Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

“I'll be late this afternoon,” I advised Dad as I collected my stuff Friday morning.

Thursday was, well just another Thursday, a bit damp in the afternoon but as the Angels spent the afternoon after school at Pia’s doing what we do. Yeah, drinking coffee, eating cake, talking – the normal stuff girls do around here on wet spring afternoons. Of course we had to divert on the way to pick up my Gedarel™, the pharmacist promising to get some in for stock – I'll probably be using it for the foreseeable future after all.

Friday didn’t have much better promise weather wise and school was likely to be more make work stuff – deep joy.

“What’re you up to?”
“Making pies.”
“Pies?” he lifted a brow.
“Yeah, Herr Thesing’s gonna start selling pies as a sort of experiment but he’s useless at pastry.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Well pie pastry, he tried the other day and they were inedible.”
“So, Gabrielle Bond, master baker is going to show him how?”
“Er yeah, I get paid,” I pointed out, I'm not telling him about the commission.
“In pies?”
“As if!” I scoffed, “euros I hope.”
“So what sort of pies are you making, here your hoods inside,” he eased it out of my jacket for me.
“Just steak today, it’s pretty basic to start with, might get fancier later.”
“I suppose I'll have to sort dinner.”
“Pretty please?”
“On with you.”

“See you later, Gab,” P called out when Con and I turned off into Dernau after another enthralling day at Silverberg Gymnasium.
“Laters!” I called back.
“So what exactly are you and Dad making?” Con enquired as we waited to cross into the village.
“Pies?”
“That I know, what sort, dumbo?”
“Just a basic meat.”
“Boring, I thought you’d do one of your potato and meat ones, they are excellent.”
“Not bad though I say it myself,” I agreed, “not sure I want to give away my secrets for that.”
“Oh well, guess I'll have to invite myself for dinner again then,” she sighed.
Actually I could fancy one myself, “I'll do one next week.”
“Cool!” my BF enthused as we drew up at her home.

“That would do it,” I told Mr T an hour later, “your pastry’s too heavy.”
“You’re the expert,” he chuckled.
“Plenty of practice,” I suggested.

I'm sure plenty of people make better pastry than me but I never get any complaints, well not these days at least. Of course there’s pastry and pastry, what works for a Danish isn’t suitable for a fruit pie and similar distinctions work for savouries.

Back in Warsop everyone had to do a year of ‘Home Economics’, stupid name as it was nothing to do with money but cooking and basic maintenance and repairs – sewing buttons, wiring plugs etc. we had to bake cakes, make pies, stuff like that so we were taught how to make appropriate pastry’s – I never gave it a thought before.

In the end it was easier to demonstrate than explain, Herr Thesing isn’t stupid of course, just a bit set in his ways. I soon had a tray of pies ready for the oven, Therese having cooked the meat earlier, it only took a few minutes to make the gravy – a bit thicker than you’d put on the plate. The foil ‘tins’ weren’t ideal being intended for quiches, something we might have to address in future but they’d do for now.
We loaded them into one of the ovens, it’s a waiting game now.

“Therese, come try this,” Tomas enthused half an hour later.

The pies had, thankfully turned out brilliantly, maybe a little dark but quite acceptable. we’d turned one out to sample, Mr T surprised by the firmness but impressed in the eating. I think we’re onto a winner. Mrs T came through from the shop.

“What do you want, Tomas?”
“You have to try this, love.”
“Anything for a quiet life,” she allowed before taking the offered morsel. “Hmm, different, this the Pastete Con’s been on about, Gaby?”
“Er no, that's meat and tater, I thought we’d start with something simpler.”
“Tomas mentioned other fillings?”
“Well you can put pretty much anything in, but simple works best.”
“And there’ll be a different filling each week?”
“That’s the idea,” I agreed, “mix things up so people don’t get bored.”
“What do you reckon, Therese?” Tomas asked.
“It’s worth a go if Gaby’s up for it?”
“I'm good, maybe we could get people to vote for their favourite which we could feature as a bonus or something.”
“Let’s not start running just yet,” Therese noted, “let’s trial them for, what, eight weeks then see where we are?”

I guess from an almost throwaway idea to actually selling pies is a start, just need to get someone to buy them.

“What's for tea?” I demanded when I got home.

The lack of cooking odours was ominous.

“We’ve had a sandwich,” Dad called back from the living room, “there's some Bierwurst in the fridge.”

Great, I should’ve snaffled a pie, it’s not like there’s a chippy to hit after Garde even.

“You going to your dance thing?” pater enquired into the silence.
“Er yeah.”
“I'll pick you up, I'll order pizza.”
“Mum’ll go barmy,” I opined going through to the lounge having tossed my dripping coat into the utility room.
“Your mother isn’t here, what she doesn’t see won’t hurt her.”
“Hmm, where’s Mand?”
“Homework I think, you making a cuppa?”

We did a slow high step rotating star, it’s one of the Alle Stern Garde’s party pieces and requires a lot of concentration to do right. Full member of the squad I might not be but I find the discipline required something I enjoy. I suppose the cheering has a similar element, looser but you have to work tightly with the other girls the same – cycling though, well road racing is pretty much free form.

“Knees up, ‘Solde,” Hannah demanded, “and left wheel to finish.”

Duh, we know that coach, it’s not like the routine ever changes. The music came to its conclusion and we assumed the finish position.

“Hold it, hold it...and end.”
“Phew!” I allowed shaking my hands to relieve the slight cramp from gripping the ‘rifle’ I've been swinging about for ten minutes.
“Did you hear, Gab,” Margot started, “we’re getting new uniforms.”
“What’s wrong with the current ones?”

What's right, I mean they are hardly fashion items are they?

“Franny reckons they’re changing the colour.”
“Okay ladies,” Margot clapped to get our attention as we stowed our props and started dressing to depart, “I have some news for you, I know there are some rumours circulating about new uniforms, yes we are, the committee think that too many Garde wear similar so want us to stand out more.”
“Stand out more?” Franny asked as we gathered to listen, “Different hats or something?”
“Pretty much the lot, we won’t be wearing so much white.”

That got some attention, the uniforms are after all predominantly white with gold braid liberally attached.

“Do we get a say?” Solde queried.
“Fraid not, they’ve already ordered them, I argued against it but they insisted.”
“Against what?” Margot questioned.
“I suggested light blue,” Hannah advised.
“Hannah!” Solde scolded.
“Pink, well it’s more rose really.”
“Pink!” Margot squealed, nearly deafening me.

Now don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with pink, I actually don’t mind wearing it but for a Gardetanz troupe, well it’s more than a bit out there.

“It’s not all this pink is it?” Maria prompted.
“Heaven forbid! No even the committee aren’t that daft,” Hannah stated, “No hats, jackets and skirts, we keep the white boots and unterrock.”
“Thank heaven,” Pia allowed, “I'm not sure I could wear everything pink.”
“Well that's the news,” Hannah told us, “see you next week, Solde, can you give me a hand clearing up?”

“You coming for pizza?” I asked Pia as we sheltered in the doorway, Dad’s a bit late and it’s teeming down.
“Ooh yes please. So what do you think about the new uniforms?”
“It’ll be different I guess, not that I'll be wearing one.”
“You are on the team.”
“Yeah and I did like one competition last year, I don’t have the time, Hannah knows.”
“What does Hannah know,” said individual enquired coming out behind us with Solde to lock up.
“Why I can’t do more Gardetanz.”
“I do but it won’t stop me trying. You girls need a lift, I'm dropping Solde off.”
“Dad’s picking us up, think he’s got lost.”
“Okay then, I'll see you both on Monday, tschuss.”
“Tschuss!” Solde added before scampering after the coach towards her car.
“Bye.”
“Tschussie!”

Right on cue our big Mercedes swung around the circle, stopping opposite where we waited.

“Mum’ll fetch me later,” Pia told us finishing her call.
“You want that slice?” I asked Dad.
“You’ll look like a pizza,” Mand suggested.
“Pepperoni,” P added.
“All yours, I'm done,” Dad allowed.
“Cheers.”
“I'm glad I haven’t got to wear it, I hate pink,” Mand picked up the conversation again.
“It’s not all pink,” Pia repeated.
“Even so.”
“I thought you liked my prom dress? That's pink,” I pointed out.
“Not bright pink though, it’s quite subtle,” she advised.
“You never said, Gab,” Pia complained, “let’s see?”

And so after clearing up the debris of our pizza feasting the three of us headed for my eyrie for some frock appreciation. (A cheap frill?)

Maddy Bell © 18.10.16