Page 45 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Thirty-Five

B ritta was kept in hospital overnight in Torrevieja for observation, but with no fractures, only shock and severe bruising, she was able to return to Casita del Mar the following day.

Atticus was anxious that she might not want to return to her home, but he didn’t have to worry.

Britta was determined that Daan wouldn’t ruin her newfound happiness and assured Atticus that she had every intention of carrying on with life precisely as before.

‘I don’t think he will come back,’ she said as she lay resting in bed and held onto his hand. ‘The police are looking for him, and with all the red paint on his face and clothing, he might not be too hard to find.’

Atticus was reluctant to tell Britta that he knew there wasn’t a hope in hell that Daan would return. But when she was feeling completely recovered, he would give a reason for the confidence he felt and assure her that she could live safely in the knowledge that Daan was out of her life forever .

When Cheryl and Ruby arrived at the cottage soon after Atticus’s call, Erik accompanied them.

Cheryl took Atticus in hand and, after making a mug of hot sweet tea, told him that he had experienced a shock and needed to be checked at the hospital, too.

Ruby, meanwhile, took charge of Ness. Erik spoke to the jogger and, after thanking him for all he’d done, assured the young man that there was a lifetime pass waiting for him on the door at Nancy’s, should he ever wish to relax in friendly surroundings.

Erik then spoke to the police and appeared to be on good terms with the officers.

To Atticus’s surprise, Daan was found within hours, staying in an apartment in Guardamar. He was taken to a cell, and the police allowed Erik to visit him.

‘You won’t have any more trouble from him,’ Erik told Atticus firmly. ‘Tell Britta that she has nothing to worry about now.’

Atticus felt laden with guilt. He’d promised Britta that he would protect her, and he’d failed.

But he instinctively knew that whatever had transpired in Daan’s cell and whatever words had been spoken by Erik had ensured that Daan would never come near Britta again.

Unwilling to push for further details, Atticus accepted Erik’s comments and thanked his friend.

‘It’s nothing,’ Erik said. ‘In my line of work, I deal with this sort of thing all the time. There are some bad eggs out there. ’

Britta had fallen asleep, and Atticus gently covered her with a blanket. Kissing her cheek, he made sure the blind in the bedroom was lowered to protect her from the sun, then went downstairs.

On the terrace, Cheryl sat on the swing. Ruby was walking along the shore, throwing a ball into the water for Ness to retrieve. Atticus joined Cheryl and heavily slumped onto a chair. Dark circles framed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. His clothes, once neat, were now rumpled.

‘You’re exhausted,’ Cheryl commented. She stood and poured from a pot on the table. ‘Here, drink this,’ she said, handing Atticus a mug.

‘Sweet tea – the elixir for life’s woes,’ Atticus said, smiling.

‘When the world feels heavy, sweet tea lightens the load.’ Cheryl placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve been up all night at the hospital. Why don’t you take a shower, then go and snuggle up with Britta?’

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea, but I have things that I need to do.’

‘Like what?’

‘Christmas is almost here. Do you remember when we discussed this?’

‘Yes, I haven’t forgotten, but there’s nothing for you to worry your weary head about. Ruby and I will take care of everything.’

‘But… I can’t let you both…’ Atticus began.

‘Of course you can; that’s what friends are for. And right now, the most important thing is your Britta.’

‘What’s that about Britta?’ Ruby called out. She stood on the steps, a towel in her hand as she attempted to dry a wriggling Ness.

‘I was just saying to Atticus that he needs to rest with Britta and leave all his Christmas arrangements to you and me,’ Cheryl said.

‘I quite agree.’ Ruby marched onto the terrace and stood before Atticus. ‘No arguments, and Ness will come with us too. She’ll enjoy a little break.’

Atticus knew that arguing was useless, and Cheryl’s suggestion was like music to his ears. Running a hand through his dishevelled hair, he leaned back, the chair creaking in response. Every ounce of his strength felt spent.

‘Okay, I accept your help,’ he said.

‘Good man,’ the two women replied. Taking an arm each, they hoisted Atticus from his chair and led him into the cottage.

‘There’s food in the fridge,’ Cheryl called out from the kitchen as Ruby clipped a lead onto Ness and gathered up her biscuits.

‘Sweet dreams!’ they chorused.

It was the last day of school before the Christmas break, and Mary was like a whirlwind. She wondered why schools couldn’t break up at least a week before Christmas to give parents time to prepare. With only four days to go before the big day, she had much to do.

She’d woken early and, dressing hurriedly, moved through the house, her mind full of tasks.

Conor wasn’t home, but she could see that his bed had been slept in and remembered that he’d put the kids to bed the night before.

He’d appeared relaxed and normal at school events, sitting next to Mary at Finn’s pantomime and Declan’s nativity, chatting with everyone as though their marriage was harmonious and happy.

But Mary knew that the gossiping mums weren’t fooled, and she’d overheard their whispered conversations from the row behind.

‘ I hear they’ve been arguing non-stop, something about financial troubles? ’

‘ Someone saw him leaving Creek House again last week, on his way to work .’

The agony for Mary went on.

Making sure breakfast was on the table before the kids stumbled into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed but excited for their last day, Mary was gentle but firm as she shepherded them through the morning routine – brushing teeth, finding shoes, and packing lunches.

As she bundled them into the car, Mary double-checked for backpacks.

‘Does Santa have my list?’ Declan asked. He sat beside Maeve, who was studying her phone, with his teddy gripped in his hand.

‘Yes, my darling, Santa knows what you want,’ Mary replied. ‘And there is a big surprise for you all tomorrow, so I want you to be extra good.’

‘Grandad hasn’t posted anything for two days,’ Maeve said, her thumb moving over her screen as she studied Instagram images.

‘He’s probably busy,’ Mary replied.

Mary thought it was most unusual that Atticus hadn’t uploaded any recent photos. Not a day had passed since his time in Spain when his followers hadn’t been treated to an update. She made a mental note to call him after completing the day’s many tasks.

With everyone safely at school, Mary drove home. In the kitchen, she made an extra-strong coffee. As she reached for her laptop and settled comfortably, her phone rang.

It was Mungo.

‘Bit early for you, isn’t it?’ Mary asked and took a sip of her drink. Mungo was generally elbow-deep in paperwork at this time of day.

‘Don’t hang up on me.’

‘It depends on what you have to say.’

‘Dad has bought that woman a house.’

Mungo’s tone was controlled, but Mary felt that her brother was about to lose it.

‘I know. But it’s not a house. It’s a cottage on the beach.’

‘ What ? You already know?’ Mungo was furious.

‘Yes, we spoke about it last week. The paperwork is with a lawyer, and Dad feels confident there won’t be any legal hitches.’

‘He told you, but informs me by email!’

‘Dad probably doesn’t want to be shouted at.’ Mary rolled her eyes.

‘He’s not answering his phone.’

‘Can you blame him? You’re hardly the Christmas fairy, waving your wand with good cheer.’

‘Don’t you realise what this means? ’

‘Yes, Mungo, I’m not stupid.’ Mary sighed. ‘Dad might get married again, and we need to have a conversation with him about changing his will.’

‘We can’t let some money-grabbing floozy get hold of it all.’ Mungo wasn’t listening to his sister. ‘First a house, next the farm.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get a grip and just listen to yourself.’ Mary placed her coffee down and began to pace. ‘Dad isn’t stupid, and he’ll never do anything to risk our financial future.’

‘But he’s lost his head. Women like that take advantage of doddering old men.’

Mary shook her head. She couldn’t believe Mungo’s naivety and wondered how Atticus would feel to be described as a doddering old man. Pinching her lips together, she decided to calm things down.

‘I’ll speak to Dad,’ Mary began. ‘Let me discuss the will and ensure he is clear in everything he does.’

‘At least he might answer his phone to you,’ Mungo grumbled, and Mary thought he sounded like a petulant child.

‘Leave it with me, and I’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve spoken,’ Mary said. ‘How’s business, you must be run off your feet with the Christmas trade?’

‘It’s hectic; the locals are stocking up on last-minute purchases. But I think it will drop off tomorrow, and we’ll close on Christmas Eve.’

‘Good, then you’ll have some time to spend with your family. I hope you’re taking a decent break.’

‘Yes, we don’t open again till the New Year.’

‘Perfect, and I hope Santa will put something lovely in your stocking, too.’

As Mary ended the call, she hoped that Mungo would relax. Her brother was tired, and he needed time off to be with his family and allow the tradition of Christmas to restore his energy.

She sighed, suddenly feeling tired, too. Reaching for her coffee, Mary took a long drink. The caffeine, like a bolt, cleared her fog, and she turned to her laptop to open her emails.

‘It’s you and me against the to-do list,’ she muttered as she clicked on her printer. ‘Let’s make like Santa and get this sleigh on the road…’

The snug at The Black Bull was packed, and Arthur kept his elbows close to his sides as he sat in his corner, sipping a pint of ale.

The air was thick with the scent of mulled wine, and patrons, bundled in festive sweaters, filled every nook and cranny.

Arthur tutted as he stood to replenish his drink.

‘I can hardly hear myself think in here today,’ Arthur complained to Reg, who wore a Santa hat and moved deftly behind the bar.

‘Be with you in a mo.’ Reg was cheerful as he ladled mulled wine into glasses and poured steaming mugs of spiced cider.

‘You should have an area reserved for your regulars,’ Arthur chuntered as he watched Reg grasp the wooden handle of a beer tap and pull it skilfully towards him. The beer flowed into the glass with a frothy flourish, leaving a creamy head.

‘Where’s your Christmas cheer?’ Reg grinned. ‘You should enjoy the company, especially with your mate being so far away.’ He handed the freshly poured pint to Arthur.

Arthur sighed as he returned to his seat.

His Christmas cheer was currently taking a break, and it wouldn’t return until Shirley’s numerous friends and relatives had packed up and returned to their respective homes.

Shirlarth Cottage had become a seasonal sanctuary for numerous waifs and strays and Arthur envisioned his Yuletide days being spent in his shed, when he wasn’t busy washing dishes at the Christmas castaway camp.

‘Uncle Arthur!’ a voice called out.

Arthur looked up and was delighted to see Jake burst into the snug.

‘Hey up.’ Arthur smiled. ‘This is a grand surprise. Now that you’ve finished school, I thought you’d be working at the farm.’

Jake pulled up a chair and squeezed in beside Arthur at his table.

‘No, the caravan site is closed now till the new year,’ Jake explained, ‘and there’s nothing for me to do in the shop.’

‘Time on your hands, how lovely.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Have you heard from your Grandad?’

‘Nope – he’s gone off grid.’

‘Eh?’

‘SMS.’

‘Ah.’ Arthur nodded, clueless.

‘Social Media Silence,’ Jake explained. ‘But it doesn’t matter because I think I know how we can speak to him very soon.’

‘It would be good to give him a Christmas surprise,’ Arthur agreed. ‘Shall we do that face thingy or hype?’

‘FaceTime or Skype,’ Jake corrected and scratched the back of his neck. ‘No, listen.’ He reached into his rucksack for his laptop and then placed it on the table. ‘I’ve had an idea.’

‘This should be good,’ Arthur mused and drained his pint. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Reg,’ he called out and held up his empty glass. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’