Page 26 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Mary thought her own view was as good as it got as she watched James Bond walk with purposeful steps, like a sculpted work of art brought to life. ‘Help yourself to a drink,’ she called out, tearing her eyes away from Ruari as the doorbell rang again. ‘You’ll probably need it.’

As Declan’s guests arrived, a flood of mini-monsters, ghosts, and demons came tearing into the kitchen.

Parents, eager to do the drop-off and disappear, waved from behind the wheels of their four-by-fours before driving off at speed.

As Mary was about to close the door, a battered old van appeared and parked in front of the house.

‘Oh heck,’ Mary mumbled, ‘Conor will have a fit when he sees a pile of junk littering his driveway.’

The driver, draped in tattered robes, climbed out and moved with a slow, deliberate gait.

Strands of silver hair poked out from a hood, and as Mary stood mesmerised, a woman’s face slowly appeared.

Her watery eyes were set in a wrinkled face, and crooked fingers of one hand gripped a ragged bag, while the other reached out to take Mary’s.

‘Witchery Wanda?’ Mary asked as she shook the woman’s clammy skin.

‘I am the keeper of ancient knowledge, here to entertain,’ Wanda croaked and edged past Mary. ‘Where are the children?’

‘Go right on through.’ Mary held out an arm. A shiver ran down her spine as the old crone ambled past. With a sudden panic, she wondered if she’d made the right choice of entertainment for the party.

But as Mary closed the door and turned to the children’s screams of horror and delight, she was grateful that Wanda had at least left her broomstick behind.

Atticus and Ness arrived at the Solma Vacaciones bike shop, and their eyes were drawn to the sign that promised adventure: ‘Bikes for Hire’. Despite the open door and a can of cola on the counter, the shop was eerily quiet. Atticus decided to head to the reception to see if anyone there might help.

To his dismay, the woman he’d encountered before, with square-framed glasses and helmet-style hair, sat silently, studying a computer behind the long counter.

‘Hola,’ Atticus began and stepped forward. Receiving no reply, he tried again. ‘Buenas tardes, er, can you help me?’

‘Sí.’ The woman didn’t look up.

‘Yes? Good. I want to hire a bike.’

‘Shop outside,’ she replied, fingers clicking across a keyboard.

‘Yes, I know. But there’s no one there.’

‘You wait.’

‘How long?’

‘Who knows.’

Atticus struggled to stay civil, but before he could respond, a phone rang. The woman grabbed the receiver and began to speak in loud, rapid Spanish. With a sigh, he turned and, with Ness by his side, walked away.

Outside in the sunshine, Atticus wandered over to a line of bikes and presumed that they were for hire. ‘What do you think?’ he asked Ness as the pair studied various shapes and sizes. He was about to reach for a bike that looked suitable when he heard a ding-ding .

A familiar voice broke the silence.

‘Hola!’ it called out, and Atticus looked up to see Sophia, the aqua aerobics instructor, heading towards him.

Pedalling a scooter, she wore the same minuscule red one-piece, teamed with a vibrant visor and trainers. Atticus smiled at her timely arrival.

‘I sorry!’ Sophia said and screeched to a stop. ‘I work with my senior squad; they play bouncing balls today.’

Sophia thrust the scooter to one side and indicated that Atticus follow. As he fell into step behind her, her ample rear had a rhythm of its own. Barely covered by skimpy fabric, Atticus wondered what the senior squad’s blood pressure made of Sophia’s posterior during a bouncing ball game.

‘You want cycle,’ Sophia announced and pulled out a bike. ‘Try this,’ she said and adjusted her visor to watch Atticus tentatively climb on.

It had been years since Atticus had ridden a bike, and at first, he felt quite unsteady, but as he hesitatingly began to move forward, the knack of pedalling soon came back.

Ness began to bark as she ran alongside, and Sophia clapped her hands.

‘Come back!’ she called out. ‘Now we find trailer for dog.’

Sophia insisted that if Atticus was going any distance, it wouldn’t be safe for Ness to run alongside. Fifteen minutes later, lighter by a considerable amount of euros, Atticus placed his hat on his head and pedalled away with Ness, upright in a mesh pod attached to the back of his bike.

‘This is life!’ Atticus exclaimed. He was filled with joy as they sped along the site’s paths, immersed in the simple pleasure of a bike ride. Ness, with her head held high and the wind tickling her ears, barked her approval from the rear.

Rounding a corner near the tennis courts, Atticus stared at the pitches as he rode by. They were several times bigger than his own, and his jaw almost dropped when he caught sight of pitch number two hundred.

A motorhome was positioned like a palace on wheels, a symphony of sleek lines and polished surfaces that glittered in the sunshine, inviting admiration from all who passed by. Beside it, in the middle of an open-air haven, Erik was stretched out on a lounger, beneath a vast umbrella.

Looking up, Erik shaded his eyes and, recognising Atticus, stood. ‘Hello, my cowboy friend,’ he called out. ‘Come and have a drink.’

Erik was wearing the briefest Speedos Atticus had ever seen, and as he dismounted, releasing Ness from her pod, Atticus wondered if Erik shopped at the same store as Sophia.

Erik’s physique was sculpted, with defined muscles, and his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist. With a chiselled chest and well-defined pecs, Erik commanded attention.

Opening the gate to the pitch, Atticus stepped onto soft, cushioned flooring. ‘My goodness, Erik,’ he began. ‘This is quite a place you have here.’

‘I’m glad you like it,’ Erik said, walking over to a canopied bar. ‘Beer?’ he asked, opening a fridge and holding up a chilled bottle.

‘Perfect,’ Atticus replied.

Atticus’s eyes were wide as he studied a dancing area with a light show and a revolving disco ball.

A nearby gym was well-equipped, and Atticus understood the convenience of having a home exercise area.

Endless hours of physical dedication had contributed to Erik’s fine physique.

Beside the bar, an outdoor kitchen had every device a Michelin-starred chef might need.

‘Do you like it?’ Erik asked.

‘Sensational,’ Atticus smiled.

‘Come, look,’ Erik said, guiding Atticus up several steps.

Inside the motorhome, sumptuous furnishings and skilled craftsmanship unfolded into a series of rooms. Soft leather sofas enclosed the lounge, where panoramic windows added light.

A wood-panelled corridor, containing storage, led to a state-of-the-art kitchen.

In the softly carpeted ensuite bedroom, a king-sized bed was plumped high with plush pillows.

But Atticus’s breath was taken away when he stepped into the entertainment area, complete with a home theatre system, computers, gaming consoles, and a mini bar.

‘My goodness,’ Atticus exclaimed, astonished by what he saw.

‘Take photos, make yourself at home,’ Erik said and sat down.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Atticus said as he wandered around, enjoying selfies in the luxurious space. ‘Do you still work?’ Atticus asked, noting a work area with a desktop.

‘Of course, I run my businesses remotely, and Spain is a good place for me to be.’

‘That’s convenient. What do you do?’

‘Oh, this and that.’ Erik smiled, giving nothing away. Changing the subject, he remarked, ‘You have a bike now, it’s good, we can cycle together. I can show you around.’

‘I’d like that,’ Atticus said. ‘Do you cycle far?’

‘Some days. But for distances, I take the car.’

‘Car?’

‘It’s stored below.’ Erik pointed to the floor, and Atticus nodded. Naturally, this magnificent beast would have storage, and Atticus imagined the lift and ramp system below.

‘Tonight, we barbecue here. You must stay.’ Erik stood and reached for Atticus’s empty beer bottle.

‘Well, that’s kind of you to ask, but I must go to the supermarket and contribute.’

Erik shook his head. ‘No, my friend, one day we will all come to you,’ he said, ‘and the restaurant here is delivering everything for me.’

As Erik disappeared to the bar, Atticus puffed out a breath.

He tried to imagine the value of the motorhome and thought it must be worth a fortune.

How fascinating it was to see such a different way of life.

Atticus thought of Winnie and remembered Erik’s kindness when erecting the awning.

What ever must he have thought of Atticus’s modest setup compared to his own?

But as Atticus sank deep into the luxurious sofa, he felt a sense of relief.

The barbecue would take his mind off thoughts of The Date next day and his anxiety about Britta.

He knew it would only be momentary, but in the meantime, at least he could relax and make himself useful by helping Erik with the cooking.

Atticus looked around and remembered Arthur once saying that money can’t buy happiness. Atticus began to chuckle. His friend should consider purchasing a one-way ticket to Spain.