stefan, we are BlauHase!” and the lads went into their familiar opening stanza.

Well at least the music'll be decent.

Of course its a different set to the Rheinhalle, more like those first couple of gigs I went to, some shouty Stefan compositions between rock standards. They segued from Stefan's 'Missing Legion' to the opening bars of Queen's Bo Rhap, one of my songs.

“Is this the real life,
is this just fantasy...”

I didn't notice the crowd move away from me or Ron relieve me of the fritters, I was lost in the lyrics. If I had been paying attention I would have realised that Stefan wasn't singing anymore, he was lost in his eight string.

“Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango,
Thunderballs and lightning,
very, very frightening thing,
Galileo,”

I let the others do their parts before coming back in and belting out the rest of the number.

“I’m just a poor girl from a poor family
Easy come, easy go
Will you let me go?
Ich millach no, we will not let you go
Let me go
Ich millach no, we will not let you go
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me-e, for me-e, for meee”

It was only as the crowd cheered and clapped that I realised there was a clear space in front of me, right up to the stage front.

“Thank you,” Stefan was back on the microphone, “a hand for our singer, Erdbeere, come on up here 'Beere.”
“Go on Gab,” Ron hissed, “we'll look after these.”

My fritters! What can you do though, the audience of Mettmann burghers clearly thought that my singing from the crowd was part of the performance and Stefan calling me up, bugger! By the time i'd climbed onto the stage there was a mic waiting for me, the crowd, well some of them at least, cheered when I gave each of the guys a quick hug before shucking my jacket.

“so now we're all here,” Stefan informed everyone, “we'll get things moving.”
 

“Hast du etwas Zeit für mich?
Dann singe ich ein Lied fürdich
Von neunundneundzig Luftballons...”

Luftballons is of course our 'traditional' encore and as usual the Nena number had the crowd singing along followed by very enthusiastic applause and cheering when we finished.

“So what are you doing here?” Stefan asked as put my jacket on.
“Visiting friends, they live here, what about you guys, its hardly local.”
“Big Jo's family are from here, its wider exposure and all the better for you being here.”
“Purely by coincidence, bum, my fritters'll be cold.”
“Gab!” Mand called up, “we er, should get back.”
“Er right, I'll see you guys in the New Year?”
“We'll be there, have a good Weihnachts.”
“And you guys, tschuss!”

Okay its hardly big rock star stuff but I'm not one am I? I'll admit to enjoying a bit of a warble, the concert at the Rheinhalle was fun, tonight was fun even if it was unplanned. But lets face it, I'm never gonna be some rock diva am I?
 
“There you are,” Mum stated, well duh!
“I um, got a bit side tracked.”
“We heard kiddo,” Dad advised.

Well thats any pretence of denial out of the window.

“Come on, the Grönberg's have gone on ahead, we don't want to be too late tonight, its an early start remember.”
 

“What happened to the fritters,” I asked Mand in a whisper as Dad drove us the short way up to the Grönberg's.
“They um disappeared somewhere around your second song?”

Oh well, at least they didn't go to waste.

By the time we got there, Angela had the pasta on the go and the sauce was warming on the hob, I guess missing the fritters isn't so bad with this as replacement. In deference to needing clearer heads for travelling it was just grape juice to go with the food, which, if I'm honest, suited me just fine. By the time we'd polished off the main course, a slice of Angela's Kasekuchen and coffee, it was heading for ten and we still have to get to the hotel.
 
“So how come your band were in Mettmann?” Mand asked as we lay in the darkness of our hotel room.
“Apparently its where Big Jo comes from.”
“Right. You know Gab?”
“What?”
“You really are pretty good, you know, at singing.”
“Huh, hardly, you can't hear me over the music,” I snorted.
“Not true, you come out really clear, everyone can hear every word.”

Well that's me told.
 

With such an early flight the hotel wasn't serving breakfast before we departed so after checking our luggage, unusually devoid of bicycles, we grabbed coffee and croissants before going through to the gate. Most of the passengers were already loaded by the time we got there which actually made it easier for us, no queue at the gate or to load the plane and we didn't even have to disturb anyone to get our seats, Dad was in 12C and the rest of us occupied D, E and F. Mand had the window but at seven thirty on a December morning its still pitch black anyhow, nothing to see.

I didn't really sleep that well, I kept going over everything from yesterday, one something in particular that I was itching to share. I can't believe that they're having another kid, I wonder what their parents will say? Well I guess its not really my concern but, well enquiring minds need to know!

So of course I slept through the in flight 'breakfast', only waking with an elbow from Mand.

“You can see Yorkshire.”
“Um?”
“Look, that has to be the Humber.”
I leant over to take a neb, “yeah.”
“You missed breakfast.”
“You could've woken me,” I pointed out.
“Blame your Mum, she said to leave you.”

I glanced at Mater sat beside me, engrossed in her book, ear buds in humming tunelessly along to something or other.

“So your Mum meeting you in London?”
“I think Gramps is picking me up.”
“'kay.”
“Gab?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
“Something serious, personal serious?”

Ot oh, “er okay.”

© Maddy Bell 25.05.2019