“Sorry about earlier,” Bern told me as we collected some of the evenings detritus.
“I guess it turned out okay,” I grudgingly allowed.
“So did you like get into Elvira's knickers?”
“Bern!”
“Well?,” she persisted.
“No I didn't and vici verci before you ask.”
“You know for a hunk he makes a quite good girly.”
“If you say so.”
“Well I didn't recognise him when he got here.”
“How many two metre girls do you know around here?”
She shrugged, “I don't know everyone like you do.”

Well I suppose she does have me on that.

“Come on you two,” Mart called from the barn door, “i'll finish clearing up in the morning.”
“Okay liebchen,” Bern called back, “come on Gab, we can get some chocolate before your lift gets here.”

My lift, yeah I'm going back with Elvira, I mean Max, well we could hardly leave the Preisers to do all the clearing up could we and von Strechau senior was already going to be running taxi for Max. Bern turned out the lights and we picked our way across to the farmhouse, easier said than done in heels in the dark. The lads were in the kitchen with Erika who was apparently making the hot chocolate.

“I'd best check on Drea,” Bern suggested.
“She's fine daughter, fell asleep with Opa,” Erika told us.
“Make the most of it Bernie,” Marty suggested, “she'll be like a top in the morning.”
“I guess.”
 
“My feet are killing,” Max sighed as we started the journey down from Staffel in his Dad's Audi.
“You should've brought some trainers or something,” I pointed out.
“Just like you then.”
“Yeah well I'm used to wearing heels.”
“Your mother always has flat shoes to change into,” von Strechau senior advised.
“I'm not exactly going to be making a habit of wearing heels,” Max mentioned.
“Pity, I could get used to the idea,” I joshed.
“Har, har, one pair of heels in the relationship is enough.”
“I don't mind wearing trainers.”
Well, Wilhelm snorted violently, “she's got you there son.”
“Huh!”
 
“Take it you had a good night?” Mum posited when I slunk into the lounge.
“Not bad,” I allowed.
“Manda said you've got a new girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Someone in a dress?” she hinted.
“Oh Max.”
“What made him pick that?”
“He didn't, he was complaining so much Gloria picked it for him.”
“Guess he won't be complaining in future.”
“Guess not, where's Dad?”
Mum looked at the clock, “should be back soon, he went for a drink with George and Mike, supposedly sorting stuff out for the training camp.”
“Any excuse for a beer,” I offered.
“So shrewd for someone so young.”
“I've had a good teacher,” I suggested.

To be honest, whilst he'll have a drink socially, Dad doesn't really do alcohol, if anything Mum's more partial. They've both tried to instill some sort of respect and temperance with us kids, I guess we've both pushed things at different times. Okay, maybe me more than Jules, especially given my low tolerance levels.

“Well, i'd best go up, i've still got to shower, get the rest of this makeup off, nite Mum.”

I leant over and kissed her cheek.

“Nite kiddo, see you in the morning, you at the kiosk?”
“Yeah.”
“Well don't be too long getting to bed then.”
“No Mum.”
 
“So what time did you get home then?” Nena asked as we put out the tables.
“'bout eleven?” I suggested.
“Not too late then, it was half to when I got in.”
“We didn't have to go around the houses,” I noted.
“Max was brave, wearing a dress.”
“He is over one eighty and it was a costume party.”
“Still, not many lads would wear a dress.”

I gave a shrug, he wasn't likely to want to repeat it in a hurry, was he?

“He's above such things,” I loftily pronounced.
 
For a change it wasn't me nursing a hangover after a party but Con, she'd hit the 'punch' quite hard last night and last time I saw her she was hanging off Jorge Stevens like a limpet. Not exactly Mr Universe but its slim pickings around here, pretty much all the elegible options are taken.

“Coffee,” I suggested to my groaning business partner.
“Had four cups already.”
“Clearly not strong enough,” Nen opined.
“So how much did you drink?” I queried.
“Dunno, too much.”
“You'd better stay sober on Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
“The concert, in Bonn?”
“Urgh.”
“You better be there Thesing.”
“She'll be there Gab, we'll all be there, wouldn't miss it for anything.”
 
Despite the practice the other day, as the concert gets closer, the more nervous I'm getting. When i've sung with BlauHase before its always been sort of spur of the moment, i've not had time for nerves. But this, its been planned for months and the Rheinhalle, its a big deal and, well I'm a shower singer really, I am!

Not that I was able to dwell on the whole thing for long, despite the shortening days, the weather was still quite mild which in turn meant the kiosk was quite busy again. Busy enough that I ended up ringing Kristin to come and give us a hand. On the other hand being busy made the day pass more quickly and actually enjoyed the 'pressure', weird huh?
 
“You look knackered,” Manda suggested when I got home.
“Cheers.”
“Well you do look tired kiddo,” Dad chimed in.
“We were quite busy, had to get Kris to give us a hand.”
“Everyones making the most of the weather,” Mum opined.
“I guess, is that what I think it is?” I queried sniffing the odours from the kitchen.
“If you are thinking a roast you'd be right, we've not had one for a bit.”
“Beef?”
“Lamb, can't you smell the difference?”
“I've been cooking Pommes and Würst all day, thats about all I can smell. So we having all the trimmings?”
“There's Yorkshires and mint sauce,” Mum advised.
“No bread sauce or stuffing?”
“Wasn't going to but if you want to make some you can.”
“Maybe have a shower first?” Dad suggested.
“Have I got time Mum?”
“As long as you don't dawdle.”
“Be right back!”
 
Well you know what its like, by the time i'd showered, washed my hair, braided it and found some clothes that don't smell of fried potatoes i'd been best part of half an hour.

“Thought you'd died up there,” Mum suggested when I clattered into the kitchen, “you want to bring the veggies through.”
“I was going to make bread sauce,” I lamented.
“Amanda has made some, yes and stuffing, now, vegetables.”

I followed Mum through to the dining room where the others were already sat at the table. It was kind of weird there just being the four of us at the table, we usually only use the dining room when we have company. And I think its been like, I dunno, a year maybe since we had a roast without some sort of company, even if it was only Max or Con.

With the bread sauce and stuffing it really was the full works, mash and roast taters, green beans, carrots, cauliflower, sprouts, gravy, mint sauce, the meat of course and some pretty impressive Yorkshire puds. Yeah, I might enjoy German cuisine but its hard to beat a proper English Sunday roast, it might not be particularly fancy but its simplicity is its delight. The table was devoid of conversation as we all tucked in, Dad had poured us each a glass of crisp local white, a sharpness that cleared the palate without disguising the component tastes.

“Do you know what would round that off?” Dad put to the table.
“Rhubard crumble,” Mum and I chorused.
“You'll have to wait for a bit, its still in the oven,” Mum added.
“Custard?” I suggested.
“What else?” Dad queried.
“I'll make it,” I volunteered.

Mand helped me clear the remains of our main course, the plates were all empty so everything went straight into the dishwasher – hurrah for technology! German vanilla sauce or sauce Anglais as they often call it, is but a poor substitute for thick, creamy, bright yellow Bird's custard. Gran actually sends us a tin when she does one of her goodwill packages, can you believe you can't even get the tinned stuff here?

Of course its not just custard powder in her packages, there's Marmite, Henderson's relish and even real liquorice allsorts. On the one hand I always look forward to the parcels but it can be a bit melancholy too, a reminder of a life, of places, people left behind when we moved here. I don't regret a moment but sometimes a bag of sweets gets you wondering about what might have been.

Mum came through into the kitchen, “how're you doing with the custard?”
“Nearly ready, we're nearly out of powder though.”
“I'll get your Gran to send some next time, can you get the dishes out please.”
 
You can make virtually anything into a crumble, savoury stuff and of course fruit, but from all of them my favourite, and Dad's, is Rhubarb. Back in Warsop we used to have some in the garden, there's nothing quite like picking a few sticks and cooking it fresh. Its not as readily available here, not in the shops at least, we get ours from a sort of farm shop up at Ahrbrück, they do all sorts of weird fruit and veg, when was the last time you saw Gooseberry's and have you ever tried Romanescu?

Mum retrieved the dish from the oven, the biscuit a golden brown, puddles of rhubarb juice sat on the surface and still bubbling away through the glass for all to see. I poured the custard into a serving jug then followed her through with custard and dishes. Dad had replenished our glasses, hmm, I could get to like this.

“I'd like to propose a toast,” Dad told us once me and Mum were seated.
“Toast?” I queried.
“Not browned bread kiddo,” Mum chuckled.
“I know,” I huffed, “a toast for what?”
“To your mothers cooking.”
“What about mine?”
“Okay, I'll rephrase that, a toast to all the cooks in the house, the cooks!”
“The cooks,” the rest of us returned.
“Can we have the crumble now?” Mand asked salivating at the prospect.
 
© Maddy Bell 15.02.2019