Page 50 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Forty

A tticus and Britta hosted Christmas Day at their home, Casita del Mar.

The children helped Britta add more decorations to the Christmas tree and collected seashells from the shore.

Britta added colourful items from her assortment of flotsam and jetsam, and Declan’s face beamed as he added a starfish to the top.

With the lunchtime sun casting a glow across the sandy beach, Mary helped Atticus arrange a barbecue, beach chairs, and blankets.

The café was open for drinks, and a local band set up on a small stage, entertaining with a mix of carols and upbeat tunes.

People gathered with picnics, some dancing barefoot in the sand while others swayed to the music and children played games.

‘I think you’ve found a little piece of heaven here,’ Mary said to Atticus as she watched Jake and Finn play football with a group of Spanish boys.

‘It’s not a bad life, is it?’ Atticus agreed as he stared at the shore where Arthur, trousers rolled up, was paddling.

‘ I’m going to start fishing on the boat Erik owns,’ Atticus announced.

‘Erik says the local man who rents it would appreciate a hand during the season, and I rather fancy trying my hand at harvesting the sea instead of herding the land.’

‘That’s a great idea, you’ll enjoy keeping busy.’

‘Aye, while we’re here, we’ll be spending time between Spain and Cumbria.’

‘Britta is lovely. I’m so happy for you both,’ Mary said as she watched the barbecue begin to flame. ‘Thank goodness you were here when Daan tracked her down.’

‘I wish I’d been with her when he broke in.’

Mary stared at her dad, relieved that he hadn’t been at the cottage. A fight with Daan could have been fatal. ‘But if Britta is still married to Daan,’ she asked, ‘won’t he make a claim on the cottage if it’s in her name?’

‘She’s applying for a quick divorce in Holland, and when both parties agree, it’s only a matter of weeks,’ Atticus explained, ‘and it will take that long for the sale of the cottage to go through.’

‘But why would Daan agree to a divorce?’ Mary was puzzled.

‘He’ll agree,’ Atticus said with certainty.

Atticus thought about Erik and the power of Erik’s chat with Daan following his arrest. If Daan wanted to return to Utrecht upon his ultimate release from his forthcoming custodial sentence for the attack on Britta, avoiding any contact with her would ensure that he stayed alive to enjoy his remaining years .

Behind Erik’s affable appearance was a man of iron will.

At Solma Vacaciones, there were rumours of Erik’s involvement in the underworld, but given his laid-back attitude and kindness to all, no one dug too deep.

Atticus knew that Erik could easily navigate both the social and the sinister sides of his life and felt grateful to have the Dutchman on his side.

Mary instinctively knew by Atticus’s reply that Daan wouldn’t resurface. ‘But Daan found Britta through the photos on your Instagram account,’ she said.

‘Aye, well, that’s the danger of social media.’ Atticus frowned.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s been fun being The Travelling Grandad, but I’m closing the account,’ he replied.

‘Why? You’ve encouraged a host of the later-life generation to set off on a great adventure, and your followers love your posts.’

‘And that’s where it ends.’ Atticus was firm. ‘I cannot put Britta or my family in jeopardy. Social media can have a dark side.’ Atticus reached for a beer from a cooler and offered it to Mary before taking one for himself. ‘There’s trolls too, you know. Not everyone is happy about my travels.’

‘How do you deal with that?’

‘I don’t reply to the comments, block the sender, and delete the posts. ’

‘I see your point.’

‘But what about you? Divorce can take a terrible toll, and I know you’re putting a brave face on things.’

‘It’s agony if I’m honest,’ Mary said and felt Atticus’s comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘I spoke to Conor this morning, and things haven’t turned out how he expected them to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Lucinda has ended their relationship, and he’s on his own at Belvedere House, which isn’t a great deal of fun at Christmas.’

‘But what did he expect?’ Atticus gripped Mary’s shoulders and turned her to face him.

‘Conor didn’t consider you when he had you dangling on a string all that time while he made up his mind.

His children were low on his list of priorities, too.

’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, but I think he’s got what he deserves. ’

‘I know that you’re right,’ Mary sighed. ‘But when the children spoke to him today, they were enthusiastic and excited about everything in Spain. It must have been hard for him to hear.’

‘Too bad.’ Atticus shrugged.

‘Caitlin wouldn’t go to the phone, though. She refuses to speak to her daddy.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Caitlin.’ Atticus pointed to a young couple playing bat and ball on the beach. Caitlin was laughing with the jogger, whose name was Luis. ‘She seems preoccupied to me,’ he said, smiling.

‘Well, we have a week here, and Conor has time off from work to be with the kids when we return. His office is closed for two weeks.’

‘Then he can explain to them. Make sure he moves to one of the properties he rents out,’ Atticus added.

‘To be honest, letting him take over childcare for a few days will be good. If you remember, I have a new business kicking off in the new year.’

‘How has that gone down?’

‘Like a lead balloon.’ Mary began to chuckle. ‘When Conor stopped crying and pleading with me to change my mind, he suddenly remembered that I’m starting Arnott’s Auctioneers.’

‘I can’t imagine that he was happy?’

‘He was furious. In fact, he called me every name under the sun and accused me of sleeping with Cillian McCarthy.’

‘The cheek!’

‘He even added Ruari into the mix and said I must be sleeping with him too.’ Mary sighed. She remembered Ruari’s kiss, his gorgeous eyes and wonderful embrace, and almost wished she were.

‘He’s trying to find blame that might justify his actions.’

Mary linked her arm through Atticus’s. ‘An angry Conor is far easier to deal with than a crying Conor,’ she said. ‘I had no hesitation in ending the call while he ranted and raved. He won’t have liked that.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t.’ Atticus grinned.

‘Have you spoken to Mungo?’ Mary asked.

‘I phoned to wish them a happy Christmas, but I’m afraid I woke him quite early this morning. Mungo wasn’t exactly filled with Christmas cheer.’

‘He’ll be furious that Jake is here.’

‘That was one of his grievances.’

‘And the rest?’

‘Where do I start…’

They both looked out to sea, where Arthur, who’d been chatting with a fisherman, was now heading up the beach. Dressed in his Santa hat and snowman jumper, he waved when he saw them.

‘The barbecue is ready,’ Atticus said, taking a long-handled fork.

‘Do we have enough food?’ Mary asked.

‘Enough to feed an army,’ Atticus replied. ‘Erik sent us the buffet excess from last night and, as you can see, the cavalry has arrived.’

Trooping along the beach, arms laden with bags of food, came Cheryl and Ruby.

‘Cooee!’ Cheryl called out. ‘Feliz Navidad!’

Cheryl was dressed as an elf, and her bright red-and-green costume hugged her frame.

The bells on her shoes jingled with every step, and the bright red pom-pom on her hat matched her heavily rouged cheeks.

Ruby, meanwhile, wore a more sedate outfit in stretchy brown Lycra, complete with bouncing antlers on her head.

‘By heck, the gnomes have arrived!’ Arthur panted as he joined them and looked anxiously around.

‘Relax, my friend,’ Atticus said, handing Arthur a beer. ‘It’s only Cheryl and Ruby.’

‘Whew! For a moment, I thought Shirley had found me.’

‘Happy Christmas!’ Cheryl said and greeted them all. ‘We thought we’d dress up as a treat for the kiddies. ’

Atticus thought the kiddies might be traumatised at the sight of the two pensioners in their party wear, but he returned the greetings and handed his friends a beer.

‘Erik and Sophia aren’t far behind,’ Cheryl said. ‘They’re rollerblading.’

In the distance, travelling in harmony along the boardwalk parallel to the beach, two figures dressed as Mr and Mrs Claus came into sight.

Sophia, her lengthy hair cascading, wore a sequinned, fur-trimmed mini-dress that caught the light as she glided, followed by Erik in scarlet Speedos and a Santa hat. ‘Feliz Navidad!’ they called out.

‘I wouldn’t mind a pair of those Speedos,’ Arthur said, wide-eyed.

‘Grandad, can I get some rollerblades?’ Jake asked and stared at Sophia as she joined them.

‘Here, Jake, try these,’ Erik said as he unbuckled his boots and gave them to Jake, then reached into the cooler for a beer. Moments later, Jake, gripping Sophia’s hand, stumbled falteringly along the boardwalk.

‘He’ll soon get the hang of it,’ Arthur mused as Jake tumbled head-over-heels onto the beach.

As night closed in, the terrace at Casita del Mar was a peaceful retreat, the air carrying the woody scent of a distant beach bonfire and the faint sound of waves lapping against the shore.

Everyone had returned, tired but happy, to their accommodation.

Atticus sat on the swing with Britta, her head on his shoulder, eyes closed, as he remembered the bustling family Christmas Day.

Candles in lanterns flickered as he recalled the games they’d played with the children. Everyone joined in for beach cricket, and Atticus smiled when Cheryl collided with Arthur as they reached up to catch a ball.

‘I’ve been elfed!’ Arthur called out as he tumbled beneath Cheryl, and they fell onto the sand.

Atticus, encouraged by Britta, had gone for a dip and, once in the water, called out for everyone to dive in. The children squealed at first but soon began to enjoy the gentle waves. Mary, braving a bikini, produced a ball and, with Declan on her shoulders, threw it for everyone to catch.

The twilight blue of the night reflected the stars overhead, and Atticus watched their light bouncing off the sea’s surface and thought of Mary and Mungo.

How he wished that Mary could find a partner who adored her. Her heart had been broken and her trust destroyed, but she deserved to be loved and appreciated. Any man in his right mind would snap her up.

On the other hand, Mungo lived in greyscale and seemed trapped in a cloud of gloom.

How Atticus wished that his son could wake up and realise that the life he’d created was wonderful.

His wife was a diamond, and he had two fantastic kids.

The business would sustain them all, becoming a pot of gold at the end of Mungo’s retirement rainbow.

But as Atticus stroked Britta’s hair, he thought he was the luckiest man alive, and tonight was the end of a perfect day. Kissing her forehead, he gently closed his eyes and whispered, ‘Feliz Navidad.’