Page 5 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Four

T he following morning, during his tour of the business, Mungo watched caravan guests in the shop loading baskets with farm-fresh eggs, pantry staples, and regional treats.

The butcher’s counter showcased prime cuts and tender lamb, and the cake display tempted him with fluffy scones.

Mungo’s stomach rumbled. It was time for breakfast.

At the farmhouse, Eliza greeted him, ‘Hi, Dad.’ She wrestled a scrunchie around her wild hair in readiness for her stint in the café. ‘You’d better be quick if you want something to eat.’

‘Thanks for the heads up, I’m starving. Have a good shift, the café is full already.’

‘That means I’ll be knee-deep in pots.’ Eliza grinned and, tying an apron, dashed away.

In the kitchen, Finn was dribbling a football. ‘Uncle Mungo! Play football with me?’

‘I’ll certainly have a kickabout later,’ Mungo ruffled Finn’s thick curls as he shot the ball into the hallway.

Mary was fussing around the table, and Mungo thought how well she looked. Irish life suited her, despite the hectic lifestyle. Her chestnut hair cascaded in waves, and her peachy complexion was as fresh as the day she’d left for Kindale.

‘Conor couldn’t make it?’ Mungo asked.

‘He’s swamped with a big land deal,’ Mary said, peeling a banana. ‘He’s barely been home.’

‘I thought summer was a quieter period?’

‘Not for property deals,’ she sighed. ‘It’s cutthroat, and Conor must stay competitive.’

‘Well, I’m just a humble shop manager.’

‘With a booming business,’ Mary countered.

Mungo shrugged. Business was booming, but borrowings were high to cover their rapid expansion, and repayments were a constant worry.

‘It’s good to have you here,’ Mungo said, biting back the thought that Conor should have made time to be with his family, though the two men had never been close.

Turning to Helen, he asked, ‘What are your plans for the day?’

‘I’m taking Maeve and Caitlin to a craft fair in Eden this morning,’ Helen said and sipped her coffee. ‘I’ve baked scones for the cake stall.’

Maeve gave a thumbs-up while Caitlin frowned, glued to her phone.

Mary began to clear the table and wiped sticky fingers and jam-smudged faces. ‘ I’ll take the boys to see Dad.’

‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy your company,’ Mungo smiled. ‘You’ll find him up on the fells.’ Reaching out, he grabbed Helen’s coffee and drained it. Dodging her playful slap, he winked. ‘Enjoy the fair,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘See you all later.’

Seconds later, Mungo was out of the door.

Up on the fells, the morning sunshine softened the craggy peaks of the rugged landscape, creating ever-changing patterns on the sloping hills.

Atticus sat in his usual spot on the drystone wall and, as he did every morning, felt the magical spell of Cumbria embrace him.

How he longed for the days when, together with Clara, he’d led a simple, unhurried life of caring for their sheep, raising their children, and enjoying the gentle goings-on in the village.

Atticus sighed, feeling like a stranger on his own land.

Reaching down, he stroked Ness’s soft, silky fur.

The dog nudged his hand and began to thump her tail.

Her imploring eyes told him that it was time to move on.

Morning walks were not meant to be spent sitting still while rabbits and hares darted among rocks and heather, teasing the Collie, who longed to be in hot pursuit.

Returning his gaze to the farmhouse, Atticus wasn’t surprised to see Mary heading his way with Declan hanging off her hand, and Finn bouncing a ball alongside.

His peaceful morning had ended.

‘Come on,’ he said, cuffing the dog. As he stirred Ness into motion, Atticus straightened the brim of his hat, then stood upright, leaning on his crook. ‘It’s time to face the music.’

Mary had been unable to find her father in his cottage but knew he must be up and about.

An empty cup with the dregs of tea sat beside a crumb-filled plate, but elsewhere, the place was tidy.

At least he’s looking after himself , she thought, as she wandered over to the pine dresser and fondly stroked Clara’s plates, so lovingly collected over the years.

Her fingers touched an old wooden needle box, and she traced the edges of the lid. ‘Dear Lord, he’s still got some of Mum’s ashes,’ Mary whispered as she peered inside.

It had been years since they’d scattered most of her mother’s remains over the fells, a gentle wind carrying Clara away into the endless sky, just as her mother had wanted.

But Atticus had kept a little back. Mary swallowed hard and glanced at her mother’s empty chair by the stove.

‘I understand, Dad,’ she murmured. ‘I really do.’

In the yard, Mary walked past a pen where half a dozen Herdwick sheep were being petted by a group of children.

No wonder Dad felt so sad , she thought, remembering the vast flock that had been her father’s pride and joy.

But after her mother’s death, Atticus’s grief, which appeared to have no end, had led to his lethargy, and it never seemed to change.

But could Mary change her father? There was only one way to find out.

Wandering along the trodden earth that formed a pathway from the farm to the fells, Mary felt Declan pulling on her hand.

His weight was heavy, and with the exertion of the climb, she wished she’d put more effort into her gym sessions.

Her occasional visits to Kindale Golf and Wellness Retreat hardly warranted the expensive membership.

As Mary felt a shortness of breath, she determined that she would indulge in her fitness when she got home.

Sitting in the restaurant with the Ladies’ Lunch Club did nothing to improve her stamina or waistline.

Unlike Conor, who was as fit as a fiddle and insisted on spending time there most days, assuring Mary that most of his deals were done on the golf course and in the bar, and justified the expense.

‘Where’s Grandad?’ Declan asked, gripping his teddy.

‘Probably hiding beside the long wall.’ Mary pointed as she steadied her youngest son.

‘Will he play football with me?’ Finn kicked the ball as they reached the summit.

‘You can ask him.’

‘How much further?’ Declan began to whine.

‘We’re nearly there. Look, here’s Ness.’

Mary saw the Collie race along the grass and, with a natural herding instinct, manoeuvre around Finn to dribble the ball between her paws and intercept his pass.

Declan thrust his teddy into Mary’s arms and ran ahead to join in.

As the game got underway, Mary turned to look for Atticus and found him, as she expected, by the long wall. ‘ There you are,’ Mary called out. ‘We’ve been looking for you.’

‘Aye, well, you’ve found me.’ Atticus smiled as Mary kissed his cheek.

‘I need to sit down. The climb up here has me gasping.’

‘Finn has some fancy footwork,’ Atticus commented as he watched his grandson circle the ball around Ness with lightning speed.

‘He’s on the school team and plays for Kindale in the Under Twelves.’

‘It was rugby in my day.’

‘Ours too.’ Mary looked thoughtful. ‘I remember Mungo being a great prop-forward when he played for the school.’

‘He was built for it,’ Atticus nodded.

‘Finn is like his father; he is lean and athletic and scores every time he plays.’

Mary turned her head a fraction to study her father’s face. He was chatty today, which was a good sign. ‘So,’ Mary began, ‘how are you feeling?’

‘You sound like your brother. I get asked that question every day.’

‘And what’s your answer?’

‘The same as it always is. I’m fine, perfectly happy.’

‘But Dad, you don’t do anything. You used to be so active, but now, it’s just dog walking and playing dominoes.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s not what Mum would have wanted.’

‘Here we go…’ Atticus began to tap his foot. ‘If your mu m isn’t nagging me from above, you chip in with your pestering from below.’

Mary’s eyes widened. ‘Mum talks to you?’

‘All the time.’

‘What does she say?’

Atticus gripped his crook and stared out at the hills. His eyes, amber depths that twinkled when he laughed, were wet. ‘She tells me not to let the old man in.’

‘Clint Eastwood.’ Mary smiled, recognising the words. How many times had Mum enjoyed the actor’s films! But realising that Atticus had let old age come romping in, Mary suddenly felt annoyed.

‘Listen,’ she said and eased off the wall. ‘It’s time to stop living in the past! If Mum is still with you in spirit, don’t you think she’d be getting fed up with you?’

‘Eh?’ Atticus raised his eyebrows.

‘Make some more memories. Take Mum on a new journey.’ Mary stood with her hands on her hips. ‘Look out your window, Dad, and smile more because you’re fit and healthy, and age is just a number.’

Atticus shook his head. ‘I’m getting on, Mary. My get-up-and-go has gone.’

‘You’re NOT old,’ Mary’s voice rose. ‘Seventy is nothing these days. It’s all a state of mind.

’ Seeing Finn and Declan pause their game to stare, she smiled and waved before carrying on.

‘We’re going to be productive today and make a start on clearing out the old barn, where you’re hoarding stuff that should have been rehomed years ago. ’

Atticus banged his crook on the ground to shake off debris then nodded towards Declan’s abandoned teddy. ‘Are you bringing that with you or leaving it here?’ he asked.

Mary snatched the bear while Atticus marched ahead. As he passed the children, he whistled for Ness. The dog, reluctant to stop playing but conditioned to her owner’s commands, trotted obediently behind him.

‘Aw, Grandad!’ Finn’s face creased in frustration as the game abruptly ended.

‘Is Grandad grumpy?’ Declan asked.

Mary scooped Declan into her arms and hurried behind Atticus to return to the farm. ‘Grandad has a job to do,’ she said, marching everyone down the hill.

The barn door creaked as Mary wrestled with the closure.

With a sigh, Atticus nudged her out of the way and opened the door.

As they stepped in, dust motes swirled in the streaks of sunlight that sliced through gaps in the weathered wooden planks, their rough surfaces bearing the scars of decades of use.

‘When did you last come in here?’ Mary asked. She was conscious of the rusting nails jutting out at odd angles and held Declan’s hand tightly.

‘Years ago,’ Atticus replied. He stared at the shelves sagging under the weight of glass jars filled with nails, screws, and bolts.

A dull-bladed sickle lay propped against the wall.

‘Your brother let me keep this barn to store anything I wanted to hold on to when he made all the changes to the farm. ’

‘Well, don’t you think it’s about time you had a sort out?’

‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ he said and kicked an ancient wheelbarrow.

‘I’ll help you,’ Finn said excitedly. Fascinated, he stared at a child’s wooden chair, its paint chipped and peeling.

‘That was mine,’ Mary said, her voice full of nostalgia. ‘Grandad painted it pink for me. Do you remember Dad?’

‘Aye.’ Atticus began to chuckle. ‘You thought you were a princess on a throne.’

The door creaked, and they turned to see Jake.

‘Grandad!’ Jake shouted. ‘What’s going on in here?’

‘We’re having a sort out,’ Mary said, brushing dust off Declan’s hands. ‘Can you help?’

Jake beamed. ‘I’ve been dying to get in here, but Dad has forbidden me.’ His eyes gleamed as he saw the old tools. ‘It’s like a time capsule. What’s first?’ he asked, rubbing his hands together.

Mary smiled. ‘Shall we see what’s at the back of the barn?’

They made their way past a pile of sheep shearing gear, and Atticus paused to study a pile of old combs, cutters, and weighing scales.

‘Did you use all this?’ Jake asked, frowning as he picked up a tin of raddle powder.

‘Aye, and I used this marking harness to brand the sheep.’ Atticus stroked the aged equipment.

‘What’s behind all this big stuff?’ Mary asked, gesturing for Jake to help lift and move a stack of wooden posts and several reams of mesh and fencing material to one side.

Mary felt almost giddy as the shape of something familiar began to appear in the barn’s shadowy rear. Her heart was thumping as she moved toward the heavily draped canvas, covered in decades of dust and cobwebs.

‘What is it?’ Finn asked nervously.

‘Well, I never…’ Atticus was motionless as he stared at the object. ‘I’d completely forgotten…’

Everyone was silent and the old barn seemed to hold its breath.

Then Mary nodded to Jake, and suddenly, they took hold of the canvas and pulled it away with one dramatic sweep. Clasping her hands to her mouth, Mary gasped.

There she was! The Westfalia camping van!

A relic of past family holidays, once a bright yellow but now dulled by time, it was unmistakable. The round headlights stared like eyes, and the front grille seemed to smile as the old van was reunited with its owner.

Atticus was frozen, unable to move. ‘Hello, Winnie,’ he whispered.

‘Grandad!’ Jake breathed. ‘She’s amazing…’ He stepped forward and slowly began to caress the paintwork, assessing her condition with awe.

‘Do you remember?’ Mary asked, her voice soft as though afraid to break the spell.

A smile broke across Atticus’s face. ‘How could I forget?’ he murmured, his voice full of emotion. ‘Winnie took us everywhere.’

‘I wondered if you might get her going again,’ Mary said and glanced at Jake. ‘With your grandson’s help, of course.’

‘Oh, yes, Grandad, we have to!’ Jake said excitedly .

‘Well, she’s going to be in a state,’ Atticus finally replied. ‘It would be a big job to bring her back to life.’

Mary looked at her father, and a flicker of hope stirred in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she’d found the key to unlock his lethargy, and Winnie – the camper that had once carried so many memories – could bring Atticus back to life, too.

The old van sat in its fading glory, patiently waiting, as if it knew it had another story to tell. And perhaps, Mary prayed, with Jake’s hard work and Atticus’s enthusiasm, the best chapters for Winnie and her dad were yet to come.