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?

 
An urgent need to use the bathroom woke me, sometime during the night i'd clearly been a bit warm as the duvet was wodged up against the wall. I made a dash for the facilities, initially a bit confused when I couldn't find the door to the en suite before remembering I'm in Gran's box room. My business done I hurried back to my bed and snuggled into the welcoming folds of the duvet before locating my handy to check the time – urgh, quarter to five.

Christmas Day, whether you are religious or not, its the one day of the year that we all love or loath. Back when Jules and me were little, okay, younger, we'd be bouncing with excitement at this time on the big day, the promise of gifts somehow negating the need for any sort of alarm. This morning however, well I just want to get back to sleep, gift exchanges can wait, I'm not five anymore.

So of course I'm wide awake, sleep a distant hope, in frustration I turned over again. I lay in the darkness listening to the cottage, Bond Acres back in Germany is quiet at night, well apart from the distant rumblings of the boiler down in the basement. But Gran's cottage was built in eighteen something, you don't notice during the day but in the silence of the night its far from silent.

Of course, its mostly the fabric of the building cooling and resettling but mixed in with the creaks and groans, I could hear other, I don't know, scuffles and what sounded like footsteps. It's probably something like mice, mice with clogs on by how loud some of it was. I didn't dare think of it being anything else, rats perhaps or some huge spider maybe, I gave an involuntary shiver and pulled the bedding even tighter around me.

My mind wandered to less scary subjects. I wonder how Mand's getting on, i've never met her mum but Dad has, according to him she isn't the immovable rock of anti bike that Mand paints her. Far from it, so I guess theres more going on with Mand, maybe they can make their peace, I certainly hope so, I'm pretty sure she wants a better relationship.

Sometimes i've caught her watching me and Mum with a look of, I dunno, not envy exactly, not in a green eyed monster jealous way, more like longing I guess. We might live under the same roof, eat the same food, share some friends and so on but I wouldn't say we talk that much about personal stuff. I guess it must be difficult for her on a lot of levels, its not like rural Dernau, or the wider valley, has an obvious lesbian community, doesn't mean there aren't any, just that they aren't in your face obvious.

Another look at my phone revealed all of ten minutes have passed since I last looked, for heavens sake. I allowed myself a big yawn before turning over to face the wall, trying to clear my mind of everything except sleep. Sounds of a car out on the road travelled easily in the early morning silence, who on earth is out driving at five on Christmas Day?
 

“You getting up?” Mum enquired from the door.
“Hmmm,” I managed from under the duvet, “time is it?”
“Almost eight,” ahe advised.
“Eight?”
“Eight,” she confirmed, “your Gran's doing a full English.”
“Really?”
“I suggest if you want some you shake a leg young lady.”

I pushed the duvet back a bit, now my brain was slightly engaged I realised there was the faint aroma of frying in the air.

“Okay.”
“And put on something decent.”
“Really?” I complained – look I'm a teenager, its what we do.
“Really, we're going to church this morning.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes you do and don't be all day.”
“Urgh, five minutes.”

The closing of the door suggested Mater was satisfied.
 
The Bond clan have never been religious, but since our move to Germany, its sort of become a tradition to go to midnight mass on Weihnachts at St Johannes. Not just us, but a good lump of the local population head towards the church to sing a few carols, listen to the priest and so on. Its not so bad, well I got conned into singing Silent Night last year, then its back home for a mug of 'fortified' cocoa before bed.

I guess its more of a Catholic thing, here in England the nearest service was in Nantwich so Gran suggested we go to St Mary's just along the road here in Acton this morning. At least I won't have to reprise my solo carol singing, the people of Cheshire are thankfully oblivious to my singing skills, or lack thereof. The biggest downside is that even I know you dress up for church and even more so at Chrimbo.

When Mum cautioned me to bring some 'extra' frocks, I hadn't been thinking church, more like party so my choice was immediately reduced, I don't think a thigh skimming, sequin encrusted sheath is exactly appropriate. On the other hand the Old's will frown if appear in my denim skirt and skinny jumper even if it is quite a smart combo. Nope, looks like its the D&G almost by default, I'll have to get Mum to do something with my birds nest, where's Mand when you need her?

Of course, you don't wear designer frocks with CundA undies, good job i've got a selection of fancy lingerie at my disposal. I found a suitable bra and knicker set, with a matching garter belt thingy. Okay, I brought them to wear with the D&G along with a pair of diaphonous black stockings, Wolford of course, along with the matching clutch and my best, ludicrously expensive black heels. Yep the whole kit and kaboodle.
 
“Anything I can do?” I asked poking my head into the kitchen after only fifteen minutes beyond the promised five.
“Can you take the toast through,” Gran requested without turning from the stove.
“Er sure,” I agreed spotting the rack of browned bread on the kitchen table, “butter, jam?”
“On the side,” Gran advised turtning to me, “oh my, is that really my grandaughter?”
“Are the eggs....” Mum started coming in from the lounge cum dining room, “ready? Damn kiddo, your Dad'll have to put his suit on now.”
“I can go change?”
“You dare,” Gran told me, “you look a million dollars, you'll show the locals what class really looks like, go through to the lounge.”
“What about the toast?”
“You are not carrying food around wearing that,” Mum told me, “i'll find you a napkin so you don't spill anything on yourself.”
“Er, okay, you think someone can do something with my hair before we go out?”
“I reckon we can manage that,” Gran opined, “now scoot.”
 
There are of course many variations of Full English, from basic sausage, egg and bacon to a plate groaning with black pudding, kidneys, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, fried bread, hash browns maybe with some regional variation. Gran's Christmas variation wasn't quite as extensive, poached eggs, back bacon, local pork sausages, mushrooms, black pudding, fried tomato and fried bread. I'm glad we won't have dinner until this evening, even ol' hollow legs would be struggling if it was earlier.

“More tea anyone?” Dad queried.
“Er please,” I requested, Gran's always been a tea person so I guess I'll have to put up with it until I can get some coffee later.
“What time do we need to leave Mum?” Mum asked.
“It starts at ten so we've got a few minutes,” Gran told us.
“I'd best sort out her majesties hair then,” Mum suggested.
 

“What made you wear this?” Mum asked as she brushed my hair out.
“You said wear something decent,” I mentioned.
“I was thinking a bit less dressy.”
“It was either this or a party dress, its not like I brought a lot with me.”
“Hmm, so how am I doing this?”
“One of those French plait things?” I suggested.
“I guess that'd work,” she allowed.

 
“Well?” Dad asked a short time later.
“Very handsome,” Mum smarmed giving him a lipstick laden kiss on the cheek.

I could only agree, I might be a bit biased being his daughter but when he makes the effort he does wash up well, I can quite see why Mum fell for him. Of course, it helps that I'm quite partial to a man in Kostum myself, he'll certainly stand out at St Mary's amongst the locals in their sombre lounge suits.

“Best wipe your face,” I suggested, “you've got lippy everywhere.”
“Here,” Gran did the spit and hanky thing to remove Mum's pink smear.
“We going or what?” I prompted.

Thankfully it was quite mild, the sun was shining weakly from a broad expanse of blue sky, the damp vestiges of a few patches of overnight frost making the footway a bit damp in places. Not that its warm, Gran was wearing a blazer over her dress, Mum a jacket and I borrowed a lacy shawl from Gran which actually went quite well with the rest. Given my heels and the less than level paths I was glad Dad offered me his arm, at least I had something to hang on too!

“Good morning Josie,” the priest chap greeted Gran as we approached the door.
“Morning Vicar.”
“And Jenifer, so nice to see you,” he went on.
“Its been a while Vicar, you remember Dave my husband?”
“Indeed,” he agreed shaking Dad's hand, “but who is this young lady?”
“You christened her Vicar, my youngest Gabrielle,” Mum advised.

Damn, Sunday name as well as dressed to the nines.

An expression of confusion briefly flickered across his face, of course when he did the christening I was Drew, even if I was in a dress – well the family christening gown at least, i've seen the pictures.

“Nice to see you Gabrielle, you've certainly grown since I last saw you.”
“Er yeah,” I agreed.
“You don't by any chance sing, we're short a soprano this morning? Young Ellie Brown has been struck down with laryngitis.”
“She'd be delighted to,” Mum got in before I could refute my ability in the warbling.
“Oh excellent! You are a godsend but of course I should have guessed by your name, thank you so much Gabrielle.”

You haven't heard me sing yet buster.

“We'd best go in,” Gran suggested.
“Josie could you introduce your grandaughter to Pamela for me, she's been panicking something terrible since Ellie's mum rang earlier.”
“Of course Vicar,” Gran agreed.

Damn, looks like my goose is well and truly cooked.
 
Of course, we got some strange looks as we moved down the aisle, Gran had spotted a vacant pew near the front so pretty much the whole congregation got to see the Bond's.

“Why'd you say I can sing?” I whispered to Mum as we made the transit.
“Because you can and do very well, it was you at the Rheinhalle wasn't it?”
“That was hardly church singing.”
“But the Angels do, Gabrielle.”

She's got me there.

 
“Thank you so much for doing this Gabrielle,” Pamela told me a few minutes later after Gran had done the introductions, “i thought that we'd have to drop Silent Night and the congregation do so like to hear that, its the Vicar's favourite too, sorry, I should've asked, you know the words?”
“Er sure, course.”

The rest of the 'choir' consisted of half a dozen pre teens and a similar number of adults all wearing white gowns things. The absent Ellie was apparently the star of the whole shebang, a couple of years my junior and a regional finalist in chorist or whatever they are called of the year for the last two years. I didn't get to wear a gown but I was installed with the rest of the choir to one side of the altar facing the congregation.

 
I won't bore you with the whole service, well to be honest I wasn't paying that much attention. Being in the choir meant I had to do more singing than the congregation, the musical accompaniment was from a motley group of musicians, an acoustic guitar, an upright piano and some sort of recorder thing. This was no modern arm waving, hip congregation, I think you'd call it High Church, a religious show with all the bells whistles and finery, I felt a little out of place to be honest.

We'd been going for nearly forty minutes I think when the chap on the guitar started a bit of an intro, the familiar chords of Silent Night. I've so far managed to contain my singing enthusiasm, just following the others, I must've done okay as Pamela was happily smiling as she waved her stick thing about. But this one I get to replace the angelic voice of Ellie with my own, fitting right, Gabrielle replacing their own angel – well I thought it was funny anyhow.

I've done enough school singing to follow the stick waving, Pamela was counting me in, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes to calm myself, when I opened them Pam was just signalling I should start.

'Stille Nacht,
heilige Nacht,
Alles schaeft,
einsam wacht Nur das traute hochheilig Paar.
Holder Knabeim lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!'

I'd expected the rest of the choristers to join me for the second verse instead of which it was just yours truly warbling, oh well, I gave it a bit more gusto and through into the third verse. When the Angels have sung it we've usually done a reprise of the first verse at the end which seems to go well and as I was now lost in the singing I didn't notice the guitar stopping, instead I just took a breath and repeated the first stanza before stopping.
I was more than a little taken aback when the congregation started clapping, even standing to do so. Not just the congregation, the rest of the choir added their hands, I'm sure Pamela had tears in her eyes, oops, I think i've mucked up. The clapping eventually subsided, bums returned to seats and the entertainment manager took control once more.

“Thank you Gabrielle for such a beautiful rendition of Silent Night in the original German no less. Gabrielle, friends, agreed to step in for poor Ellie at very short notice. The last time I saw this young woman was at her christening, here in this very same church, since when she and her family have moved first across the Pennines and then to live in Germany. So I'm all the more grateful for her willingness to join our choristers today. I'm sure you'll join me in thanking her again for sharing her beautiful voice with us this morning.”

Well you know me and praise, I blushed in places you don't mention in polite company as a more restrained round of applause echoed around the building. There wasn't much more to the service, we might not be religious but seven years of school assemblies where the Lords Prayer was said tends to rub off a bit so I managed to not look a complete dork.

 
“Do you sing in a choir at home Gabrielle?” Pamela asked, buttonholing me before I had a chance to escape back to my family.
“Er not exactly,” I told her, “i sometimes sing with some friends.”
“Don't be so vague Gaby,” Gran interrupted, “she sang at the Rheinhalle in Bonn last month Pamela.”
“Gran,” I moaned.
“What are your band called Gab,” Gran steamrollered on.
“BlauHase and I told you, its not my band I'm just the singer.”
“Always so shy, Pamela.”
“Sorry,” one of the adult choristers put in, “i couldn't help overhearing, did I hear you right, you sing with BlauHase?”
“Er yeah,” I agreed, “you've heard of us?”
“Don't be so surprised, sorry Michael by the way, I might sing in the choir but my musical tastes are pretty varied, you were at Moselfest last summer right?”

Moselfest, now that was quite a day!

“Uh huh.”
“I remember now, the lead singer, I remember she had blue hair?”
“Pink actually, its nearly grown out thank Gott.”
“Just testing,” Michael grinned, “you certainly belted out those songs, you should hear her sing Bohemian Rhapsody Pam, I'll dig out the CD. For you.”
“If its anything like her Silent Night it must be good,” Pam proposed.
“CD?” it was my turn to interrupt.
“Highlights of the festival, I must admit, I went to see Quo but there were some good local bands and you guys were some of the best.”
“CD?” I repeated.
“Oh yeah, you can get it online, you guys released anything yourselves?”
“Only tapes at the gigs, nothing professional.”

I know Stefan and the guys hope to take things up a step but its not happened yet, I'm only a part time addition after all.

“You should put some stuff on the internet, lots of people are looking for music on there, from all over the world too,” my fan boy advised.
“I'll mention it to the guys when I get back.”
 

I hadn't really given it a lot of thought, go to the service then go home right? Apparently not, while Michael and Pam had been bending my ear the majority of the congregation had moved next door to the church hall. By the time Gran escorted me across they were deep into mince pies and coffee, first the entertainment, then the socialising.

“There you are,” Mum mentioned spotting us.
“We got waylaid,” Gran advised.

Partly because of your boasting Gran!

“You want coffee Mum, Gab?” Dad queried.
 
© Maddy Bell 14.6.2019