Page 6 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Five

I n the warmth of the lazy summer evening, laughter and chatter filled the garden of The Black Bull.

Customers gathered around picnic tables to enjoy alfresco dining, tucking into hearty food and sipping on locally brewed beer.

Hanging baskets, bursting with flowers, nestled beneath the thick thatched roof.

Inside the packed pub, tantalising cooking smells wafted from the kitchen, while a local musician strummed a guitar.

He sang familiar folk songs, and locals joined visitors to sing along.

In the snug, dressed alike in plaid cotton shirts and corduroy trousers, Atticus sat next to Arthur in their favourite corner by the bar.

‘It’s busy here tonight,’ Atticus complained as he tipped his hat back.

‘It’s like this most nights when Reg has the music on,’ Arthur agreed.

‘I can hardly hear myself think,’ Atticus grumbled .

At that moment, the song ended, and the singer announced that he would take a short break.

‘That’s better,’ Arthur said. ‘Now you can tell me what you’ve been up to today. Has Mary been mithering?’

Atticus held his empty glass up to Reg, the landlord, who slid two fresh pints towards them. ‘Mary has made it her mission to enhance my life.’

Arthur looked puzzled, but Atticus continued, ‘She says I should look out of my window and smile.’

‘They’ll be locking you up if you do too much of that.’ Arthur chuckled.

‘I’ve spent all afternoon with her and Jake, going through stuff in an old barn that I wouldn’t let Mungo clear out.’

‘Is there much in there?’

‘Well, I used to store the Little Grey Fergie in one section, but Jake has her in his own workshop now.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Oh, you know, bits and pieces that I didn’t want to get rid of.’ Atticus was enjoying building the suspense. ‘And some of my own things that I’d forgotten about.’

‘Like what?’

‘There’s a pile of shearing gear, some old combs and cutters and weighing scales.’ Atticus stared wistfully into his pint.

‘Not much use to you now.’ Arthur nodded.

‘Aye, I know.’

For a moment, the pair sat with folded arms, a far-off look in their eyes.

‘Was that it?’ Arthur asked impatiently. ‘No pot of gold that you’d forgotten about?’

‘Well, Mary insisted that I go through everything, and there was something…’

Arthur sat up, his curiosity piqued.

‘Do you remember that camper Clara and I used to take on holidays when the twins were small?’

‘The bright yellow 1985 VW Westfalia?’ Arthur almost dropped his pint. He recalled the vehicle with fondness and, reaching out, grabbed his friend’s arm.

‘Aye, that’s the one.’

‘I remember it well. Today, it would be a prized vintage vehicle.’ Arthur nodded enthusiastically. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve still got it?’

‘Jake found her tucked away behind a tall stack of handling pens. I couldn’t believe it because I’d forgotten all about her.’

‘Good grief.’ Arthur rubbed his hands together, then paused. ‘But I expect she’s falling apart?’

‘On the contrary, her bodywork looks good, and once we’d got the bonnet up, Jake felt sure he’d be able to get the engine going.’ Atticus grinned. ‘She was mucky though. Her colour looked grey, not yellow.’

‘So, what are your plans?’

‘I’ll let Jake tinker around and see if he can get the old girl to start. Then I’ll probably sell her, not that she’d be worth much.’

‘You might be surprised. A vintage vehicle like that might be a collectable,’ Arthur said, his eyes glowing. ‘Well, I never… Who would have thought it?’

The following morning, Atticus, as usual, woke early and crept out of the cottage as dawn rose and his family slept.

The sun began its gentle ascent, and as birdsong filled the air, the rolling hills emerged from the darkness.

Atticus, crook in hand, made his way to his favourite spot while Ness ran ahead, casting dancing shadows on the dew-kissed grass.

Atticus settled himself on the long wall.

This was the best part of his day and from his viewpoint, he could watch the familiar world below.

He remembered the days when his sheep, like fluffy clouds, moved in unison over the fells, and he could almost hear their gentle bleat and contented munching as they grazed.

In his mind, he saw Clara, her hair like a golden red ribbon fluttering in the breeze as she wound her way along the path with a basket in her hand. So often, she would join him for a picnic while enjoying the happy rhythm of their life in the countryside.

‘Hey, Clara,’ Atticus suddenly called out. ‘I’ve found Winnie! What do you think?’

Slowly, her ethereal vision shimmered, and she turned to face him. ‘I think it’s time you made that trip to Spain…’ And then, her ghostly image was gone, fading like a distant puff of cloud.

The countryside was quiet, save for the beating of Atticus’s heart. Ness placed her head on his knee, and with a thoughtful expression, he began to stroke the old dog.

Atticus had fallen asleep. His eyes were closed and his head drooped when the sound of an engine suddenly disturbed the peace.

‘Wake up, old lass,’ Atticus said, gently prodding a drowsy Ness with the toe of his sturdy boot. He stared down at the farm and squinted.

The Little Grey Fergie was chugging along the yard, smoke puffing from her chimney. Attached to the bar behind the tractor, Winnie was being towed. When it came to a stop, Atticus saw Jake leap from the driver’s seat.

‘What on earth!’ Atticus called out.

Jake released the vehicle, and Atticus could see that his grandson, dressed in overalls, had moved the tractor away and wheeled a workbox into the yard.

‘Jake’s got Winnie out!’ Atticus crossly said to Ness.

Cursing, he moved swiftly down the path. As the pair got closer, Atticus saw Mary. With Declan in her arms and Finn bouncing a ball alongside, she stood beside the camper, staring towards the fells.

‘Morning, Dad,’ she called out. ‘It’s a perfect day to do something useful.’

Atticus reached the yard and was about to forbid Jake from going under the bonnet when a jet of water from a hose almost knocked him back. ‘Look out!’ Atticus yelled.

‘I thought I’d clean her up before we start work on the engine,’ Jake called out.

Taking a sponge from a bucket of soapy water, he handed the hose to Finn and began to wash the camper.

‘Hold it steady while I ease layers of muck off her bodywork,’ Jake instructed his cousin.

Taking great care, he lathered the sponge and began to rub the paintwork in gentle circular movements.

‘I didn’t give him permission to do this.’ Atticus turned to Mary, frustration in his voice. ‘A vintage vehicle needs to be carefully handled.’

‘Well, someone had to make a start,’ Mary said as Declan wriggled free from her arms. ‘You’ve let it sit in the barn for decades.’

‘Mummy, what is it?’ Declan asked. His little face was puzzled as he gripped his teddy and watched Finn and Jake move around with the bucket and hose.

‘It’s Grandad’s special van,’ Mary replied. ‘A little house on wheels.’

‘Has it got a bed?’

‘Yes, and a kitchen.’

Declan moved over to Atticus. ‘Grandad, what’s your house called?’

Atticus felt little fingers reach out and curl themselves into his palm.

Declan’s soft skin was warm against the rough calluses on his hand, and for a moment, Atticus felt a stab in his chest as the little boy, still gripping his teddy, cuddled against his legs.

His heart began to melt, and a stirring emotion took Atticus by surprise. ‘We used to call her Winnie,’ he said.

For a moment, the years dissolved, and a young Mungo was beside him.

Atticus closed his eyes and heard happy chatter as Clara and little Mary climbed into the camper. ‘ We’re all going on a summer holiday… ’ they’d sang.

What fun they’d had on their outings !

‘Are you alright, Dad?’ Mary asked, touching his arm. ‘Dad?’ she repeated. ‘You’re miles away.’

‘I’m fine.’ Atticus held onto Declan and watched years of grime dissolve as Finn and Jake worked methodically. A smile tugged at him as the yellow paintwork slowly emerged.

Maeve and Caitlin came into the yard, and as Maeve raised her eyes from her phone, she asked, ‘What’s going on?’

‘We’re working on Grandad’s old camper,’ Mary said, linking her arm through Caitlin’s. ‘It’s called Winnie.’

‘It looks like a wreck to me,’ Maeve mumbled.

‘It’s far from a wreck,’ Jake said, studying his handiwork. ‘We’ll have to re-chrome’ – he softly stroked the trim – ‘but the paintwork is amazing. I’ll get to work with polymer wax. It will bring this up like new.’

‘Can you fix the engine?’ Mary asked.

Atticus felt a shiver as Clara whispered in his ear, ‘ Of course, you can! You’ll have the old girl fixed up in no time .’

‘Well, it will need stripping down…’ Atticus began. Staring in at the dust-covered engine, he pointed out details to Jake. ‘It’s a fuel-injection system, known as a DigiJet,’ Atticus explained. ‘And this model, built in 1985, is a 1.9 litre, water-cooled.’

Finn joined Jake with the engine inspection. Their heads dipped as they listened to their grandad enthuse.

‘You can see that it’s a manual transmission,’ Atticus adjusted Declan’s weight on his hip.

‘So, she’s heavy on gas.’ Jake nodded .

‘There’s a lot to do to get her back on the road.’ Atticus pursed his lips.

‘All the usual checks – spark plugs, air, fuel, and oil filters.’ Jake began to poke about. ‘The brake fluid will need flushing and replacing,’ he added.

‘If there’s any left after all this time. It’s a big task.’

‘Can me and Teddy sleep in it?’ Declan asked, rubbing his cheek against Atticus’s face.

‘And me?’ Finn turned to his grandad.

‘The inside will be in a state and need fixing up. The mice will have had their way over the years, and everything will be in tatters.’

Atticus moved around the vehicle and, still holding onto Declan, slowly slid back the side door. The mechanism was rusty and reluctant to move, but with Jake’s help, the inside of the camper was soon revealed.

‘Well, that’s a surprise…’ Atticus shook his head as though to clear his vision.

‘Grandad, I can’t believe it!’ Jake’s jaw dropped as he took it all in.

‘Goodness me,’ Mary whispered.

‘Wow!’ Maeve exclaimed, pointing her phone as she began to take photos.

Atticus stared wide-eyed as the decades fell away.

‘Well, would you take a look at that…’