Page 10 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Nine

A tticus and Ness enjoyed a smooth and trouble-free journey as they headed south.

Cruising down the almost empty motorway, Winnie felt like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years, reunited on a new adventure.

He thought about the excellent work Jake had done assisting with the engine’s refurbishment.

Under a twinkling canvas of stars, Atticus relished the solitude. He was escaping from the hustle and bustle of folk coming and going at Barn Hill Farm, and as the night wore on it felt strangely good.

They stopped for a comfort break. Pulling on her lead, Ness had her nose to the ground and her tail wagged with excitement as she discovered a playground of new scents in the service area.

Inside the camper, Atticus searched through the well-stocked cupboards for biscuits and taking a flask, poured piping hot coffee.

Sitting comfortably on the sofa, he looked around.

The interior light cast a comforting glow over the retro upholstery and wooden panelling, and he realised that the space was extremely cosy.

‘What do you think, eh, Clara?’ Atticus smiled and turned to Ness. ‘We’re going to enjoy this trip. Winnie will do us nicely.’

Draining his coffee and tossing a dog biscuit to Ness, Atticus carefully stored his items away, then returned to sit in the driver’s seat with Ness strapped in alongside.

He found Jake’s gnome in his pocket and, with a smile, fixed it on the dashboard beside the satnav that Jake had insisted be installed.

‘What shall we call him?’ Atticus asked Ness as the dog sniffed the travelling gnome. ‘How about Gonzalo the Globetrotter?’

Ness eyed Atticus, and with a nod, he confirmed the name. ‘Gonzalo it is,’ he said.

He tapped the dashboard compartment where the old wooden needle box was securely placed, and smiled, knowing that his wife’s remaining ashes were accompanying him on his adventure, and Clara would be smiling too.

Glancing occasionally at the satnav and listening carefully to the spoken instructions, Atticus gripped the steering wheel as the road stretched ahead like a long, dark ribbon, and the miles slipped away beneath Winnie’s wheels.

Leaving the motorway to arrive in Portsmouth with hours to spare before boarding the ferry, he drove along the seafront and parked the camper with a view overlooking the Solent. A roadside café lay ahead, and Atticus ordered two bacon rolls and a sausage for Ness.

‘This is life,’ Atticus sighed as he wound down the window. ‘Smell the sea, Ness. We’ll soon be sailing on the ocean.’

Having scoffed her sausage, Ness placed her head on Atticus’s knee and began to thump her tail, sensing excitement in the salty air.

As the sun began its slow ascent in the channel ahead, a massive ferry boat emerged from mist-shrouded waters.

Its sleek hull sliced through the gentle waves, leaving a frothy wake in its path.

‘That’ll be us in a few hours,’ Atticus said, lost in his thoughts as he gazed out to sea.

Piercing through the silence like a gunshot, the shrill ringtone of Atticus’s phone shattered his calm. Jerking upright, he removed the phone from his pocket and saw Mungo’s name on the screen.

He took a deep breath and nodded to Ness. ‘Here goes…’ Atticus said and poked the screen with a suspicious finger. It was a FaceTime call, and he tried to remember Jake’s instructions.

‘What the HELL are you doing?’ Mungo’s face yelled from the screen.

‘Morning, Mungo.’ Atticus wondered why he could only see his own nose yet hear Mungo loud and clear.

‘WHERE in God’s name are you?’ Mungo ranted. ‘Dad! Tilt the phone – I can only see your eyebrows.’

‘Well, I was enjoying a quiet parking space by the sea in Portsmouth. ’

There was a silence, and Atticus knew Mungo was digesting his words.

‘Hello?’ Atticus said, holding his breath as he waited. He fumbled with the screen and blinked hard. A random filter had given him cat’s ears.

‘I’m still here,’ Mungo replied. ‘For goodness’ sake, sort your phone out!’

Atticus wondered if his son was counting to ten before he continued, and sure enough, within seconds, as Atticus corrected his settings and Mungo’s face appeared on the screen, his son set to again.

‘I cannot believe that you furtively disappear in the middle of the night without so much as a hint of discussion about your proposed trip!’ Mungo snapped. ‘You leave a curt note under the door in the office that simply reads…’

Atticus heard a rustle of paper.

‘ Off to Spain. Don’t worry about me. Love Dad. Contact number below .’

Atticus thought about the note. Mungo had a point; it wasn’t his finest move. ‘You would have talked me out of it,’ he reasoned.

‘Of course, I bloody well would!’ Mungo yelled. ‘The idea is crazy! You could be killed in that ancient camper. She’s not fit to travel across countries with an old man at the wheel.’

An old man at the wheel! Atticus digested Mungo’s comment.

Mungo continued to yell, but Atticus wasn’t listening and held the phone away.

Don’t let the old man in… Clara’s voice whispered through the open window, and Atticus returned to the phone.

‘Now, Mungo,’ Atticus began, ‘calm down.’

‘How the hell can I?—’

But Atticus interrupted, ‘This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d kick off and create a fuss.’

‘A FUSS?’

‘Aye, exactly. But this is one occasion where I won’t give in.’ Atticus felt his muscles tense. ‘I gave in to all your ideas about the farm and even gave up my precious Herdwick sheep,’ he paused. ‘But this is the one time where I get to choose what I want to do with the rest of my life.’

‘But I saved the farm! You would have gone under without all the changes,’ Mungo spluttered.

‘Well, that we’ll never know.’

‘You know damn well that if…’ Mungo began to shout again.

‘Stop it!’ Atticus raised his hand as though the act would silence Mungo. ‘I’m not changing my mind, so unless you want to wish me a bon voyage and a happy holiday, I suggest you leave me alone.’

He tapped furiously to exit FaceTime but inadvertently turned on a voice filter. ‘I do not understand your concern, human child…’ a robot voice said.

Moments passed in silence before Atticus spoke again. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Mungo, are you there?’

But Mungo had disconnected the call.

With a heavy heart, Atticus turned to Ness and picked up Jake’s carefully compiled folder. Determined not to let Mungo ruin his trip, he resolved to become more familiar with his iPhone. Opening the folder, he began to study Jake and Arthur’s concise instructions.

As Ness nestled her head on his knee, Atticus said, ‘Well, that’s that, old lass.’ He reached out to gently stroke her head. ‘It’s just you and me now, and whatever unfolds beyond that wide-open sea.’

In rural Ireland, the sky was heavy with dark clouds, casting a foreboding pallor over the landscape as a relentless downpour soaked everything in its path.

Mary had completed the school run and, with four damp and grumpy kids safely deposited, now drove along the coastal road that led to Kindale Golf and Wellness Retreat.

Shrouded in mist, the countryside was deserted, with only the occasional brave soul venturing out.

Rain ricocheted off the windscreen of her Range Rover like bullets as Mary carefully negotiated muddy potholes and thought about the day ahead.

Aware that Roisin, her cleaner, was hard at work at Belvedere House, Mary had no desire to return home and get in the way of the woman’s overactive Dyson or make endless cups of tea. Instead, Mary was heading to the gym.

Roisin had been with the family since they moved to Belvedere House several years ago.

She had a full diary with cleaning bookings at all the larger houses and ran her business, Roisin’s Shamrock Shine , with her two daughters.

Mary was conscious of never using the term ‘cleaner’ when Roisin was within earshot, knowing that the fussy, self-important woman preferred the more favourable ‘Environmental Services Provider’.

Roisin was a gossip of the highest order, and had it not been for the fact that her work was first-class, Mary would have ditched Roisin’s Shamrock Shine some time ago.

But, if Mary wanted to catch up on any goings-on in Kindale, Roisin was a mouthpiece worthy of a plate of chocolate biscuits and several cups of strong tea, as she shared generous titbits of spicy scandal.

This morning, however, Mary had more important things on her mind than a juicy gossip with Roisin.

Over breakfast, with the kids fighting over Coco Pops and Rice Crispies, Conor, running late, was in a hurry to leave for work.

Drinking the fresh fruit smoothie Mary had made, he’d informed her that he wouldn’t be home for dinner that evening.

‘Has something important come up?’ Mary asked.

‘It’s the land deal. There’s a dinner tonight at the country club. All the planning committee will be there, along with the builder who’s bought the land.’

‘Are wives not invited?’ Mary asked as she watched Conor abandon his empty glass on the table.

‘It’s not that sort of dinner,’ he replied.

Mary wondered what sort of dinner it was as she picked up his glass and carried it to the dishwasher. Turning to Conor to straighten his lapel, she asked him when he would be home.

‘I have no idea, so don’t wait up.’ He paused to pick up a leather document case and stared at Mary. ‘Your leggings are getting tight,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t a longer shirt be better if you go out? ’