Page 33 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Twenty-Five

A new week began at Solma Vacaciones. With the sun rising above caravans and motorhomes, there was a gentle rustle of palm trees and the chirping of birds as campers lifted their sleepy heads and set about their day.

The housekeeping team was riding on buggies stacked high with cleaning products and tools, ready to freshen the facilities.

They called out cheery good mornings to the campers out early, walking their dogs, jogging, or simply enjoying the freshness of the morning.

In the supermarket, the aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries drifted over the site, encouraging guests to purchase crusty breakfast baguettes and buttery croissants.

Atticus, back from his preamble with Ness, had already brushed the overnight fallen leaves and windblown sand from his pitch.

Now he was making a start on Winnie’s windows, and when he was confident that they gleamed as brightly as her bodywork, he set to work on the awning, wiping down the table and chairs .

‘Cooee!’ a voice called. ‘Someone’s up early!’ In a fluffy dressing gown with old-fashioned rollers tucked under a plastic cap covering her hair, Cheryl shuffled towards the awning in pink fluffy mules.

Atticus smiled as she approached.

‘Couldn’t you sleep, or didn’t you come home?’ Cheryl asked. She pulled out a chair and plopped her body down without waiting to be asked.

‘Good morning,’ Atticus said. ‘Good to see you, can I tempt you with a coffee?’

‘Yes, that would be lovely, and you can tell me all about your date.’ Cheryl loosened the belt on her gown, revealing a shortie nightie and, kicking off her mules, stretched out her plump legs.

Ness lay down beside her, and she gently stroked the dog’s head.

‘I take it that things went well?’ She raised an eyebrow as Atticus handed her a mug of milky coffee.

‘You didn’t come back to the pool party, and it went on till very late. ’

‘I had a great time,’ Atticus said, sitting down, too. ‘Casablanca was the perfect choice, so thanks to you and Ruby for the recommendation.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘We even went for a paddle on the beach after our meal. The car was great, and I enjoyed driving it.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Cheryl rolled her eyes. ‘But how did you get on with Britta?’

‘She’s lovely,’ he replied. ‘Very special.’

‘I don’t know, you men!’ Cheryl tapped her fingers on the table. ‘It’s like pulling teeth.’ She sat forward. ‘Tell me what her home is like, what you talked about, and if you’re seeing her again. Ruby and I want all the gossip. ’

Atticus felt like a teenager being interrogated by his mother. Cheryl’s rollers began to bounce, and he smiled as the cap slipped over her forehead. Deciding to put her out of her misery, he began.

‘Her home is comfortable,’ he said.

‘Those cottages don’t look like much from the outside.’

‘No, they don’t, but inside it’s a complete contrast, and I liked it.’ Atticus remembered the artwork and tasteful furnishings and described Britta’s home in detail.

‘What’s her background?’ Cheryl asked. ‘Married? Kids?’

‘She’s been married and there are no children, and she grew up on a farm near Utrecht.’

‘Sounds a bit of a mystery, but then folk come to Spain for all sorts of reasons, not always because of the weather.’ Cheryl drained her coffee and slipped her shoulders out of her gown.

‘Phew, it’s warming up already. My head thinks it’s in a sauna,’ she said, pulling off her plastic cap. ‘Have you made another date?’

Atticus leaned back in his chair. He stretched out his legs and smiled, his expression almost smug. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will be seeing her again.’

The memory of Britta was like a warm, comforting hug – a feeling he wanted to cling to.

Wriggling his fingers in his pocket, he felt her folded note and wondered when he should call her.

He knew she was working that morning. Should he wait until her shift ended, or would that seem too eager?

He had no idea how these things played out and didn’t want to bombard Britta and seem overly keen.

‘You look like the cat that’s got the cream,’ Cheryl said. ‘I take it that you had a late night?’

‘Not too late.’ Atticus reached for his coffee. Should he tell Cheryl how he felt and perhaps ask for her advice? But before he could voice his uncertainty, he felt Cheryl gently pat his arm.

‘I think Cupid has fired a rocket launcher,’ she chuckled. ‘Your face says it all – and now you haven’t a clue how to handle things?’

Atticus breathed a sigh of relief. He stared at Cheryl and saw that she had a knowing gleam in her eye.

‘It was just the same when I fell for Ruby,’ Cheryl said. ‘Never mind any of that slow-burner stuff. When the arrow strikes, there’s little you can do about it.’

‘I can’t tell you how happy I am,’ Atticus said. ‘But I almost feel guilty for feeling this way.’

‘Guilty about your wife?’ Cheryl asked.

‘Yes, in truth, guilty that I can feel happy again when Clara had her happiness cut short.’

‘You mustn’t feel guilty for being happy,’ Cheryl shrugged. ‘Love is a self-indulgent thing. If Clara was anything like the woman you say she was, I know she would be happy for you and urge you on.’

‘But what if Britta doesn’t feel the same way?’

‘Now you’re adding hurdles when the path is currently clear. I’d say she is probably smiling at the customers in the café this morning just as much as you are sitting here smiling at me.’

Atticus stared at Cheryl. She’d voiced his exact feelings about Britta. Was it so obvious? Did he wear a sign that announced his newfound joy?

‘But what do I do now? I’ve no experience. It’s been decades since I dated, and I feel like a teenager again.’ Atticus frowned. ‘I don’t want to get this wrong.’

Cheryl nodded. ‘Why not drop her a text in a bit and say you had a lovely evening?’ she suggested. ‘Ask if she might be around if you give her a call later?’

‘Okay, good idea.’

But before Atticus could reach for his phone, Cheryl patted his arm again.

‘A word of advice,’ she said. ‘Be a bit guarded with Mungo. From what you’ve told us about your son and his thoughts on your trip, he might not be as thrilled as you are that you’ve suddenly fallen head over heels.’

‘I don’t care what Mungo thinks,’ Atticus said.

‘Aye, you say that now, but he is family after all,’ Cheryl warned. ‘Tread carefully, that’s all I’m saying.’

Atticus was about to make more coffee when Erik appeared. He’d been on his usual morning run and was wearing jogging gear, with a towel resting on his athletic shoulders.

‘Hey, Lover Boy!’ Erik called out. ‘How was your date?’

Erik leaned in to kiss Cheryl as Ness rolled over and held up a paw. With a smile, Erik rubbed the dog’s tummy and then pulled up a chair.

Atticus wondered if the whole campsite would be stopping by to check on his love life, and seeing Erik make himself comfortable, he knew that the question couldn’t be avoided.

‘Coffee?’ Atticus asked.

‘Strong and black, just like me,’ Erik replied, giving Cheryl a wink. ‘Now let’s hear all about it…’

In the office at Barn Hill Farm, Mungo stared at the Instagram account on his phone. The Travelling Grandad had clocked up considerably more followers – now over fifteen thousand. By the looks of things, comments were coming in thick and fast as the latest posts went viral.

‘More from the Costas?’ Ali cheerfully asked as she sat at her desk and watched her boss’s expression change from curiosity to astonishment, then anger.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Mungo said and shook his head, his eyes never leaving the screen. ‘He’s dining out with a woman and has posted a dozen selfie photos of a blonde sharing a bowl of mussels. He’s even recorded a video of the two of them paddling in the sea.’

‘Sounds like he’s having a great time,’ Ali commented, thinking that heading to Spain was the best possible move Atticus could have made. She wouldn’t mind a bit of sun, sea, and whatever else Atticus was having.

‘He’s making a complete fool of himself,’ Mungo said, slamming the phone down. ‘This woman looks years younger and is bound to be after his money. Why on earth would she have reason to be with him?’

‘To enjoy his company?’ Ali asked, silently thinking that if an attractive silver fox like Atticus wanted to spend time with this woman, she would have to be insane or blind to turn him down.

But Mungo ignored the comment. ‘God knows where he’s picked her up from. I can’t imagine what my mother would think.’

Ali was about to say Clara was probably punching the air with delight but knew that would only infuriate her boss. ‘Maybe you should stop following him for a while?’ Ali suggested.

‘And see our inheritance whistle into a Spanish wind with some woman he’s only known for five minutes?’

Ali stared at Mungo, who was immersed again in the images on his phone.

So that was what it was all about… she thought.

Mungo was worried about his inheritance.

It wasn’t the thought of his father enjoying himself so much as the possibility that Atticus might meet someone, fall in love, and even remarry.

Ali smiled. Stranger things have happened, and folk who find themselves single in the later years of their lives are often lonely and want to find a partner to share the final chapter.

Being aware of the legalities surrounding the Arnott family, Ali knew that Atticus’s name was on the business alongside Mungo and Mary, which encompassed the whole farm.

If Atticus died, everything would go to his children, but if Atticus remarried, Ali knew that his share, by law, would go to his wife unless they had a premarital agreement.

There was no current clause in the will to stop this, as no one ever envisaged Atticus remarrying.

Ali swivelled in her chair and turned to face her computer.

Mungo was still cursing his father, and Ali wondered why offspring never saw their parents as the rest of the world saw them.

Mungo was preoccupied with his own life and business, and Ali knew that he thought Atticus was old, uninterested in their lives, and now, an embarrassment.

Over time, through conversations with Helen over coffee in the village or during evenings at the local Women’s Institute, Ali had come to understand the depth of Atticus’s devotion.

Helen spoke of her father-in-law with fondness and admiration, knowing how tirelessly he must have worked to provide for his family and ensure they had a comfortable home and a good education.

Ali wondered if Mungo ever thought of the grief that consumed Atticus when Clara died, and the unbearable loss when he parted with his precious herd.

What a shame Mungo doesn’t stop and smell the roses , she thought. Only then would he see that his dad was happy, not a burden to his family, and enjoying his life for the first time in years.

The phone suddenly rang, and Ali picked it up. ‘Barn Hill Farm, Ali speaking. How may I help you?’ she said. But as she half-listened to the caller, she reached for a pen and made a note on her pad:

Open Instagram account today & follow The Travelling Grandad.