Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

“Come on you two.” Dad encouraged as Mand and I emerged from the lift.

Apart from feeling like a pair of right prawns, the team dresses were not exactly ideal for travelling so we’d finished dinner and headed straight up to change into more appropriate garb. Capri’s and a baggy top were certainly better for sprawling in the bus, the make-up had to stay as we didn’t have time to clean up properly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“The others are outside.”

“See you in two weeks then,” Gret confirmed through the bus doorway.
“Best bring a brolly,” I suggested.
“And a posh frock,” Ron added.
“Ha de ha.”
“Time girls,” Dad instructed.

There was a final exchange of farewells before Roni slammed the side door shut. Everyone else would be home well before us, it’ll be close to midnight before we get home no doubt given it’d turned six now. At least we were fed, Wienerschnitzel with Spätzle and a side of Bohnensalat – filled a hole anyway.

We waved as we set off to start the long journey south.

“I'll ring in the week,” Dad told the Grönberg’s as we climbed back into the bus at Mettmann.

We’d had a clear run down, only stopping for toilets between Osnabruck and Münster – Dad deciding to return on the ‘1’ as it was so clear on the way up. But even Dad needs a break sometimes so we’d taken up Angela’s offer of coffee and a sandwich. It delayed us by best part of an hour but at least Dad was awake for the last stint back to the Ahrtal.

“You look knackered,” Pia offered.
I yawned, “Long day yesterday.”
“Hamburg wasn’t it?” Steff queried.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “up to Kiel and back, it lobbed it down for half the race.”
“So did you win?” Con queried as I started to sip my coffee.
“Might’ve,” I smirked from behind my cup.
“Gaby, Gaby!” Bridg started chanting.
“Girls!” Frau Thesing called out.
“Oops!” Bridg allowed.
“Oh I nearly forgot, we’re booked in for Friday,” Steff advised.
“Friday? Booked in?”
“The hair salon?” Con mentioned.
“You’ve not forgotten already, Bond?” Nena snuck in.
I racked my brain for a moment, Friday, hair – ahhh, Prom.
“Course not, just didn’t realise you were booking us in.”
“Mum’s treat,” Steff advised.
Well I guess that's one thing less to worry about.

“Aah – choo!”
“Gesundheit.”
“Er thanks.”
“You alright?” Max asked as I wiped my nose.
“Bit of a head cold from yesterday.”
“How’d you get on?”
“She won,” Con interrupted.
“Thank you, blabbermouth!”
“My pleasure,” she smirked.
“That's good then,” Max allowed, “about Friday.”
“You aren’t dipping out on me?”
“Don’t be so daft, I'd never hear the end of it.”
“If you lived,” Con interrupted again.
“Con!”
“Okay, just saying.”
“So, Friday?” I prompted.
“Er yeah, we’ll pick you up at half six?”
“She’ll be ready,” Con agreed for me.
“Um, thanks,” I added.
“Oh I'm supposed to ask what colour your dress is,” Max mentioned with a bit of embarrassment.
“Pale pink, why’d you want to know?”
“Friday.”

“So what did Maxxie want?” Nena queried as we congregated to eat our lunches.
“Arranging transport,” Con butted in again, what’s got into her today.
“So you all got your dresses?”
“Yeah,” Steff confirmed.
“So you get that red one, Con?”
“Scarlet woman,” Pia chuckled.

There was a bit of tongue poking before the conversation moved onto other subjects. I let the conversation wash around me and mused on Friday’s prom, date – check, dress – check, hair – check, transport – check. I think that's everything, we’ve got a meal at the Spa where the dance is before hand, I'm not as ditzy as Con over it but I guess it is quite exciting in a weird sort of way.

“Gab!”
“Eh?”
“How are you gonna have your hair?” Steff repeated.
How indeed? “Er haven’t given it much thought.”
“You’ve got to have it up with that dress, Gab,” Pia advised.
“Er yeah, probably,” I think I mentioned before that I'm not good with hair.
“I've got some books you can borrow,” Nena offered, “I'll bring them tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”

I thought you just went to the salon and they did their stuff, picking out a style is new to me.

“How do you feel about Paris Roubaix?” Dad asked as I attacked the taters with the masher.
“Like cobbles and stuff? Bit brutal.”
“How’d you fancy riding it, the junior one that is?”
“Really?”
“I had Chris on the phone earlier, he’s got dispensation for you to ride – if you’re up for it.”
I stopped massacring the helpless vegetables, “Dispensation?”
“You’re on a girls licence now, entries are usually only open to lads.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I don’t make the rules,” he observed, “so, interested?”
“Yeah! When is it?”
“Ah, that's the thing.”
“Go on.”
“Next Saturday.”
“Saturday? That’s not much notice.”
“You’ll have to miss the prom, the starts in St Quentin so we’ll have to go Friday night.”
“It doesn’t start in Paris?”
“No, the juniors only do about 160km, so what do you think?”

What do I think? A chance to ride one of the real classics or go to the prom?

“Can I think about it?”
“Okay but I need to let Chris know in the morning so he can get the paperwork sorted out.”

I somehow managed to finish the job in hand, that is making the cottage pie for our tea, anyhow I got it in the oven and headed up to my eyrie.

“I've been looking on the internet,” I addressed Dad as I served the food.
“Oh?”
“It’s only four hundred kilometres to this Saint Quentin place, couldn’t we go Saturday morning?”
“Only four hundred, you do realise how long that’ll take?”
“Four hours?”
“We’d have to leave at silly o’clock,”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “I get up early for work anyhow.”
“So what’s so important about this dance thing that you’re hesitating over riding a huge race?”
“It’s the Prom, like there isn’t another one.”
“She has got that dress already,” Mand put in taking her plate from me.
“What dress?” Dad asked.
“My prom dress, it cost a fortune, Dad.”
“Do I want to hear how much?”
“Um no,” I admitted.
He sighed, “I'll talk to Chris, I'm presuming that it’s a yes then?”
“Thank you, Daddy!” I hugged him all a jigger.
“Things I do, you want to come to watch then, Manda?” Dad offered.
“It’s not a good spectator event is it, think I'll pass thanks.”
“You’re probably right,” he agreed.

“So you’re going to this race thing Saturday morning?” Con asked over our pre school coffee.
“Uh huh, we’ll leave quite early, we have to be at this Saint Quentin place for like nine o’clock.”
“Sooner you than me” Pia allowed.
“You won’t be here Saturday, Gaby?” Frau Thesing enquired having overheard our conversation.
“Er no, sorry, I only found out about it yesterday afternoon.”
“I suppose I can find someone to cover.”
“I could ask Mand, she’s not coming to France.”
“The jobs hers if she wants it, but I need to know quickly.”
“I'll message her now.”
“Okay.”
“So this race is a big deal then?” Steff enquired.
“Not many, it’s like one of the Classics.”

They just don’t understand.

I tapped out the message to de Vreen;
U want wrk Sat am @ Thesings?
Gab

Then hit send.
I was a bit surprised when I got an almost immediate reply:

ok, M

well that’s that sorted at least.

I wasn’t quite sure what to be excited about, the dance or the race. I wonder who else will be riding? Geth? Jamie? Mark? Daz? Or some other lads, I bet Josh would do well at it but Dad never mentioned him riding. And I've got that NRW time trial thing on Sunday too – well I might dip out of that although I would get to wear the rainbow stripes. More questions.

Maddy Bell © 21.10.16