More From Hamburg

Astrid's Again, and the Girl with Green Eyes

"Ein Tafelteller."

The matronly German lady handed the dripping plate to George, who took it and began to dry it with the already damp tea towel. "Ein Tafelteller," he repeated obediently.

"Ein anderer Tafelteller."

"Ein anderer Tafelteller." Whilst drying the second plate, he cast a sideways sly glance at the lady, and treated her to his slow, lopsided smile.

She smiled back. And blushed.

"Vier Loffel," she announced.

"Nein," George answered.

She looked at him in surprise. Her eyebrows expressed the surprise.

"Funf Loffel," he said, fanning out the spoons to show that there were indeed five and not four. The lady burst out laughing.

"Sie haben vollkommen Recht!"

The kitchen door swung open a little further and Paul came in. He looked pink, and damp, and scrubbed, and he grinned at Astrid's mum before saying to George, "Your turn." He then stooped to push his pile of filthy clothes into the washing machine.

They'd tossed a coin to see who would go first for the bath, and George was last. He didn't mind. It meant he wouldn't have anyone pounding on the bathroom door saying he was taking too long. So John and Paul had in turn soaked and scrubbed and shampooed, while he'd helped Astrid's mum with the washing up and put up with her trying to teach him German words. She seemed to like him. And he was used to helping mums with washing up. He smiled at Astrid's mum, and turned and left the kitchen, for all he knew leaving Paul to finish the drying up. He padded up the lushly carpeted stairs and slipped into the bathroom.

His friends had left it in a terrible state, as anyone with any sense would have expected, with water all over the floor, wet towels left in pools of damp and the bath filthy, yet this was luxury compared to the Bambikino and George barely noticed. He ran hot water into the bath and, whilst it was filling, pulled off his grubby, sweat-encrusted clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. He climbed into the bath as soon as there was enough water for him to sit in it and let the rest of it fill around him as he lay back and savoured the sensation of freshness and unhurried pampering.

He dunked his head under the water, and shampooed his hair and rubbed fiercely and vigorously and then dunked again to get the soap out. He lay in the hot water, and leaned his head back against the back of the bath, and his enjoyment was marred only by the knowledge that he would soon have to get out again. But he was last, so he didn't have to hurry. He relaxed.

This bath, as well as being more enjoyable than he'd have thought an ordinary bath could be, was essential. He'd been worrying, and this invitation to the house had come at just the right time. He'd been so anxious to get clean that he'd even contemplated just turning up at the house, with a towel under his arm, as if he was going to the local swimming pool, and begging for a wash. Thing is, he'd more or less worked up the courage to ask this girl out, whatever that meant in this crazy place where he spent more or less all his waking hours "out", but he couldn't do it reeking like a tramp. She looked like she had some standards, and these days he fell way below anything that he could call standards.

He didn't even know her name.

She had green eyes.

You couldn't see that across the club, in the dim lighting, but he could see it when he looked up from his guitar and saw that she'd moved to the front near the stage. She was standing with the two other girls, all with drinks in hand, and all three were looking up at him. And she was the prettiest. Maybe. Or maybe she wasn't actually prettier than the other two; but he liked her face best. And her smile. And her green eyes.