Gaby Book 18 - Summery

 
“Why do I have to wear it now?” I complained as we entered Deichmann’s.
“Oh stop moaning—ooh they look nice.”

She has a short attention span and I had to agree the shoes she was homing in on did look nice. Nice but not really what I was ‘looking’ for, I don’t think glittery pink with big bows would really work with a yellow retro look. On the other hand, further along the shelves were some that might.

“What do you think?”
“Turn round,” Con instructed, “you could get some seamed hose, go for the whole look.”

Not more expense, the perücke has already set me back thirty five, fifties style button earrings and a cutesie hair bow brought my Tally Weile bill to just over forty euros – this wedding is costing me a bomb!

“Well?” I pressed.
“They’ll do,” Con sort of enthused.

I checked them again in the mirror, pointed of toe, eight centimetre stiletto heel, a sort of half strappy sandal but the big selling point, they’re bright yellow like the dress. I doubt I'll find anything better and they’re only €19.99.

“Sorted.”
“You still want some flats?”
Want is maybe a bit misleading, need is closer to reality, “Yeah, my toes are killing.”
“I'll go look while you sort them out.”

“Found anything?” I queried when I joined my friend a couple of rows down clutching the wedding shoes and my heels.
“Not really, they’re all glitter or animal prints.”

I surveyed the shelves and confirmed her statement, apparently the Barbie meets big game hunter look is in for footwear – unless you prefer patent, nothing I wanted to own.

“Sandals?”

I shrugged, why not, at least they’d be sensible colours. I followed Con into the next run of shelves.

“Cool!”
“What?”
“Baseball boots.”
“More like loser boots.”

I picked up a blue example, well okay they’re not like Converse® or something but they are hi tops.

“Gotta try ‘em,” I told her before searching the shelves for my tiny size thirty sevens.

When I thought I was a boy my little feet were a bit embarrassing, the other lads all had like size forty one, two or bigger, even Jules wears thirty nine. But no I get pixie feet – oh I might need thirty eight in some brands – I used to get the bigger ones as a safe default with growing space but it’s unlikely they’re gonna get any bigger now is it? The shelf produced a box and I sat to try them on.

“Has to be the boots,” I told Con a few minutes later.

After trying the boots we’d moved on to the sandals but after trying several, couldn’t find any I liked.

“Whatever,” she sighed.

I returned to the stacks and after locating my size again, headed to the cash point.

“You not wearing them then?” Con prompted out in the street.
“Course, there’s a bench down there.”

We commandeered the bench and I pulled the shoe box out of the carrier. Cool, I've wanted some of these since, I dunno, I was eleven?

“I thought you got blue?”
I looked at the boots in the box, pink to the max, “I must’ve picked up the wrong box.”
“Give ‘em here, I'll get them changed.” she offered.

“They haven’t got any blue ones left,” Con told me a few minutes later.
“But I tried them on.”
“Must’ve sold them when we were looking at the sandals, you can get a refund.”

A refund doesn’t get me anything to wear and they haven’t got anything else I fancy, guess pink’s not so bad.

“I'll keep these I guess."

Not sure what happened to the time but the station clock was showing five past four when we reached the crossing.

“Sugar, we’re gonna miss the Zug,” Con stated.
“No we’re not,” I could see the train at platform two, the lights changed and it was my turn to drag Con, “come on!”

It’s certainly easier to run in baseball boots than heels, I sprinted up into the ticket hall, through to Gleis eine, down to the subway and up again to our train. The conductor spotted us and held off closing the train a moment allowing us to breathlessly board.

“Flip!” Con panted out
“With knobs on,” I agreed.
“Gab?” a voice enquired, that you?”
“Mand?” I poked my head up the stairs
“Thought it was you, there’s seats up here.”

We didn’t need a second invite, we climbed to the upper level and found Mand changing her seat to a vacant table group.

“Cool,” Con allowed sagging into a seat, the train was already picking up speed out of the Hauptbahnhof.

“What happened to your hair?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Last night it was pink and down to your bra strap, now it’s a blonde bob.”
“Oh that,” Con filled, “that's why we’re in Bonn, so Gab could get her hair done, you know for the wedding?”

The penny dropped, I've still got the wig on.

“Er yeah,” I added.”
“It’s a bit drastic but it suits you,” Mand offered.
“Thanks.”
Con gave me a smirky look, “I didn’t think you finished this early Mand?”
“We finish at three forty five but I don’t often manage to get on this train.”
“I thought your school was in the centre?”
“It’s up behind the botanic gardens, it’s a right walk.”
“I've only been by car,” I put in, “just after we moved.”
“So what’ve you bought in big D’s?”

“What made you buy pink boots?” Mand queried as she examined one when we got home.
“They hadn’t got any blue left, cool eh?”
“Bit retro.”
“I'm a retro kind of girl.”
“And I'm a hardcore biker chick.”
“I'll agree on the biker chick bit!”
“Come on you two, training,” Dad prompted.

It’s the race at Celle again on Sunday, is it really just a year that Josh has been riding with us? With that in mind, whilst there’s some climbing up there we don’t really need to practice our mountain goat skills so training today is north to Euskirchen and back through Rheinbach, Meckenheim and Bad Godesberg. Certainly not flat but it’s more rolling than the Hohe Eifel, in fact similar to Sherwood Forest, the Dukeries back around Warsop.

The worst climb is actually out of Dernau past Anna’s, it’s a no talk start but afterwards you only get out of breath when you want to.

“Wish there was a bit more breeze,” Mand mentioned.
“Yeah,” I agreed wiping a drip of sweat from my nose, “’S a bit warm.”
“So you get a frock sorted for the wedding?”
“Eventually,” I allowed.

Mand quirked a brow, well I think that's what it was, it’s a bit difficult to tell when she’s got cycling glasses on.

“Yeah the first one I tried was awful...”

Our circuit was designed to sort of mimic the weekend’s terrain but to spice things up Dad wanted us to sprint for road signs. It’s an age old game for cyclists around the globe, we did it in England, we do it here, it requires no special kit, just a lack of traffic. It’s as simple as it sounds, you sprint for the town or village nameplates, it adds a bit of spice to the ride but also works to prepare you for mid race attacks.

Whilst I'm the stronger sprinter Mand has improved a lot and she actually pipped me to the Rheinbach sign, cheeky moo. I didn’t think we’d bother for Bad Godesberg, it’s on a fairly fast and steep descent but fancy pants de Vreen took a flier and despite my best efforts she got that one too – I must be losing my touch.

“No time for napping, Bond,” she crowed.
“Thought I'd let you get one.”
“Just admit it, I beat you fair and square.”
“If you say so, go left at the bottom, we can get onto the bike track easier from the ferry.”

It’s still a fair ride back to Dernau but there’s hardly any climbing that you change gear for. I left Mand to use the downstairs shower, I've got my own of course, the stairs were soon littered with salt encrusted kit.

“Argh!”

I batted at whatever was attacking me, grabbing it and chucking it out of the cubicle. It didn’t seem to be moving so I continued to shampoo my hair and generally get myself clean before worrying further about my attacker. I let the water play across my shoulders, relieving tension I didn’t know was there.

The shower interloper didn’t get another thought until after I was towel wrapped and heading back into my eyrie properly. Oh bum, it’s the perücke! I picked the soggy lump of hair off the floor, it’s probably ruined – bang goes thirty five bucks. I straightened it out as best I could and using a towel removed a lot of the wet before using my make-up bin as a makeshift head form to dry on.

“Your hair!” Mand exclaimed.
“Where?”
“It was blonde – and short,” she accused.
“You must be dreaming,” I offered, “pink and,” I pulled a strand out, “about fifty centimetres.”
“But, but, I saw it, Mr B, you saw it too, you must’ve.”
“Gab?” Dad prompted.

So much for a bit of fun!

“It was a wig, I got it for the wedding.”
“Was?”
“Well I think I killed it in the shower.”
“Killed it?” Mand spluttered.
“Well I forgot I was wearing it, I was already in the shower and I thought it was a cat or something so I threw it out.”
“We don’t have a cat,” Dad pointed out.
“Er yeah well I sort of panicked."
“So where is this soggy wig now?” Manda asked having now regained her composure.
“Drying in my bathroom hopefully.”
Dad just shook his head, “Come on dinner’s ready.”

Maddy Bell © 07.01.17