Page 36 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A tticus often spoke of his children and grandchildren, telling Britta about each one, and as he talked, he realised how special they all were.

‘I have no children and would love to get to know yours,’ Britta said. ‘Children are a gift to be cherished.’

‘I’d like you to meet them.’

‘That would make me so happy.’ Britta smiled.

One day, knowing that Britta wasn’t working, Atticus announced that he had a surprise trip planned. She was to be ready at ten o’clock and to pack a swimsuit. With Winnie’s awning safely removed, Atticus strapped Ness into her seat, and together in the camper, they headed for Casita del Mar.

As Winnie chugged happily through the lanes of Solma Vacaciones, the sun shone in the clear blue sky, and campers going about their day waved and smiled as Atticus drove past.

‘Where are you off to?’ Erik called out mid-workout in his outdoor gym.

Atticus pulled up by the pitch. ‘We’re going to Tabarca. What about you?’ he replied.

‘I have work to do and some local business to attend to,’ Erik replied, wiping his perspiring brow. ‘But we could catch up later?’

‘That would be grand,’ Atticus smiled, and revving Winnie’s engine, went on his way.

The route to the cottage had become as familiar as the winding lanes at Barn Hill Farm back home.

With Winnie’s engine purring gently, Atticus drove slowly through the little town of La Marina, where outdoor cafés were lively with patrons sipping coffee and catching the gossip of the day.

The track to the beach was bumpy, and as he carefully navigated, Atticus noticed many motorhomes still parked up in laybys, the sun-kissed occupants sitting outside chatting or heading to the sea for a swim.

‘Guten Morgen!’ Atticus called out as he recognised familiar faces from the café. Hands were raised in greeting, and smiles exchanged.

‘You’re right on time, as usual.’ Britta smiled as she slung her bag into Winnie and inched Ness along the seat. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Today, my love, we’re going to experience the magic of the island of Tabarca,’ Atticus said. ‘I hope you’ve packed your sketchbook.’

‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to go there,’ Britta said as she made herself comfortable and rested a hand on Atticus’s leg. ‘I can see the island from the cottage. It’s only accessible by boat from Alicante or Santa Pola.’

‘At this time of year, there are infrequent ferries,’ he said. ‘But I know one runs from Santa Pola today.’

‘And we have perfect weather for the trip.’ She reached out and gently stroked his cheek.

Atticus flicked Winnie into gear and turned to catch a glimpse of Britta. ‘Almost as perfect as you,’ he said with a smile.

A little while later, having navigated the narrow streets of the coastal town of Santa Pola, Atticus found a parking space for Winnie close to the harbourfront.

With Ness trotting beside them, they headed hand in hand to the ferry booth at a hut on the quayside, where Atticus purchased their return tickets.

Britta wore a colourful cotton dress, and her hair was in a heavy plait between her shoulders.

She held a floaty straw hat and wore jewelled sandals.

Atticus began to take photos as she climbed the boarding steps to the boat.

He grinned when Britta turned and waved with Ness beside her, the old dog’s tail wagging excitedly.

The sea was choppy, and a warm, salty spray dampened their skin as they sat on the upper deck and admired the passing scenery.

‘In summer, the island is a popular tourist destination,’ Atticus said. ‘People head over here because the snorkelling and scuba diving are so good.’

‘But is there much history?’ Britta asked.

‘I searched the internet and discovered that the island was a haven for Barbary pirates until the eighteenth century.’

Britta stared at the land, which slowly became more apparent as the boat got closer.

As sunlight danced on the waves, she could see the island’s rugged coastline with rocky cliffs and hidden coves.

Seabirds soared overhead as they approached the little harbour, where fishing boats bobbed like dancers, gracefully swaying, their colourful hulls painting the harbour with vibrant charm.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said as Atticus helped her step from the boat to the quayside.

‘Apparently, Tabarca is the smallest inhabited island in Spain,’ he explained as they wandered along cobbled paths, past a restaurant and café, before walking beneath a stone archway leading to the village.

The streets were narrow and lined with whitewashed buildings, where bougainvillea burst from window boxes beneath colourful wooden shutters.

An indent in a wall displayed a glass-fronted nativity scene, reminding the couple that Christmas wasn’t far away.

‘Will you still be here at Christmas?’ Britta asked, staring at the religious figures gathered around a crib.

‘Yes, I will.’ Atticus squeezed her hand. ‘I’d like to be with you if that’s okay.’

When Britta turned, smiled, and stood on her toes to kiss him, he felt that his heart might burst.

‘I’d like that very much,’ she whispered.

They wandered from one end of the island to the other and soon learnt that significant construction had taken place when King Charles III of Spain sought to fortify and populate the island.

‘These must be the defensive walls established by the king,’ Atticus said, looking up from his guidebook. ‘He was also responsible for the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul,’ he added as they stood in front of a large stone building, whose wooden cross dominated the skyline.

‘What a shame that the church is locked,’ Britta said, turning away. ‘I would have liked to look inside.’

‘In 1760, a group of Genoese sailors who’d been rescued from the Tunisian town of Tabarka were resettled on the island,’ Atticus continued. ‘The island then became known as Nueva Tabarca.’

‘New Tabarca.’ Britta nodded. ‘Wasn’t it also a place for prisoners too?’

Atticus flicked through the guidebook. ‘Yes, you’re correct. In the nineteenth century, Tabarca served as a state prison.’

‘Not too bad a place to be incarcerated.’

‘I would be happy to be incarcerated anywhere with you, my love.’ Atticus grinned. ‘Now, what about finding somewhere to eat before we head back on the ferry?’

A little while later, they sat under a canopy outside a restaurant and sipped cold white wine while waiting for their meal.

An old cat sprawled lazily on the pavement, basking in the sun’s heat.

It trained one eye on Ness, who, returning the cat’s stare, softly growled from under the table, where she was secured on her lead.

Britta was drawing on her sketchpad, and as he stared, Atticus wondered if now was the moment to ask about the terrible scars on her legs. Placing his glass down, he took a deep breath and gripped his hands together.

‘Britta, I have a question,’ he began. ‘Please tell me about your scars.’

Britta stopped, her pencil poised. Their eyes met, and with a sigh, she closed her pad.

‘Yes, it is time for me to tell you. But the scars are not just on my skin – they are in my heart too, and have taken a long time to heal.’ She reached out and took hold of Atticus’s hand. ‘You have helped me to heal.’

‘Go on…’

‘I want you to know that what I am about to tell you must never affect our relationship. You have helped me to become whole again and bury the past.’

‘Nothing you tell me will ever alter the love I feel for you,’ Atticus said.

‘From the moment I met you in the café, I knew that you were the one for me.’ Britta smiled and stroked his fingers. ‘I love you very much.’

‘So, tell me.’

‘My husband, Daan, was cruel,’ Britta began. ‘He sensed that life on the farm wasn’t for me, and although we were happy at first, as the years went by, I yearned for the freedom of my youth and to return to painting.’

‘What happened?’

‘When no babies came along, he called me names and gave insults, saying I was… how do you say… washed up… barren? Is that right?’

‘Well, no, it’s not right for him to say those things. ’

‘We had no children to work on the farm, no family to follow him, and he blamed me.’

‘What happened?’ Atticus’s voice was low, and he squeezed Britta’s hand.

‘He hurt me whenever he could, made me scared; I couldn’t get away.’ Britta hung her head, her voice hardly a whisper. ‘But I had a little money kept from housekeeping each week and began to save.’

‘So, you left?’

‘Well, not exactly. One day, he crept up on me and discovered where I hid the money. He was so angry that he reached for a kettle and threw it at me.’

‘Boiling water?’

‘Yes.’

Atticus felt bile rise in his throat, his anger intense. He took another deep breath and tried to stay calm. ‘What happened then?’

‘There was no choice. I ran out of the farm, and collapsed in the road in such pain… A neighbour passing in his truck saw me before Daan came out… I had to go to the hospital.’ Britta’s voice was hesitant. ‘The neighbour took me, and while I was there, I told a nurse what Daan had done.’

‘Was he arrested?’

‘Yes, the politie took him away for questioning. I knew I didn’t have much time, so I discharged myself. Then I returned to the farm, where I discovered his wallet and the key to a safe. I took enough money and valuables to make my escape.’

‘And that’s when you came to Spain?’

‘I had to leave. He might only have been fined, and next time, he would have killed me. Daan didn’t know I had applied for a passport using a post office address.

I took trains until I got far away, to Alicante, and then, after a bus ride south, I rented a room in Guardamar until I found the cottage and got a job at the café. ’

When their meal arrived, the server took great care to serve the house speciality, Caldero Tabarquino, a seafood stew made with onions, garlic, and tomatoes.

Atticus poured more wine and raised his glass to hers.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ he said. ‘Now I know why it was so hard for you to talk about your life with a husband who should be locked away for life.’ He took a drink, shook his head, then reached for her hand again.

‘But I can promise you that as long as we are together, no harm will ever come to you.’ Atticus smiled.

‘Now let’s celebrate our day with this delicious meal. ’

The sun began to dip in the sky as they boarded the ferry to leave the island. Atticus put his arm around Britta, and she lay her head on his shoulder while Ness nestled against their legs. He thought about Britta’s story and wondered how anyone could hurt a woman and be so cruel.

Thank God she had the strength and courage to get away from Daan and make a fresh start on her own, he thought, as the ferry glided across the now-calm waters.

The sky began to transform into a canvas of pinks and purples as the silhouettes of the approaching buildings of Santa Pola were softly illuminated by the sunset.

The bustling waterfront area came into view, and as visitors disembarked at the pier, they were greeted by the sounds of evening life.

Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses welcomed sightseers strolling along the quayside.

‘Thank you for a perfect day,’ Britta said as Atticus helped her climb into Winnie. ‘I will always remember our time on Tabarca.’

Atticus smiled as Winnie chugged to life. He drove away from the town and remembered that Erik had asked earlier if they might catch up that evening.

‘The day isn’t over just yet,’ Atticus said as they headed to La Marina. ‘Would you like to have drinks with Erik at Solma Vacaciones? I’m sure there will be others there, too.’

Britta gazed out at the salt lakes on either side of the road, where flamingos were gathered in the pink glow of the oncoming night. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she whispered. ‘Just as long as I’m with you.’