Gaby Book 16 - Sweet Sixteen

 
 
For what was probably the twentieth time Bern checked she had all her documents, sure she’d flown before but this was the first time on her own. Well that’s not really true is it; Drea was strapped to her chest oblivious to the world beyond her mother despite the hustle and bustle of Manchester Airport going on around them.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” her mother asked once more.
“Yes, Mum,” Bern replied, “Mrs Preiser is picking me up from the airport, I’ll ring as soon as I get there.”
“You’ve got everything?”
“Yes! Stuff for the flight,” she patted her shoulder bag, “everything else is in the case, Dad?”
“She’s just worried luv.”
“I’ll be fine, we’ll be fine, I should go through.”
“Okay, luv.”
Her mum pulled them into a hug, “Be safe and ring me.”
“Cheryl, come on they need to go.”

Jack Rose gave his girls a quick kiss each before joining his wife to watch the rest of his family disappear into the melee.

With less confidence than she’d let her parents see, Bern started the queuing that is so much a part of modern air travel, security then passports. Of course being under sixteen she had to have parental consent, the officer however barely glanced at that, didn’t even look at Drea. With a sigh of relief and a need to use the facilities she moved on into the departure lounge.

Whilst this trip was all above board they’d had to delay things as Drea had taken a cold just before their intended departure. Her Dad had managed to get the flights changed so here they were, a few days late but on their way. By the time they returned to the main concourse their flight was being called.

Flying with babies and small children is generally more stressful for the other passengers than the parents. Tantrums, terror and poor behaviour are the blight of many a flight often fuelled by parents disregard for other passengers. Bern was determined that wasn’t going to be her but she needn’t have worried.

Indeed, apart from waking briefly looking for lunch Drea slept through most of the flight only waking as the plane bumped back onto terra firma. The German passport control did want to see the baby who managed to supply a cherubic smile as she was presented. Next up, luggage reclaim.

Of course back in Manchester she had her parents to help but this side she’d have to sort out, baby, case and buggy on her own. She’d seen women – and men for that matter using the papoose things and always thought them a bit of an affectation but her opinion changed after Helen gave her one as a Christmas present. She could do stuff without worrying about the babe, using it for the flight was both logical and almost essential.

The carousel started producing luggage almost as soon as she reached it and Drea’s pushchair was the first thing to come through. She went to pull it down but was beaten by a tall, well-dressed chap who not only retrieved it but put it up for her.

“Er danke,” her German was a bit rusty to say the least.
“Keine problem, fraulein.”

It was sod’s law of course, after the buggy’s early arrival their case was almost the last, by now there was only a granny and a middle aged couple left with her. She managed to snag the case although she nearly ended up on her bum as the momentum swung her about. She briefly debated putting Drea in the buggy and towing the case but it seemed more logical to balance the case on the buggy and leave her daughter where she was.

“Bern!”
She scanned the gallery of people waiting to greet family and friends.
“Over here,” it was Marty.

She hurried out into the arrival’s area towards the tall, handsome youth she’d last seen last spring. He didn’t waste any time pulling her into a hug that she was just as quick to reciprocate.
“I’ve missed you.”

Bern was close to blubbing, gripping tighter rather than speaking.

Mart released her after an all too short minute, “And this is Andrea?”
“Uh huh.”
“She’s beautiful just like her mother.”
The dam finally burst and Mart pulled her back into a hug.
“Hut hum.”
“Oh sorry, Mum,” Marty offered, “Bern, this is my mum.”
“I think we met before.”
“I think so to, please excuse my English, welcome back to Germany.”
“Thank you, Frau Preiser.”
“Please, call me Erika, Frau Preiser it sounds like mein mutter. So, come let us get you and this mite back to Stattel, eh?”
“I’ll take the case,” Mart volunteered.

Being back in Germany was strange; strange and a bit daunting, here they were relying on almost strangers for everything. It was a bit of a leap of faith, Mart was of course someone she felt secure with and there was no reason to doubt his parents, they were after all supplying accommodation to a single mum and her baby. That was definitely a plus.

“The baby, she is very quiet.”
“Er yes, tired I think, it’s been a long day.”

Frau Preiser, Erika that is, had surprised her by having a baby seat in the car when they reached it. Apparently they’d had it for Marty and never got rid, Bern was more than grateful, Drea had been strapped to her for over four hours. Mart turned and grinned at her, would he still be doing so after she’d told him her plan?

“When is her essen?”
Essen, essen – food, of course, “Maybe thirty minutes?”
“Sorry?”
“Halb heure,” Mart translated for his mother.
“We should be home about then.”

Outside it looked cold, inside the well-used Volkswagen people carrier it was, if anything a bit too warm. She didn’t recognise anything, when she’d stayed with the Bond’s last year they had got around a bit but the distraction of having Gab in the car – well she took little notice of stuff outside.

Stattel of course is not in the Ahrtal but thirty minutes drive uphill from the Bond’s place and it’s actually easier to approach from the other side of the hill. The light was fading quickly; it was almost dark when they left the autobahn to start the final leg of the journey. Their speed barely seemed to drop as Erika navigated the quiet lanes of the Hohe Eifel towards the Preiser farm.

Drea was just starting her wakeup routine, smacking lips and waving arms, as they bounced into the yard and pulled to a stop.
“Come, Bernie, let’s get you both inside, Marty will bring your stuff in,” Erika instructed.

It was certainly fresh up here; a stiff breeze scoured the cobbles as they crossed to the house, a security light casting deep shadows ahead of them. The last time Bern had been at the farm it was to a party held in one of the barns, they didn’t even go in the house for toilets, as there was one in the barn. She hadn’t really got a clue what to expect, she’d never been in a farmhouse in her life.
Erika held the door for her, “Go on in, there on the left.”

The door led into a fair sized kitchen, the light already illuminating the space.

“Sit, sit, you feed from the bust?”
“Er yes.”
“It is good for her, do you need anything?”
“I’ve got everything in here,” she indicated her bag.
“Gut, I’ll make us some kaffee.”
There was some bumping and grunting outside, presumably Marty with her case.
“Er not for me thanks, the caffeine isn’t good for her.
“Tea then?”
“Thanks.”

She always felt a bit uncomfortable feeding her daughter in front of strangers; it’s so taboo for women to expose their chests that whilst perfectly natural it still felt wrong. She could understand why most women wouldn’t do the deed in public places. Still, Erika was almost telling her to get on with it so she soon had her daughter latched to a teat.

“Where shall I put the, whoa, sorry,” Marty exited almost as quickly as he’d entered.
“Marty?” his mother called after him.
“I didn’t realise Bern was erm…”
“Feeding the baby, don’t be so squeamish, I’m sure Bernie doesn’t mind.”
“Well I do, where shall I put the pram?”
“In the laundry for now, is the heat on in the bedroom?”
“I think so, it felt quite warm.”
“Well check please, we don’t want the baby getting a cold, eh?”
“No, Mama.”

Bernie only caught bits of the German exchange, something about the bedroom being cold.

“Stefan, Marty’s father will be here soon, I’ll start dinner then.”
“Can I help?”
“It is just schnitzel tonight, the boy will show you your room, you can unpack while I cook, eh?”
“Er okay.”

The next person through the kitchen door showed none of his son’s embarrassment at Bern’s exposed breast.

“The daft mare’s thrown another shoe!”
“Stefan, the English visitors,” Erika hinted as her husband proceeded to wash his hands.
He hurriedly dried his hands before offering one to her, “Stefan.”
She freed a hand to take it, “Er Bernadette, um Bernie and this is Drea.”
“Welcome to Stattel.”
It was beyond strange to be talking like this with her daughter chewing on her chest, Stefan completely ignoring her state of undress.
“I’ll ring Tomas, see if he can come in the morning, one of the pferde has lost a shoe,” Stefan explained for their guest.

By the time Marty returned Drea had finished dinner and was intent on returning to slumber. Bern had watched fascinated as her hostess, sliced, bashed and breadcrumbed their dinner, she’d never seen schnitzel made from scratch before. Mart cautiously poked his head around the door.

“There you are,” Erika mentioned, “take Bernie up to her room please, dinner will be about half an hour.”
After gathering her stuff Bern followed Mart out into the house.
“Sorry about, you know, earlier.”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind you seeing, watching.”
“Yeah, well sorry anyway.”
They climbed a narrow staircase, not steep but definitely no passing space.
“Mum’ll do the full tour tomorrow I expect,” Mart suggested, “bathroom here, Mum and Dad are next and you’re at the end.”
“Where’s your room?” oops, that sounded a bit forward.
“Oh I’m up the other stairs above the kitchen.”

The guest room was er ‘bijou’, a double bed took most of the floor space, her case was sat on the end. Wardrobe, chest of drawers and a vintage cot filled the remainder, no doubt another Marty relic. Drea usually slept with her but maybe she could try the cot as it was there complete with quilt, mobile and alarm.

“There’s towels on the chair there, if you need more they’re in that dresser in the corridor.”
“Thanks, Mart.”
“’S’alright.” He went to leave.
“No don’t, please?”
She laid her daughter on the bed before hugging the man she loved, “Thank you, Martin Preiser.”

Maddy Bell 21.05.16