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?

The parental units returned just as I finished the somewhat edited version of Munich – the wedding.

“What are we doing for dinner mum?” Mum asked her, er mum once they were inside with the shopping.
“Hadn't really thought yet love, egg and chips?”

I gave Mum a look, I didn't have quite that earlier, but the platter did include both those elements.

“How about we eat out tonight, we'll be cooking enough here the next few days.”
“Well you'll not get any complaints from me,” Gran told us.
“That's that settled then, you gonna book where we said love?”
“On it dearest,” Dad replied already heading for the kitchen.
“So what've you two been up to?” Mum asked.
“The Princess...”
“Gra-an,” I interrupted.
“...was telling me about fancy weddings, princes and princesses.”
“Anything i've not heard?” Mum queried.
“No Mum,” I sighed.
“So there won't be a queue of royal suitors when we get home?”
“Chuh! I only talked with him for a few minutes and he's got a girlfriend.”
“And a brother.”
“Mu-um!”
“Just kidding Princess.”
Grrrr!

Dad returned having completed his call, “sorted.”
“So where're we going?” I asked.
“You'll find out when we get there,” Mum told me.
“What time Dave?” Gran asked.
“Tables booked for seven so we should leave, I dunno, half six, we can get a drink before we eat.”
“In that case, I'll have first go at the bathroom,” Gran suggested, gathering cups and plates up, “can you rinse these out please Gaby.”
“Sure,” I agreed. I may be a moody teenager but its easier to just get on and do it than argue about it and still end up having it to do.

“Really, where are we going?” I tried again after Gran disappeared upstairs.
“The Lock Keepers out at Barbridge,” Dad told me.
“I suppose I need to change?”
“As long as you're smart,” Mum advised.
“Aren't I always?”
“Define smart,” Mum shot back.
“I'll do the washing up,” I sighed.
“Stick the kettle on love,” Dad requested.

 
I don't usually unpack everything when I'm away – what's the point when you're gonna be packing it up again two days later? But here at Gran's, well we're here for a week so its a bit different and my posh stuff can do with being hung. Of course i've got the small guest room as usual, with just me it feels huge although its not much different to my eyrie back in Dernau.

When I opened the wardrobe I found my choices suddenly enlarged – I wondered where that skirt was – and that top and isn't that Jules' jacket? Its a good job I seem to have given up growing, everything will still fit me. So, pub food, what to wear?
 
Dad gave me one of those 'I'm not gonna say anything but' looks when I joined everyone in the lounge.
“Well I'm ready.”
“Isn't that your sisters jacket?” Mum queried.
“She must've left it last time she was here.”
“There wasn't room in her bag,” Gran mentioned.
“Come on then,” Dad suggested.
 
Its amazing what you can do with a bit of mix and match, with the short denim skirt and the leather jacket added to my options I put together a 'posh' rock chick ensemble. My black stiletos, shiny black tights and a silky vest top provided the rest, a simple twisted hair do and Roberta's your Aunt. Maybe it wasn't quite what Mum was thinking of as smart but it's hardly grunge is it?

Of course, heels and short skirts are hardly a car friendly combination, it felt like I was naked below the waist, its a good job I was wearing hose. The adults were of course wearing more sensible clothing, Gran was in slacks and jumper, Mum opting for a quite with it, flowey jumpsuit thing. By contrast, Dad was wearing his collarless jacket, not out of place in the Ahrtal but what they'll make of it in Cheshire who knows.

As its name might suggest, The Lock Keepers is squeezed between the road and the canal, in the summer its a popular place for drinking and watching the boats on said canal. The appeal in the winter months is somewhat diluted and whilst busy I was surprised that it wasn't busier when we arrived ten minutes later. I guess that even in the season of parties that its a bit far out from like Nantwich or Crewe, most of our fellow patrons were likely fairly local where the reverse is probably the attraction.
 
I won't say that all eyes were on us as we entered, I was still hanging on Dad's arm after nearly turning an ankle on the pebbles of the car park – what idiot thought that was a good idea? Well I'm sure the buzz of conversation changed. I'm sure we made quite a striking impression anyway.

“What's everyone drinking?” Gran asked.
“I'll drive if you want a drink Dave,” Mum offered.
“In that case, a pint of Adnams please Mum,” Dad advised.
“Jen?”
“J2O mango if they have it,”
“Gaby?”
“Dry white please.”
Mum dived in, “lemonade with a slice Mum.“
“But I always,” I started.
“We aren't at home now kiddo,” Dad told me quietly.

Note to self, that's worth remembering, i've gotten so used to being able to legally have wine or beer at home that I forgot you have to be eighteen here. I might just about pass as that tonight but given my size i'd almost certainly get carded on my own – guess its lemonade while I'm here.

We got to study the menu while we waited for our table, it wasn't very extensive when you took out the curry (Mondays), carvery (Sat & Sun) and pizza (Wednesday). Not only that but it was a bit pretentious, mustard mash, wild rice and pan fried vegetables all being 'home cooked'. They'd get laughed out of town back home.

From experience I ruled out the steak and ale pie and lasagne, I'm not a particular fan of fish so that left the 4oz 'gourmet' burger, gammon, sirloin steak or the veggie options. Not a schnitzel or roulade in sight. Oh well, so much for traditional pub food, where's the soup in a basket and prawn cocktail when you need it?

A girl in all black, shirt, miniskirt, opaque tights and ballets, even her apron was black – well a girl notices these things, well, she took us through to our table.

“Arble ooo eedee oo awduhh?” she asked.

Eh?

“Gaby, what are you having,” Dad prompted.
“Die Steak, medium mit gebackener Kartoffel bitte.”

The poor girl looked at me like I was some sort of alien.

“Sorry,” Mum put in, “can you do her steak with a baked potato?”
“Eee oilin?”

Whats wrong with this girl.

“Please,” Mum went on.
“Ow oes ee ont at?”
“Medium.”

I tuned out the rest of the garbled conversation, the girl gathered our menus up and departed.
 
“What was up with her? I couldn't understand a word.”
“Up with her,” Dad chuckled, “it was you speaking German, you might want to try English?”

Dong! What a complete dumkopf, I mean idiot, i've still been speaking German, even with Gran, the gobbledygook was English!

“Um sorry, I should apologise to her.”
“I don't think you upset her or anything,” Mum advised, “but perhaps use English while we're here?”
“Um okay.”

That's me told and made to feel my shoe size.
 
At least the food was cooked to order which gave me time to take in the décor, the adults were busy discussing politics or something to which I just tuned out. Of course we have no shortage of themed restaurants in Germany, with a large nod to what could liberally be called country pursuits. Yep its hard to find a country restaurant without hunting trophies, old rifles and mounted piscines providing the decoration.

In merry ol' England they seem to be doing their best to make everywhere a Disneyised version of life and the Lock Keepers is no exception. So on pretty much every flat surface there're those painted tin pots and other canal ephemera. How much is genuine I wouldn't like to guess, there's certainly enough to fill a couple of medium sized museums!
 

“So I have the baked trout?” the waitress offered.
“Thats me,” Dad told her.
“Mediuum Steak with baked potato?”
“Er mine thank you.”

Mum and Gran both had the steak pie so the rest of the distribution was straightforward.

“Could we get another round of drinks please?” Dad requested as our server completed the food delivery.
“Sure,” she agreed.

Well it lived down to my expectations, the steak wasn't cooked very evenly and for the price was a measley portion, the potato – well it had clearly been in the oven far too long and those 'pan fried' vegetables were somehow the consistency of fudge that had been seered rather than fried. Call me a snob if you like but even Mand could do better and she can't boil water. I hope everyone elses food was better.

On the plus side, they seemed to have the drink order a little mixed up, I ended up with a glass of a reasonable red wine. Mum did the eyerolling thing, well it wasn't worth the effort to get it changed was it?

“I'll have whatever,” I advised the dessert menu readers, “i need a wee,” I added soto voce.

At least the lavs, when I eventually found them, were clean even if the the continued theme of narrowboat tin wear was a bit much. I did my business and was just checking my teeth for stray food at the mirror when our server came in. I was still there when she exited the cubicle, not by design but because my lippy needed redoing.

“Er hi,” she ventured.
“Hi,” I replied, “sorry about earlier.”
“You speak English?”
“Er yeah, I sort of forgot where I was.”
“S'okay, you have speak English with a cute accent by the way, where're you from?”

Good question, where am I from? I know where I was born, where i've lived, where I do live but none of that answers the question.

“Germany, near the Rhein, Gaby by the way.”
“Ren, well its actually Karen but everyone calls me Ren. I like your shoes, not seen any like that before.”
I kicked a leg back to confirm what was on feet, “thanks, they were a present.”
“Nice present, they sure didn't come from Shoe Zone!”

Sounds like some discount chain, yeah I doubt they sell €200 shoes.

“I should finish and get back, they'll be sending a search party.”
Ren gave a little laugh, “me too, the boss will dock my wages, have a nice visit.”
“Thanks,” I offered as she left.

“You get lost?” Mum asked when I got back to the table.
“They're right down the other end, you have to go round a corner and up some steps.”
“We've ordered you Banoffee Pie with Eis,” Dad advised.
“Sounds okay,” I allowed before going on, “do I have an accent, you know when I use English?”
“I wouldn't've said so,” Mum opined.
“Hmm, maybe a bit,” Gran put in, “nothing strong but there's a bit of a lilt and you do use some odd words at times, well you all do.”
“Do you know mum, i'd never given it a thought,” Mum mentioned.
“So why the question kiddo,” Dad enquired.
“I was talking to the waitress in the lav, she said I had a cute accent.”
 
The desserts were the highlight of the meal, I'm pretty sure they were bought in rather than 'home cooked' which was probably their saviour. We decided to give the coffee a miss – if its as good as the cooking, well lets not go there eh? Dad settled the bill – how backward is that, expecting the customer to go to the till, why can't they do it at table like we do at home – I guess it sort of goes with the catering itself.
For once Mum drove at less than warp speed on the way back to Gran's but even so we were there in less than fifteen minutes.

“Anyone for cocoa?” Gran asked once we were safely locked inside the cottage.
“I'll make it,” I offered as I exchanged my heels for slippers to my feet's delight.
“No you don't, your under my roof, tonight its my turn, now Jen, Dave?”
“Please mum,” Dad returned.
“Jen, there's a tin of biscuits in the sideboard.”

With Gran busy in the kitchen it occurred to me that Mand should be at her own grand parents.

“Did Manda ring? With going out I forgot all about her.”
“Yes she did, while you were getting ready,” Dad advised.
“She okay?”
“Well the train was delayed, signals or something but her grandfather picked her up okay, she sounded in good spirits.”
“I hope it all goes okay,” I told them with a sigh.
“Us too kiddo,” Mum agreed.
“Hopefully her gran is a better cook than the chef at the pub,” I joked.
“Yeah, I think we'll give it a miss in future,” Dad suggested with a wry grin.
“It used to be a really good pub,” Mum told us after recovering that traditional English Christmas staple, the tin of Danish butter cookies!
 
© Maddy Bell 28.05.2019