*Chapter 33*

Bond Girls

 
 
“You guys want Pizza!”

Hey I recognise that voice, “Jules?”

“That’s me, so what do you want on the pizza?”

“Pepperoni with olives? We’ll be down in a mo.”

“And you owe me,” Jules stated.

“For what?”

“Bringing all the stuff you left in Warsop back.”

Con giggled behind me.

“A…er thanks.”

“Twenty minutes.” She instructed before disappearing from the stair well.

 
 
“So what did you leave in England, girl?”

“Probably some underwear, I didn’t really take that much. Oh I’ve got her birthday present here somewhere – best give it to her.”

“She’s 17 now, right?” Con observed.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“So what’d you get her?”

“This really neat manicure thing,” I told her as I rolled up the poster, “it’s like a Swiss Army knife, cost fifty francs.”

“How much is that in real money?”

“Er,” I did a quick calculate, “’bout forty five euros I think.”

“Nice present, can I be your sister?” she fluttered her lashes at me which soon had us both in stitches.

 
 
"So," I started sometime later, after Dad took Con home, "what did I leave in Warsop then Jules?"

"You want an inventory?"

"Just the stuff I guess, I thought I packed everything when I went to Manchester."

"Your usual level of packing is to miss half your stuff."

"And you're Miss Perfect I suppose."

"Girls!" Mum warned, "Give your sister her stuff, Juliette and, Gaby, thank your sister."

"Sorry, Jules, thanks for bringing it."

"Yeah whatever, there’s an M&S* carrier on top of my case."

"Thanks, I suppose I’d best go to bed."

"Might be an idea," Mum noted.
 
 

Of course I couldn't not look in the bag so once up in my eyrie I tipped the contents on my bed. There was that all in one thing Bern's mum donated after Andrea was born, a dress that I borrowed from Mad, the stuff I got conned into in Nottingham and the stuff, originally Jules' that I borrowed when me and Mand stopped at Gran's. Nothing too bad or embarrassing - where my cousin is involved anything can and usually does happen! I stuffed it all back in the bag, it can wait until tomorrow to be added to my wardrobe.
 
 

"Someone’s perky this morning," Frau Thesing observed.

"Last day of school!"

"You’ve only just started again,” she pointed out.

"I told you, Mum, Gabs is going to Danmark for some cycling championships tomorrow." Con supplied.

"Not any old championships, it’s the worlds." I gushed.

"So you will bring back a fancy trophy eh?"

"Hopefully." I beamed.

Mum's always warning about being too confident but for some reason this morning I felt that I could take on Lance and beat him.

"Well good luck then, now off to school you lot, I don't want Frau Boxberg on my back."
 
 

Why, when you want the day to go quickly does it always drag? Herr Viessner's English class seemed to last forever and this year we do Social Studies with Frau Boxberg, I was yawning after ten minutes! Lunch took five minutes then the afternoon lasted ten hours but eventually it was over and I joined the girls for the ride back up the valley.

"Good luck,Gabs!"

"Stick it those foreigners!" Brid added to Pia's cheer. Well it was the thought that counts I guess.

"Thanks guys."

"See you next week." Nena suggested.

"Yeah, laters."

"Take care, Gabs, Glück!"

"Cheers, Steff."

That just left me and baker girl.

"I wanna see that striped shirt on Monday."

"We don't get back till late Monday," I pedantically pointed out.

"Well Tuesday then," she sighed.

"I’ll do my best."

"Mind you do, failure is not permitted!"

"Yes Sir!" I replied with a snappy salute.
 
 

"Are you all packed, kiddo?" Dad enquired?

"I think so."

"Spare shoes? Something respectable to wear to dinner?" he pressed, my string of previous kit failures clearly preying on his mind.

"Er check... er I’ll just make sure."

"One day," he sighed.

And I suppose you never forget anything, Dad.
 
 

Departure was early; it’s a long drive up to Roskilde. It wasn’t made any quicker with the detour to pick up Roni – Angela and her Dad are flying up at the weekend as they both have to work. It was already after nine when we picked up the E34 towards Hannover.

“All this driving sucks.” I moaned.

“Think of your dad doing the driving,” Mum suggested from up front.

“So how comes we have to drive?” I further complained.

“I told you last week, kiddo,” Dad replied, “cost and logistics, four bikes, spares, everyone’s cases, the airlines would’ve fleeced us good and proper.”

“The guys from England are flying,” I grumbled.

“Their bikes aren’t, Mike and Darren are catching a ferry tonight, BC have several vehicles coming over by sea to keep costs down.”

“Still, I bet we’re the only ones driving.”

“You’re like a broken record,” Mum hinted, “I’m sure Roni doesn’t want to listen to your whingeing, I know me and your father don’t, play I-Spy or something.”

“We’re not little kids, Mum.”

“Well you’re sure acting like one, young lady. You okay, Ron? You’re very quiet there.”

“Fine thanks, Frau Bond, just feeling a bit off colour.”

“Well shout out if you need us to stop.”

“I will, but I’m fine really.”

“How about playing towns?” Dad offered.

“Towns?” Ron queried.

“It’s a bit lame really,” I told her, “you start with the place that you’re leaving then the next person has to name a place starting with the last letter and so on.”

“What if you can’t think of anywhere?”

“It gets passed onto the next person, winner’s the one with least passes,” I stated.

“So who starts?” Roni kind of enthused.

“Drivers privilege,“ Dad told her, “we’ll start with Dernau, Gab, you got a u?”

U? Why’d he have to start us off there? There must be somewhere.

“Come on, Gabs.”

“Okay, I pass.”

“Uelzen!” Ron immediately told us.

Sounds made up to me.

“They’ve got some fancy railway station, I was reading something in Bild about it a few weeks ago,” Mum confirmed, “hmm n, let’s see Nürnberg, g Dave.”

And so The Game of Towns was started.
 
 

We had a toilet stop just before Hannover and a longer halt for lunch somewhere near Hamburg. It didn’t seem that we’d been going long after eating that we turned off the autobahn and started to follow signs for ‘Gedser (DK)’.

“Soon be at the ferry,” Dad announced.

“Ferry?”

“How else do you think we get to Denmark, kiddo?” Mum queried.

“By road?”

“Long way round for where we’re headed,” Dad told us, “and I get a decent break on the ferry too.”

“How far is it on the other side,Herr Bond?” Ron asked.

“Couple of hours if we get a clear run, should be at the hotel by eight at the latest.”

It wasn’t the best of roads to the docks and the Rostock – Gedser ferry terminal, Dover it’s not! Dad had us booked on the three thirty sailing, we were checked in by quarter past and loading five minutes later. Compared to my recent cross Channel experience these guys were slick with a capital S, bang on half past we were on our way.

The Prinz Joachim is about the size of the smaller Dover ferries but I have to say, a lot posher!

“We got enough Krone Dave?”

“I think so, the exchange rate on here will be diabolical, if we need more we’ll find a bank.”

“What are Krone?”

“Dur, Gabs, Danish money?” Ron supplied.

“Don’t they use Euros? I thought they were in the EU?”

“They are but like Britain they’ve stuck to their own currency,” Mum told me.

“Coffee?” Dad offered.

 
 
Two hours later we joined the motorway north towards Nykøbing / Falster – well that’s what the signs said anyhow. Apart from the road signs it didn’t seem much different to the last hour or so of our journey in Germany. If anything it was flatter and we’d been going for forty minutes before the biggest indicator that we were not on the main European continent anymore, the Falster – Sjaelland bridge.

This wasn’t a river we were crossing, no its actual sea, the Ostsee or Baltic if you like, not so unusual for the Danes but quite a novelty for us landlocked Germans. Okay so I’m not strictly speaking German but we do live here and I sort of identify as much with my adoptive home as my birth country. We had been on the go for something like twelve hours when we arrived at our accommodation, a country club type place with an unpronounceable name – Skjoldenæsholm - all I want to do is sleep.

* Marks & Spencer - biggest supplier of knickers in the UK

Maddy Bell © 05.05.2014