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*Chapter 25*

Cheering Up

 
 
The bell on the door announced our arrival but there was no immediate indication that Gerta had heard.

“Got, it even smells expensive,” Con opined.

“Yeah,” I agreed moving further into the shop, “er hello?”

“Stop dallying girl, we can’t do anything with you in those clothes,” Gerta boomed from the back of the shop.

“Er right, of course. I’ve brought a friend,” I offered heading towards the changing room.

“She can wait in the shop.”
 
 

I had at least dressed to facilitate a quick change, skirt, shirt and a fleece so I was down to bra, pants and tights in just a couple of minutes. Having done this before I put on the robe and headed out to find the ladies.

“There you are, Fraulein Bond, Dotty, where’s that dress?”

“Just coming, Gerta,” the quieter of the double act advised.

“Hmm,” Gerta noted as she inspected my underwear, “there will be lingerie for the day but these should do for the fitting, BH off so we can get you into the corset.”

Not another corset! I resignedly reached back to undo my bra, it’s not like I get any say in this.

“You brought shoes?”

“Er yes, Con’s got them.”

“Well they are no good out there, girl.”

“Er no,” I went to the door to summon my footwear, “Con, can you bring my shoes through?”

“Sure.”

Ever businesslike Gerta soon had me wrapped in the corset, a different style to what I’ve worn before, rear lacing but without the front hook thing – you really are laced into it.

“Here you go, Ga..ab,” Con stated coming into the fitting room.

“Well don’t stand there gawping gel, let’s see, 10 centimetre, they’ll do, for the day you’ll have twelve.”

My feet hurt just hearing that.

“Get them on her feet,” Gerta ordered as she continued with the laces.
 
 

The torture garment was perhaps not quite as bad as previous examples that have squeezed me. Whilst it felt like it was cutting me in two, the top, whilst lifting the girls also squished them into a shelf of exposed Bond.

“I think that’ll do, give me a hand with the petticoat gel,” the torturer instructed Con.

With my chest thrust forward and teetering on my heels there was no way I could do this bit of dressing myself – even if the corset had allowed sufficient movement. Between them I was guided into the opening before Gerta pulled it up into place, tying over the waist of the corset. Dotty was now waiting with the actual dress which the three of them manoeuvred me into, Con’s extra pair of hands speeding the process.

I’d been half expecting some awful poufy meringue in a nauseating shade of horrible but whilst the predominantly deep red wouldn’t have been my choice, it was quite simple and lacking the expected flourishes. Dotty fussed around me, a pin here, a mark there, until at last she seemed satisfied.

“Excellent!” Gerta announced.

“Thursday,” Dotty supplied.

“Well let’s get you out then, Fraulein Bond.”

 
 
“How did they know your sizes?” Con asked as we pedalled towards Dernau.

“Suppose they keep records,” I suggested.

“It was very er, Mittelalter.”

“At least it’s not some pink meringue,” I allowed.

“You know why bridesmaids often have such terrible dresses?”

“Go on, it’s hardly something I’ve studied.”

“It’s so the bride isn’t upstaged, if the madchen look terrible all eyes will be on her as the beauty.”

“Makes sense I guess.”

“Maybe paranoia! It wouldn’t work on you for sure.”

Not sure if that’s good or bad.

“So you gonna start buying your stuff in Eloise, then?”

“I hope you are joking, I could barely afford a pair of knickers there.”

“Yeah Cunda for me.”

“That dress must be costing a fortune and the Korsett too.“

‘‘Glad I‘m not paying for them,“ I agreed.

 
 
‘‘I‘m home,“ I called out as I emerged from the basement garage.

“That was quick,” Mum called from the lounge.

“There wasn’t too much to do, I have to go for another torture session on Thursday.”

“Thursday? Torture session?”

“There’s a corset again, Dotty’ll have the alterations done by then. Where’s Mand?”

“Slaving over a hot stove,” a voice noted from the kitchen.

I headed to the culinary centre of Schloss Bond where Mand was indeed stood at the stove in her gym gear.

“Wotcha doing?”

“Making us some food, cauliflower cheese to be precise.”

“Er great, how long?”

“The cauli has only just gone in, ten minutes?”

“I’ll go change then.”

 
 
Clearly cooking is not the top ranking ability in Mand’s arsenal, she won’t starve but nor will she get a mention in the Michelin guide. You can’t get cauli cheese too wrong other than burning it but Mand had a good try, wet brassica, too thick sauce and er, a bit bland. It was eatable though, some S & P sorted the blandness out – didn’t Mand’s mum teach her anything? I kept quiet though; it’s the thought that counts.

Of course it was only me that had to do the poison test – the olds, conveniently, are off out to eat after they’ve dropped us off at the Tanzklub.

“You two ready then?” Dad enquired.

“Just about,” I allowed.

Bags grabbed, doors locked, doors unlocked because I forgot to grab my handy, well anyway, out to the Merc and away. We might have been a few minutes early but we weren’t the first to arrive, Hannah was in the office so I got Mand signed up as a member of the club, membership is cheap but you pay for each session. Time for lil ole me to kick some figurative butt.

“So, find a partner and we’ll start the stretches.”

Of course no one likes warming up, would be cheerleaders no more than anyone else but despite the groans everyone knuckled down. As we haven’t even mastered the basics I then had to give a demonstration (did I feel like a plonker!) from which we then picked elements to work on. Like most stuff you can break down into bits it’s much easier than trying to go for the big picture from the outset.

Apart from Mand nearly everyone else already danced Garde or something so they were quick to pick up the basics, by the end of the session we got through my demonstration moves reasonably well. It might not be pretty, it might not even be all together but everyone got there. It was a bit weird being teacher rather than pupil, at some point we’d need some more experienced help.

 
 
“I thought I was quite fit,” Mand complained as we waited for the olds to pick us up.

“Different set of muscles,” I supplied.

“Not sure I’m cut out for it.”

“Well the way I see it, cheer tonight and Garde on Fridays means I don’t have to do boring gym sessions all the time. You have to admit, it’s better than pumping weights or doing push-ups.”

“I’ll admit that, no pain, no gain I guess.”

“I’m flippin’ hungry though,” I mentioned.

Yeah that cauli cheese filled a hole but only a small one.

 
 
“You girls want some food?” Mum called out, must’ve read my mind. Once upon a time though it wouldn’t have been girls but either Drew or a gender neutral kiddo, the oldies seem to have adapted to having a second daughter easier than said daughter.

“Pizza?” I enquired hopefully.

“I was thinking more like egg on toast when we get home,” she opined as we climbed in the back of the Stuttgart tank.

“Dang!”

“That’s fine, Mrs Bond,” Mand allowed.

“Looks like we’ll have to make space for a double pepperoni Jen,” Dad put in as we eased out onto the road.

“Wha?” I spluttered.

“The look on your face, kiddo,” Mum chortled.

“Does that mean?”

“Yes, we ordered before we set off.”

“Why you!”

“Yes?” Mum queried.

“Thanks, Mum.” I mentioned.

“Don’t I get a look in,” Dad queried, “I’ll be paying for it.”

“Thank you, Mr Bond.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

 
 
We diverted into Mayschoß to pick up said baked treat, a 30cm monster with not just the pepperoni but double cheese, black olives and onions. So okay it’s not the healthy option but it’s not like we get to have pizza very often, it really is an occasional treat. It was tempting to dive in on the ride home but Dad would’ve gone spare and we could wait five minutes – just!

 
 
“The washer’s making that noise again Dad.” I volunteered after setting said appliance into action post pizza.

“We’ll have to get a new one Dave,” Mum stated.

“Could do with being sponsored by AEG,” the male parental unit lamented.

“Maria got a deal from that place in Sinzig, you know, by the bridge?”

“We need an industrial washer I guess.” Dad observed.

“They’re well expensive,” I mentioned.

“So’s buying a washer every six months.”

“Coffee!” Mand announced arriving in the lounge with a tray of stuff.

I helped sort the beverages out before sinking into my preferred seat to watch the telly, some mind numbing Magazin on RTL was better than a badly dubbed American cop show on Channel two.

 
 
“Have you packed yet, Gab?” Mum asked when the commercials started.

“Packed?”

“For the weekend, you do remember the weekend?”

“I can hardly forget can I? Bye bye, Drew,” I sighed.

“You know there isn’t an option B, kiddo,” Mum mentioned.

“I know,” I agreed, “I don’t have to like it though.”

“Not tonight but tomorrow pack a bag, you should only be in a couple of days so wash kit and a night dress.”

“Nightdress? Why can’t I wear my PJ’s?”

“Think about why you’re going in, kiddo,” Dad opined.

Duh, okay so I’m blonde, “Er right, nightdress.”

 
 
Maddy Bell 08.12.15