Page 80 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘Do you think Grandad will be having a party?’
‘By the look of his posts today, I would say that’s a certainty.’
Arthur leaned over to study Jake’s phone. The Travelling Grandad’s Instagram page displayed a video of jolly, ukulele-playing pensioners dancing in a conga line around Winnie and in and out of the awning.
‘I like the photos of the island he went to.’ Jake thrust his hand into a bag of crisps and began to chomp his way through them. ‘He’s explained that pirates used to live there.’
Arthur stared at the multiple images of Tabarca, which looked like a beautiful place. He had to admit that the photos of Britta in a colourful cotton dress and floaty straw hat – wandering along the beach and sketching in a churchyard – were captivating. Atticus had an eye for creating balance and guiding followers toward a focal point. Hechose unusual angles for buildings and viewpoints, capturing moments to tell a story and evoke curiosity. No wonder his followers increased daily.
‘Is your dad still angry with him?’ Arthur asked.
‘Dad moans about everything these days. He thinks Grandad is making a fool of himself and that his head’s been turned by a younger woman.’ Jake licked cheese and onion flavour from his lips and opened a bag of knobbly, chilli-tasting nuts. ‘He reckons she’s only with Grandad for his money.’
Arthur grinned. He reckoned that spending time with Britta would be well worth parting with his pension and envied his friend. ‘Is it busy at the farm?’ he asked, fiddling with a beer mat on the polished wooden table.
‘Crazy busy. Dad has taken on more staff, but he says that when I’ve finished my schoolwork, I’ve got to help in the shop on the weekends leading up to Christmas. That’s in addition to maintaining the caravan site.’
‘The money will come in handy, surely?’
‘True.’ Jake nodded.
‘Well, before you get stuck into selling soda bread and Cumbrian fancies all afternoon, you can give me a hand with the gnomes.’
‘What needs doing?’
‘Your Aunty Shirley likes a display up the driveway with flashing fairy lights.’ Arthur raised his glass and drained his pint. ‘So, if you’ve finished your knobbly nuts, we should get going.’
‘I bet they don’t have gnomes in Spain,’Jake grumbled as he reluctantly followed Arthur from the pub and tightened the toggles on his duffle coat against the bitter wind.
‘Not like Cumbria, eh?’ Arthur tucked his scarf into his snowman jumper, adjusted his bob hat and reached for his coat. ‘It’ll be Gnome-Sweet-Gnome at Shirlarth Cottage this Christmas,’ he sighed.
In Kindale, Mary was feeling energised and had been busy putting her new plan into action over the past few days. Christmas events at the children’s various schools took up much of her time, and when she wasn’t sorting through new paperwork, she made a shepherd’s outfit for Declan’s nativity and turned Finn into an elf for his school play. Mary kept her eye on Maeve and Caitlin, who, when not doing homework, were occupied with youth club events and the upcoming Christmas disco. Maeve’s plant-based diet appeared to have gone out of the window along with a boy she’d been hankering after.
‘He’s a knob,’ she told her mother as she sat in the kitchen, eating a thick, juicy beef burger and staring at her Instagram account. ‘I never really liked him, and now he’s on Caitlin’s allotment committee, bossing me about.’
Mary imagined Maeve helping out in the cold at the allotment, having a tantrum over frozen winter turnips or crying into frosty cabbages. She decided that Maeve was better off in the warmth of the cosy youth club.
‘Grandad’s having ablast,’ Maeve said as she finished her burger and scrolled through images of The Travelling Grandad. ‘It’s one long party at his pitch in Spain.’
‘Has he still got lots of followers?’ Mary asked.
‘Zillions,’ Maeve muttered and closed her phone.
Meanwhile, Finn and Declan were fighting as they ate their tea. They were squabbling over the last hot dog, while Caitlin, preoccupied, dipped a fry into ketchup.
‘Come on, go and do your homework, and Declan, it’s bath time,’ Mary said as she cleared the table, and the kids began to disperse.
Caitlin pushed her plate to one side and turned to look at her mother. ‘Mam,’ she said, ‘can I have a word?’
‘Yes, love, what is it?’ Mary asked as she stacked the dishwasher. Turning to face Caitlin, she had an inkling of what was coming.
Caitlin looked around. Seeing that the coast was clear and that her siblings were out of earshot, she said, ‘There’s a rumour at school that you and Dad are splitting up.’
Mary took a deep breath to steady herself, then pulled out a stool and sat beside Caitlin. She reached for her eldest daughter’s hand. ‘What are they saying?’ she asked.
‘That Dad is hooking up with Lucinda Darby, and you’ll get a divorce.’
Caitlin’s voice was shaky, and Mary could see that she was biting her lip.
