“What do youreckon he’s done?” Mand asked retrieving another plate to dry from the pile on the counter.
“Or not done,” I suggested wiping the crockery in my paws.

Dad escaped with our guests fairly sharp, he’ll be a good hour so guess who’ve been lumbered with the clean up? And lasagne too, nightmare, everything had to be washed off before it went in the dishwasher – yeah, go figure. Mum and number one daughter disappeared upstairs for some privacy leaving instructions to nor disturb them.

“Must be something bad.”
“Probably forgot the washing up,” I mumbled.
“Its got to be more than that,” she insisted.

To be honest I actually like Boris, oh I know I’ve been less than gracious towards him at times but he’s always been nice to me and anyone who can put up with the Dark One’s mood swings gets my support. I know she’s my sister but we haven’t ever been what you’d call close, oh we sort of get along for the most part and in the past I must admit to idolising her but we’ve never really got the whole ‘closest friend’ thing. Which means I’ve not got any sort of inside track on what goes on in her head, what could spark the current drama.

“You drying that or waiting for a miracle?” I queried as Mand stood apparently staring into space.
“Eh, oh yeah.”
“Gab?” Mum’s voice trilled from the stairway.
“Hullo,” I replied stepping closer to the hallway to hear better.
“Can you do some cocoa please.”
“Er sure, everything okay?”
“Not now kiddo, cocoa?”
“Er right, be about ten minutes.”
“We’ll be in the lounge.”
“’kay,” I allowed.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Mand mouthed.
I shrugged, “you want Kakao?”
“You’ve convinced me.”
“You don’t have to.”

The look she gave me was venomous, I guess suggesting she didn’t want chocolate was a bit like a stab to her female self.

“Okay, was just saying.”
“Keep those evil thoughts to yourself Gaby Bond!”

I rolled my eyes, hung up my tea towel and started assembling the makings for our late night beverages.

The TV was on, talking to itself like usual, when I arrived in the family room with a tray of cocoa cups, Mand following with the ‘special’ biscuit barrel, the one with actual English biscuits rather than the quite boring Bahlsen® things in the local shops. You really can’t beat dunking bourbon creams or shortbread in your chocolate, hard enough to not go soggy too fast, soft enough not break your teeth.

“Thanks,” Jules mumbled.
“Biscuit?” Mand offered my sibling.
Jules shook her head no, it must be bad for her to turn down a chocolate digestive!
“There any bourbons in there?” Mum asked, well like mother, like daughter I guess.

Mand passed her the tin, but not before swiping a couple of custard creams.

As Jules was in my favourite spot on the sofa I perched myself on the arm of the armchair Mand claimed. Yes the telly was bleating away but an awkward silence occupied the room as we sipped at our drinks.

“Oh,” Mum suddenly came to life, “George says your new champions jerseys will be here tomorrow.”
“Thats quick,” I opined.
“Can’t have you missing out showing them off,” she grinned.
“It’ll be weird not wearing Apollinaris strip,” Mand, a hint of excitement in her voice, mentioned.
“You get used to it,” I put in, “and anyway you’ll still be in blue for the road races.”
“Some of us only won one title.”
“I can’t help being brilliant.”
“Girls!” Mum stated in a warning to not escalate things.
“Just saying,” I added cheekily.

Through all this Jules just sipped at her cocoa and stared at the idiot box where they were discussing some new legislation about olives coming through Brussels – rivetting prime time viewing – not.

“When do you start at Der Mühle Mandy?”
“Next week, she wants me to go down tomorrow afternoon to learn the till and stuff.”
“You got a job Mand?” Jules queried.
“Only part time, filling in for when Chris goes to college, I think she’s on the same course you’re doing Gab.”
“At least you’ll know someone eh Princess,” Mum suggested.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“You’re not doing A’s then?” Jules asked the new barmaid.
“iIdoubt I’ll have passed my GCSE’s so I might as well earn some money, so which Uni are you going to?”

It was like a fire door slamming shut, I guess we know what the disagreement with Boris was about.

“That sounds like your Dad,” Mum suggested, “I’ll go make him a drink.”

Thanks Mum.

“I’m going to bed,” my sister advised us.
“Er yeah, good idea, I’m pooped,” Mand told us.

Of course, having an inkling of the cause of Jules – Boris disagreement meant I couldn’t get to sleep. I know they were hoping to both go to the same university, one of the English Red Bricks so it must be something to do with that I guess. From what she said when Max and I went up the other week she’s applied to several Uni’s near our former domicil in the north Midlands, I’m not even sure how it works apart from needing the right A level passes.

I suppose i’ve got all that stuff to look forward although going through the German system I’ll have different hoops to jump. So did she not get in, not get the grades? No doubt I will find out eventually.

“Can you bring some more Pommes Con?”
“’kay.”

A moment later she plonked a bag down beside me.

“Thanks.”
“We need to order more, there’s only four more bags in there.”
“Hope we don’t get a run before Monday then,” I mentioned.
“I’ll do a stock check, I can ring it through when I get home.”
“Pity we don’t have a phone here,” I noted.
“Would be useful,” my partner agreed finding a notepad and writing implement, “won’t be long.”

How long is long? Well its Sod’s law of course that as soon as she disappeared, a queue of hopeful diners appeared at the window.

“Kris!”
“Coming.”

Its gonna be weird next week without her, she’s more of a fixture here than me. Yeah its certainly going to be a weird week, Kris away in Alicante, Mand starting work at Der Mühle and the return of the prodigal daughter to Bond Acres. Not sure how long the latter’s going to be for, she’s hardly been home for more than a few hours since setting up house with Boris at the flat, strange times indeed.

“Was that your sister I saw in the village this morning?” Max asked over his lunchtime Frikadel.
“Possibly, she’s home for a few days, what were you doing in Dernau?”
“Probably was her then.”
“So?”
“Eh?”
I’m not sure if he was being perverse or not, he is a boy after all, “Dernau?”
“Oh, errand for dad.”

Look I was curious okay?

“Do you know where your dad buys his Pommes, its costing us a fortune from the wholesalers.”
“Buy? Wash your mouth out Gaby Bond, they’re all made by us, well me quite often, from finest German Kartoffel.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Hmm, I guess that might work.”
“I am not making all your Frites.”
“You eat enough of them,” I pointed out.
“That’s hardly the same, I’m a valued regular customer.”
“Who never pays,” I hinted.
“Well I have a very beautiful girlfriend who likes to see me fed well.”
“Who is she? I hope she pays.”
“We do have a cutter,” he mentioned.
“I suppose you get the taters direct from the farm?”
“Well duh, you know we do, everything locally sourced apart from your English Lamm.”
“Not really practical for this place, well except maybe the Pommes,” I allowed.

“What do you reckon to doing our own Pommes?” I enquired of my colleagues as we grabbed a coffee between rushes.
“What’s wrong with the frozen ones?” Kris queried.
“Well nothing really,” I admitted.
“What are you plotting Bond?” Con asked.
“You know Max cuts the Frites at his dad’s restaurant?”
“And?”
“Well they never run out do they, just make some more when they need them.”
“You still need potato’s that need peeling as well as cutting up before you can fry them.”
“They have a cutter,” I pointed out.
“And who gets stuck doing that?” Kris enquired.
“We could all do some,” I suggested.
“Because we’ve got loads of spare time, come on Gab, get real,” Con told me.
“Okay, okay, it was just an idea.”

A brain worm idea, all I could think of for the rest of the afternoon was hand cut chips.

“That smells good,” I mentioned when I walked in doors, “where’s Mum?”
“At Maria’s I think she said.”
“You’re cooking?”
“I can you know,” she huffed.
“I didn’t mean, oh whatever,” I huffed in turn.
“You could lay the table as I’ve saved you from cooking,” she suggested.
“Yes mother.”
“You won’t get any pudding,” she threatened.
“Which is?”
“Rhubarb crumble.”
“Where did you get rhubarb from?”
“They had some in Penny when I went in, there’s enough for another one,” she pointed to several puny looking sticks on the draining board – not exactly top quality English but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Custard?” I hinted.
“Maybe, table?”
“Okay, i’m going.”

Maybe it won’t be so bad having Jules about of she’s gonna do some of the cooking, it smells like Shepherds Pie or something like that, yum. Anyone would think I’m homesick for England.

Maddy Bell © 14.10.2017