Page 22 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Seventeen

A tticus was settling into a routine, and as his first week in Spain came to a close, he found that he was enjoying the leisurely pace of life.

Waking early, as light trickled through Winnie’s curtains, he pulled on shorts from a selection he’d acquired at the market, added a T-shirt, and slipped into comfortable sandals.

Ness shook her head to rouse herself, rose with a gentle stretch, and needed no encouragement to accompany Atticus on his first walk of the morning.

The days had rolled by, and Atticus was only aware that it was Saturday again because Cheryl and Ruby had reminded him that they would be going to the market for their tapas lunch if he chose to accompany them.

Now, as Atticus stood in the shower block and leisurely shaved, he thought about home.

The fells in autumn would look lovely, but with winter approaching, the weather would soon change – a time when his arthritis would start to niggle, and his joints would become stiff.

He thought of the damp winter months that never seemed to affect business at the farm and knew that the tills in the farm shop and café would be ringing loudly.

With any luck, it would put a smile on his son’s face, Atticus reflected as he walked back to Winnie.

He knew that his exploits enraged Mungo and hadn’t heard a word from the farm, other than Jake’s daily texts informing his grandad that Mungo was a numpty.

Thankfully, Jake was no longer grounded.

Feeling disinclined to make a call and receive another ear-bashing from Mungo, Atticus grabbed his hat and set off.

Ness, walking to heel on her lead and with a happy wag of her tail, was the perfect example of a well-behaved dog – unlike some of the animals Atticus had encountered on the site.

It amazed him that a variety of creatures travelled with the campers.

He’d seen birds in cages, dogs of all shapes and sizes, and every variety of cat.

A Swiss couple nearby had even built an enclosure for their rabbit, and it was allowed to roam freely.

‘Good morning!’ Atticus called out to a Dutch couple heading to the spa for an early swim. With towels rolled under their arms and wearing a brief bikini and trunks, Atticus wondered what folk back home would think if he paraded about in almost nothing.

Averting his eyes from skin that told of a life well lived, Atticus decided that older bodies looked far better covered up. He’d discussed this with Cheryl the previous day when they sat under a shady umbrella and drank coffee beside the open-air pool.

Cheryl, wearing a baby-pink tankini, listened to his comment, and eloquently replied that true beauty didn’t lie in the perfection of youth but in the depth of character that came with age.

Atticus did a double take and wondered if she’d read that somewhere, but acknowledging that she had a point, he wasn’t convinced as he watched ancient bodies bounce up and down in an energetic aqua aerobics class.

Waist-deep and moving to the rhythm of lively music, the water rose and fell like a tsunami.

At the same time, an enthusiastic young Spanish instructor named Sophia, wearing a minuscule bright red one-piece, spurred the elderly swimmers on.

‘Sí! Hagámoslo!’ Sophia yelled as she danced by the side of the pool, kicking her legs and waving her arms. ‘Let’s do this! Get moving, my senior squad!’

Atticus thought that if some of the senior squad moved any more energetically, they would end up in the nearest accident and emergency department, and Sophia might be sued. Still, he’d kept his thoughts to himself as he helped Cheryl to her feet and eased her into the children’s pool.

‘Are you joining in with the class?’ he’d asked.

‘Not likely,’ Cheryl replied. ‘I’m going to catch a few rays.’

Cheryl waded across the pool, where large synthetic animals formed slides and rides. Ignoring the notices that stated, ‘No child over twelve allowed on the rides’, she straddled an inflatable hippo and sat down. ‘Come in, the water’s lovely!’ she called out.

Atticus smiled as he remembered Cheryl topping up her tan, her head thrown back and arms outstretched. Her spandex-encased body sprawled across the hippo.

‘It’s a grand life,’ he said to Ness as they went through the site and headed to the track leading to the beach at La Marina.

Once off her lead, Ness ran ahead, sensing new smells in the reedy vegetation that sprang from the edge of the River Segura, running adjacent to the track. Fishermen looked up and called out a greeting as they cast their lines into the muddy-coloured water.

‘Hola,’ Atticus replied, thinking that local folk were as friendly as those back home. ‘Buenos días!’

He stopped to stare at grey herons wading in the shallows.

With their long legs and necks, the majestic birds fascinated Atticus.

Entering a wooded area, he saw Great Cormorants perched on tree branches, their sleek black plumage forming dark silhouettes against the brightness of the sky.

When the birds took flight, Atticus thought of the miles of windswept coastlines and tumultuous seas that their vast wings soared over.

‘Nature is amazing,’ he said to Ness.

When they reached the beach, Ness began to excitedly run around in circles and Atticus grinned. The old dog wasn’t the only one experiencing a new lease of life.

He slipped off his sandals and paddled in the waves lapping against the shore.

The soft, golden sand stretched as far as his eye could see, curving into a bay where the whitewashed buildings of the town of Santa Pola glistened in the early-morning sunshine.

Enjoying the warm, salty water on his toes, he thought about the climate and how everyone here agreed that the area, combined with the laid-back atmosphere and healthy cuisine, was the ideal place to reduce stress and enjoy mental well-being.

No wonder so many retired folks spent most of the winter on the Costas. How Clara would have enjoyed it!

Atticus tilted his hat and scanned the beach.

Halfway along, there was a café at the end of a row of old fishermen’s cottages.

Erik had mentioned that the café served great food, and at this time of day, a breakfast menu was chalked on a board.

It might be something Atticus enjoyed, as it offered English food.

Atticus had the café in mind as he strolled past a sign pronouncing ‘Naturist Area’, noting with relief that there were no unclothed bodies. ‘I think we’ll have a treat and indulge in a full English,’ he told Ness as he brushed sand from his toes, slipped into his sandals, and clipped on her lead.

Taking the steps to the café, Atticus saw that it was busy, but he found a table that overlooked the bay. Placing his hat down, he studied the menu and waited to be served.

Gazing out to sea, Atticus saw the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean in the distance, and he was fascinated by dark shapes dotted along the horizon.

Erik had told him that these were mussel beds and explained that the vital ecosystem was a haven for various marine species, which supported a thriving fishing industry.

Erik himself owned a fishing boat and, for a modest rent, supported a local family who might otherwise have been unable to fish.

The father and son used traditional methods – trammel nets and longlines – to harvest not only mussels but also a variety of other seafood.

Erik admired their commitment to sustainability, knowing their careful practices would help preserve the region’s fishing culture for years to come.

Atticus thought about his own principles for farming methods. Intrigued, he considered taking a guided tour of the beds during his holiday.

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice a woman standing beside his table, a notepad in her hand. But when he felt Ness’s wet nose bump his leg, he jerked his head and turned. For a moment, the café chatter blended into the background, and time seemed to stand still.

‘It’s a great view, isn’t it?’ the woman smiled. ‘I’m Britta, your server. What can I get for you?’

Momentarily frozen, Atticus’s breath caught in his throat. ‘Yes… A g-great view.’ He stared at Britta, captivated by her beauty.

Britta smiled and Atticus was mesmerised.

Her skin reminded him of melted caramel, and he wanted to reach out and touch the soft blonde hair that gathered loosely into a clip, with wispy tendrils escaping.

He couldn’t help but be enchanted by the curve of her lips, the dimples in her cheeks, and the way her cornflower-blue eyes stared down at him.

‘Are you alright?’ Britta asked. ‘Can I get you some water?’

‘Y… yes, that would be grand,’ Atticus stuttered.

‘Anything else?’

‘Aye, I’ll have a café con leche and a full house.’

‘Full house?’ Britta tilted her head.

‘Oh, sorry. Where I come from, it means an English breakfast with everything,’ Atticus replied .

‘Okay, and would your dog like some water too?’

Atticus looked down at Ness and saw the dog staring at Britta with the same fascination as his own.

‘Water? Sorry, water, yes. Ness would like that.’

He watched as Britta walked away. Her body moved gracefully as she stopped to take orders or clear glasses from tables.

Britta’s voice, with a slight hint of an accent, was music to his ears.

As Atticus tore his eyes from the kitchen where she’d disappeared, he wondered what on earth had just happened.

One minute, he was sitting calmly, taking in the beauty of the beach, but the next, he was stumbling like a schoolboy blinded by his first crush.

‘I need to pull myself together,’ Atticus said to Ness.

Coughing to clear his throat, he sat up and determined not to be so foolish.

Men of his age didn’t fall in love at first sight, nor second or third.

In fact, it was unlikely to ever happen at all.

And why would he entertain such thoughts?

He was happy just as he was, with no one to report to or worry about other than himself, the dog, and their temporary way of life.

And there was Clara. What on earth would his wife think?

It was some time before Britta returned with Ness’s water and his breakfast order, which enabled Atticus to control his emotions.

‘Sorry it took so long,’ she said, placing his breakfast before him. ‘The café is busy today. Can I get you anything else?’ she asked, leaning down to pat Ness.

Atticus was about to say that he was fine and had everything he needed, but Clara’s voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

Let the old man out! Ask her out!

Atticus stared into Britta’s eyes and suddenly felt foolish. Of course he couldn’t ask this woman out; he didn’t even know her.

‘More toast or coffee?’ Britta asked.

Enough! You’ve faced worse things than asking a woman out!

‘ Will you have a drink or a meal with me?’ Atticus blurted out.

Britta took a step back and he saw that she was surprised.

‘I don’t think so…’ Britta said.

‘No, of course not.’ Atticus shook his head. He felt stupid. What on earth had possessed him to ask such a question? A woman like this would never glance his way – she was younger than him, Atticus guessed, maybe fifty or so.

‘I don’t know you,’ she said.

‘But you will get to know me if you come out with me.’ Atticus swallowed. What the hell was he doing, making such a fool of himself? Clutching at straws, he bumbled on, ‘I am staying at Solma Vacaciones, and I’m from England. I live on a farm.’

‘Oh,’ Britta replied.

‘My name is Atticus Arnott and…’ Atticus dried up. What was the use? Britta probably had a boyfriend, husband, or partner like Cheryl and Ruby.

‘Atticus? ’

‘Aye… Terrible name, but I’m stuck with it.’

‘I think it’s a good name,’ Britta said with a smile, before moving away to continue taking orders.

‘Well, Clara, I messed that up,’ Atticus mumbled and felt a flush creep across his face.

What on earth was he thinking? Britta must get asked out all the time, and she’d never look at someone like him. He began to eat his breakfast, despite his appetite disappearing, and, forking a sausage, handed it to Ness.

When his plate was almost empty, Atticus pushed it away and drained the last of his coffee. As he prepared to leave, Britta appeared, placed his bill down, and began to clear the table.

‘I am free later tomorrow after my lunchtime shift,’ she said. ‘You could call for me at about four o’clock?’ Britta smiled. ‘I live in the cottage a little further down. It’s called Casita del Mar – the little sea cottage.’

‘Casita… del… Mar?’ Atticus slowly repeated the words.

‘Yes.’

‘You mean… you’ll have a bite to eat with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Aye. Great. I’ll be there.’

‘See you tomorrow, cowboy,’ Britta laughed, nodding at his hat on the table before turning away.

Stunned, Atticus fumbled for euros as he watched her move away. He looked down at Ness. ‘What’s going on?’ he whispered. ‘Oh, hell, Ness, what on earth have I done?’

Britta watched Atticus leave the café. As he descended the steps to the beach, he paused to remove his sandals and unclip the dog from its lead.

She hesitated. She could still call after him, say she was sorry, that she’d remembered another engagement – a harmless excuse, an easy way out.

But something about him made her linger.

His eyes were kind, his smile disarmingly warm.

When she accepted his invitation, she’d seen genuine surprise and pleasure on his face.

It had been so long since a man had looked at her without an unsettling feeling lurking beneath his interest.

But doubt gnawed at her. Should she take a chance?

Britta wasn’t reckless or impulsive; she liked the predictability of her quiet life.

And yet… what would be the harm in spending a couple of hours with Atticus?

She exhaled, forcing herself to ignore her caution.

It was just a bite to eat and conversation.

A better way to pass the time than sitting on the patio of her cottage, staring at an empty canvas and willing inspiration to strike.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, turning away from the beach and moving to clear debris from a table. ‘Perhaps I will take a chance.’