Page 31 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘I like dogs,’ Cheryl replied, tickling Ness’s chin. ‘There are a lot on the site; she’ll soon settle in.’
‘So, do you know where pitch thirteen is?’
‘Yes, of course, they remove the plaque because folk think its unlucky,’ Cheryl grinned. ‘Fire Winnie up and take the third turning on the left.’
They moved slowly past spacious hardstanding pitches, separated by hedges and trees, where motorhomes and caravans were carefully positioned to maximise space. Awnings of all shapes and sizes created additional living spaces and were adorned with colourful lights, garden ornaments, and outdoor seating. Pet owners strolled with their furry companions, pausing to stare at the bright yellow camper. Upon recognising the woman in the passenger seat, they held up theirhands and waved.
A man called out, ‘Goedeavond!’
‘They’re a friendly lot,’ Cheryl said, ‘especially the Dutch.’ She waved at the man. ‘Now look, we’re here, the last pitch on the left.’ She pointed to an ample empty space. ‘Number thirteen, lucky for you because you’re near the shower block, and me and Ruby are right around the corner.’
‘Well, thanks for your help,’ Atticus said.
‘I’m not done yet. Let me get out, and I’ll guide you back. You need to be parked over the drain, next to the water and electricity posts, which you’ll never see at this time of night.’
Grabbing the heavy, clanking carrier, Cheryl slammed Winnie’s door shut, then indicated with her hands and bellowed instructions. As he gratefully manoeuvred into position, Atticus wondered if she worked at the site – Cheryl was clearly used to directing new arrivals.
‘Steady as you go!’ she called out, slapping Winnie’s rear when she was happy with the position. ‘That’ll do nicely,’ she said as Atticus and Ness joined her and stood together to study his parking skills.
‘That’s great, I’ll get settled,’ Atticus began. ‘Thanks again for all your help.’
‘It’s too dark to set up now, and I expect you’ve had a long journey.’ Cheryl gave Atticus no choice. Thrusting the carrier into his free hand and taking his elbow, she began to guide him away. ‘Ruby and I are having a barbecue with a few friends, so you and Ness must come and join us.’
‘But I can’t possibly…’ Atticus lurched under the weight of a dozen heavy bottles, chinking in his hand.
‘Nonsense. You must be hungry, and there are no strangers here. Everyone helps each other.’ Cheryl brushed aside his protests.
‘I’d better lock up,’ he began.
‘Oh, everything is as safe as houses.’ Cheryl flapped her hand and, linking his free arm, they set off with Ness in tow.
Atticus stared at vacationers sitting outside under awnings. The evening was still warm, and most were dressed casually in shorts, sandals, and T-shirts, sipping drinks as they chatted and watched the world go by.
Cheryl appeared to know everyone.
‘Good evening, Heinrich, say hello to Helga for me!’ she called out to an elderly man who sat beside a vast motorhome.
Atticus’s jaw dropped. The vehicle was the size of a double-decker bus!
‘Hello Stefan, mind how you go with the Soberano!’ Cheryl nodded to a half-empty bottle on the table, where a dark-skinned man sat with a cat on his knee. Turning to Atticus, she whispered, ‘He doesn’t know what day it is after a few glasses of brandy and thinks the pussy is his reincarnated wife. Best to steer clear at this time of night if you want to avoid a seance.’
She turned a corner, and to Atticus’s surprise, two rows of wooden chalets lined a central path ahead of them. Spreading out from the balcony of the first chalet, a noisy group was gathered. Many were standing, but most were sitting on lightweight, portable chairs. The area was lit with rainbow-coloured fairylights and lanterns, and a delicious savoury aroma drifted through the still night air.
A voice from behind a barbecue called out, ‘She’s back from her supermarket sweep and she’s got the sangria and found a cowboy!’
Cheers went up, and relieved of the carrier, Atticus found a pint glass being thrust into his hand. A tall man with skin the colour of night held out a jug of wine and began to pour.
‘What is this drink?’ Atticus asked as he tasted the sweet red liquid, which had slices of orange, apple, and pineapple floating on top.
‘Sangria, my friend,’ the man said with a heavy Dutch accent. ‘A Spanish drink.’
‘It’s very nice,’ Atticus said. After the drive, he was thirsty, and the sangria tasted like refreshing lemonade.
‘You must have more.’ The man refilled Atticus’s glass. ‘I’m Erik from Holland, by the way,’ he said with a half-smile, before moving away.
Atticus thought Erik had a striking look. Athletic and handsome, with perfect teeth and a smooth bald head, he was the kind of person who naturally attracted attention.
Looking around for Ness, Atticus spotted her sitting by the barbecue. As though appearing in an obedience class at Crufts, the old dog, her eyes fixed on the grilled sausages, was on her best behaviour. She rolled over on cue, played dead, thumped her tail, then held up a paw to shake several hands, soon finding herself rewarded.
