Page 14 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Eleven

I n his bedroom on the second floor of Barn Hill farmhouse, Jake sat at a desk in one corner and studied his laptop screen. His Instagram account was open, and as he scrolled through a page of new images, a call came in on his phone.

‘Is that you?’ Arthur whispered.

‘Hello, Uncle Arthur,’ Jake replied. ‘Yes, it’s me. Who else were you expecting?’

‘I wasn’t sure. Word on the grapevine is that you’ve been grounded?’

‘Yep, I’m only let out of my room to go to school. Grounded for a whole week.’

‘That’s a bit harsh, lad. Your dad must be very cross.’

‘He’s raging. He won’t let me service the caravan site and refuses to let me near Grandad’s Little Grey Fergie.’

‘Maybe he thinks you’ll do a disappearing act to Spain,’ Arthur chuckled.

‘I would if I could, although it might be slow going on a tractor.’

‘What have you told him?’

‘The truth,’ Jake sighed. ‘It’s better that dad knows we did as much research as possible before Grandad set off.’

‘Aye, that makes sense.’

‘Perhaps he’ll believe Grandad is safe in Winnie and is going to have a brilliant holiday.’

‘It’s hard to say – Mungo can be difficult,’ Arthur said. ‘He’s probably upset because he knew nothing about it.’

‘Well, that’s his problem, not mine,’ Jake huffed. A scowl etched deeply across his face, and his lips pursed in a tight line.

‘Have you seen the Instagram account?’ Arthur asked.

‘Yes, I’m looking at it now.’ Jake stared at the screen where the account for @thetravellinggrandad displayed a dozen new images. ‘He’s got a photograph of one of the bulls!’ Jake was suddenly brighter. ‘Have you seen it?’

‘Yes, and Ness is sitting by the bull’s hoof. She looks tiny,’ Arthur laughed.

‘He messaged tonight to say that motorhomes keep tooting him and flashing their lights.’

‘Ah, the international sign of approval,’ Arthur said, sounding pleased. ‘In recognition of a fine vintage vehicle.’

‘Grandad said that a French man told him Winnie was like a big, fat canary.’

‘Bloody cheek, she’s a beauty…’

‘He went sightseeing in Burgos. I’m surprised; I didn’t think Grandad was into ancient buildings,’ Jake said, staring at images of Burgos Cathedral that Atticus had uploaded to his Instagram feed, which he’d labelled: #Unesco #WorldHeritageSite #Burgos.

He’d even included a smiling selfie on the bridge by the River Arlanzón and added the hashtag #thetravellinggrandad.

‘There are lots of hashtags. How does he know about them?’ Arthur asked.

‘He thinks they mean that just you and I will see the photos as soon as he uploads them.’

‘Doesn’t he know about followers?’

‘No, we never got that far. It was becoming confusing for Grandad, like an information overload.’

‘Ah, I see.’ In truth, Arthur didn’t see at all and only knew about Instagram from Jake’s instructions. Social media was as puzzling to Arthur as the Rubik’s Cube.

‘Does Aunty Shirley know you’re online?’

‘No, I’m hiding in the shed. Shirley’s not a fan of t’internet and thinks it will lead me into bad ways.’

‘Like following Grandad to Spain?’ Jake chuckled.

‘Maybe.’ Arthur chuckled. ‘Shirley heard about his disappearance at her WI meeting tonight.’

‘So soon?’

‘Aye, some nosy parker with insomnia was curtain twitching when we drove through the village and recognised Atticus at Winnie’s wheel.’

‘Winnie is very noticeable.’

‘The gossip has spread around the village like a disease.’

‘Dad won’t like that…’

There was a knock and Jake swivelled to stare at his bedroom door .

‘Jake? Have you done your homework?’ Mungo called out. ‘Let me in.’

‘I have to go, Uncle Arthur. Dad’s making a racket,’ Jake whispered.

‘Catch you tomorrow, be good!’ Arthur disconnected the call.

‘Jake, let me in!’ Mungo repeated.

‘Keep your hair on, Dad. I’m coming,’ Jake replied, and with a sigh, went to open the door.

At the service area in Spain, Atticus had woken early to the sound of engines roaring.

The smell of diesel was strong, and for a moment, he wondered where he was.

But Ness reminded him by moving to the window and twitching back the curtain with her nose.

She began to bark as the trucks beside Winnie roared into life and set off on their onward journey.

‘It’s time we were up,’ Atticus said and rubbed his eyes. He gave Ness a pat as she shot past him, tail wagging and tongue lolling, before sitting by the camper’s door. ‘Aye, hang on a mo. Let me get my trousers on…’

In the café where he had dined the previous evening, Atticus chose a dish that looked like an omelette, labelled ‘Tortilla Espanola’.

With two cups of strong coffee and a buttered baguette, the breakfast was the perfect start to his day.

Afterward, he purchased a crusty loaf, a slab of pale-yellow cheese, a jar of local honey, and four litres of water, storing the items carefully in Winnie .

‘That’ll see us through the day,’ he told Ness as they set off and Winnie hit the road again.

The sky was dark and cloudy, and with busy motorways ahead, Atticus hoped that it wouldn’t rain.

Jake had set the satnav to circumnavigate the vast city of Madrid, and already, with huge trucks careering past, vibrations shook Winnie’s bodywork and Atticus felt hesitant about the drive.

He wasn’t confident the old camper’s wipers would cope if there was a deluge.

Jake had explained that toll roads carried less traffic, as motorists paid for the benefit of their use. As the first toll booth came into sight, Atticus slowed down and nervously approached the barrier.

His grandson had installed a clever device called a Bipandgo on Winnie’s windscreen, which was electronically recognised at a toll booth, allowing the driver to sail through without stopping to pay.

‘Oh, please open,’ Atticus prayed, hoping that Jake had installed it correctly. Wide-eyed with Ness, they crept into the lane. In his right-hand-drive vehicle, it would be a nightmare to get out and run around the vehicle to pay as a queue built up behind them.

But, to Jake’s credit, the barrier smoothly lifted, and they drove through.

‘Yes! That gadget is worth every penny.’ Atticus gave an ecstatic fist pump, and Ness woofed. ‘It charges your credit card at the end of each month,’ he explained to his excited dog. ‘Genius, eh? The modern gizmos that are available today,’ he added, shaking his head.

As they headed south again, the satnav indicated that they would arrive at their destination by mid-afternoon.

But with several stops planned for Ness and a bite to eat, Atticus knew it would be much later.

Leaving the outskirts of Madrid far behind, the muddy sky cleared as the sun came out.

He gazed out at agricultural fields and the occasional small town in the distance, pleased that he’d chosen this route.

Jake had suggested a more extended drive, sightseeing through France over several days before crossing the border into Spain, south of Perpignan.

But Arthur had advised that a shorter journey with Winnie might, on this occasion, be sensible.

Despite the horrible ferry crossing, Atticus had to agree.

Miles of olive groves and vineyards whizzed by, and as they passed through the region of Castilla-La Mancha, Atticus noted a tourist information sign for the Castle of Belmonte.

‘There’s a castle perched on every hilltop,’ he muttered to Ness.

Whenever Atticus saw a structure of the Osborne Bull, he stopped and took a photograph. The massive bull amused him, and he chuckled as he wondered if the Lake District Tourist Board might do something similar with Herdwick sheep in Cumbria.

On the edge of the town of Consuegra, he picnicked on bread and cheese with Ness, and while reading through the information in his folder, he learnt that the windmills scattered all over the area were immortalised in Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote , a novel he’d read at school.

‘Fancy that,’ Atticus mused as he studied the massive sails.

Passing through the province of Albacete, Atticus saw that the landscape had become more rugged, leaving the lush, fertile plains behind him.

A mountainous terrain lay in the distance.

But sometime later, when signs for Alicante began to appear, a glimpse of the Mediterranean came into view.

Atticus gazed as a golden glow lit up the sky, and the sun started to dip towards the horizon.

Ness stirred from her slumber and, as though sensing the journey had reached its final leg, she began to look out of the window.

‘Not too far now,’ Atticus said and followed the satnav’s directions to bypass Alicante.

The vast city sprawled out before him, and Atticus hoped he wouldn’t get lost. But end-of-day traffic was manic, with cars, motorcycles, and buses weaving in and out of lanes.

A background of honking horns seemed to be the Spanish drivers’ way of communicating and fearing that some of the noise was directed at him, Atticus tried hard to stay on the right road.

Soon, though, he realised he was lost as the satnav screen changed crazily to update the route.

On the dashboard, Gonzalo the Gnome’s head nodded to one side.

‘Aye, you’re right. I’ll head to the coast,’ Atticus told Gonzalo. ‘If we keep to the sea on our left, we can’t go wrong.’

Sure enough, with the Castle of Santa Bárbara perched high on Alicante’s hilltop now behind them, the satnav corrected itself, and with traffic easing, Atticus drove Winnie south.

‘Thirty-eight kilometres!’ Atticus happily announced, before quickly converting the distance. ‘Only twenty-three miles to go. ’

The coastal road became single-lane traffic, meandering along an even plane. In a convoy, with a slow but steady speed, Atticus stared at the landscape that would soon become familiar.

‘Would you just look at that…’ he said in awe to Ness.

Large salt flats lay on either side of the road next to vast stacks of pure-white salt.

Further on, the flats became lakes, and as the daylight softened, it cast a pink and silver hue on the water.

Flocks of flamingos waded through the shallows, and with long stick-like legs, they moved with effortless grace, vibrant pink feathers catching the light.

Each step of their delicate feet created ripples and Atticus was mesmerised.

Seeing a layby ahead, he slowed Winnie into a space. With Ness on her lead, they crossed the road and walked along a narrow boardwalk parallel to a lake.

‘This is so beautiful,’ Atticus whispered, beginning to take photos as reeds rustled in the warm evening breeze and water gently lapped against the shore.

Herons took flight against the fading light, their giant wings a hypnotic beat as they soared above, and waterfowl mingled with the flamingos, their silhouettes reflected like a mirage.

It was an awe-inspiring sight, giving Atticus time to pause, and be thankful to Jake and Arthur for giving him the courage to come on this journey. With a happy sigh, he returned to Winnie, and they set off again.

Fifteen minutes later, the satnav announced that they had reached their destination.

‘We must be here,’ Atticus said to Ness as she leaned her head out of the window, breathing in the salty air. A large roundabout lay ahead and taking care to negotiate the correct side of the road, Atticus found himself travelling in circles. ‘I can’t see any signs?’ he called out in frustration.

But as an entrance to the right appeared, Ness began to bark, and Gonzalo’s head dipped in that direction. ‘Alright, have it your way,’ Atticus said and took the narrow road.

As they got halfway down, a large sign suddenly appeared.

Bienvenida – Willkommen – Bienvenue – Welcome

Solma Vacaciones

The Home of Happy Campers

‘Well, old girl,’ Atticus said, stretching out a hand to rub Ness’s head as he slowly negotiated Winnie onto the site. ‘We made it, and here we are. This will be our home for the duration.’