Page 34 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
Lucinda touched her immaculate hair. Expertly styled, it framed a face wearing minimal makeup, save for her glossy red lips.
‘Not all of us have the luxury of being a stay-at-home housewife,’ Lucinda purred. ‘I’ve had a successful week and can allow myself a couple of hours of leisure.’
Stay-at-home housewife?Did this woman know what it took to bring up four boisterous kids and run Belvedere House?Mary stared at Lucinda and decided that Conor couldn’t possibly have feelings for this stuck-up cow with her acidic tongue. Mary resisted the urge to tilt her water bottle and shower Lucinda’s glossy head. Instead, she smiled and said, ‘That’s nice. Business must be good?’
‘Oh, it gets better every day,’ Lucinda replied, swinging her body off the bike. ‘Will you be coming to our next Ladies’ Lunch Club?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Mary said and wondered how she could get out of it.
‘Excellent. We need to discuss our contribution to the Kindale Christmas Fair. I think we should make a little more effort this year.’ She tilted her head and studied Mary. ‘Don’t you?’
Mary watched Lucinda move away and place her bony bottom on the seat of a rowing machine. As her toned arms stretched and pulled, Mary thought of the event Lucinda had referred to.
Their Ladies’ Lunch Club supported the annual charity fair at Christmas by running a tombola stall.Gathering prizes had become a competitive affair, as the ladies outdid each other by calling in favours for alcohol hampers, luxury chocolates, aromatic candles, and gorgeous gifts. Last year, Mary, who’d forgotten all about her contribution with the run-up to Christmas and multiple school events to worry over, had searched the house and, at the last minute, donated an out-of-date box of biscuits and a wilting plant. It hadn’t helped that the mulled wine stall was next to the tombola, and being such a frosty December day, Mary had overindulged to keep warm and ease her boredom. When Lucinda arrived at the stall to do her shift, she had found Mary three sheets to the wind, empty glass in hand, stuffing her face with mince pies. Lucinda’s piercing gaze and sharp tongue had sobered Mary up in minutes, but the memory of letting the ladies down was etched deep.
This year, I must try harder!Mary vowed.
The beautician had finished the facial and was spraying a mist that smelt like dead roses over Mary’s face. ‘All done, Cinderella,’ she said. ‘You can go to the ball.’
‘It will be the Salty Dog Inn, in truth,’ Mary said, opening her eyes and sitting up.
‘Isn’t that great? I’m sure you’ll have a lovely evening. You look ten years younger,’ the beautician lied, handing Mary a little bag of complimentary samples. She thanked her for the booking, then left the room, leaving her client to dress.
‘Guess who wants a large tip when I settle the bill?’ Mary muttered as she studied her newly toned face and peered into the goodie bag.
A little while later, Mary stepped out of thesalon.
She was pleased that there was no breeze to ruffle her beautifully blow-dried locks, and with luck, the style would hold for the evening. But as she drove to the football club, Mary groaned. A group of boys were huddled in the car park, and Mary had no idea which was Finn. The motley crew was covered in mud, as though they’d just emerged from a battle in the trenches. Once embellished with bright logos and numbers, their jerseys were now covered in layers of grime.
‘Hiya, Mam!’ Finn came forward, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. His shorts, saggy and heavy with the weight of damp soil, were a testament to his tackles and slides across the pitch. ‘I scored the winning goal!’ he said, eyes alight.
‘Well, that’s great,’ Mary remarked as she jumped out of the Range Rover to retrieve towels from the back. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she added, enveloping Finn in thick cotton and thrusting his boots into a plastic bag. She winced as Finn climbed into the back seat. He spread himself out, and Mary watched as flakes of mud and grass clung to the soft leather upholstery and pale cream carpet.
Conor will have a fit!she thought and started the engine.
But as she listened to Finn’s excited chatter while they drove away from the club, Mary smiled. It was a good job she had Romeo Ruari on speed dial.
Chapter Fourteen
Morning had broken at the Solma Vacaciones Camp Site, and as vacationers went about their early chores, there was no sign of life on pitch number thirteen. Winnie’s windows were closed, and the curtains were firmly shut.
Inside the camper, there was a lingering odour of the night before. Ness opened one eye and sniffed. If the old dog could talk, she’d announce that the air smelt of stale alcohol – sour and unpleasant – and with each gentle snore from the lump on the bed, she knew that it was coming from Atticus. Thrusting her nose forward and lifting a paw, Ness poked and prodded. When Atticus sighed and appeared to be coming back from the dead, Ness jumped up and began to lick his face.
‘Aw…no! Leave off!’ Atticus groaned. He reached out to push the dog away, but Ness was relentless, and with no chance of turning over and returning to the deep sleep he’d been enjoying, Atticus sat up.
He noted that the duvet was tossed to one side and realised he was still fully clothed.
‘Eh? How did that happen?’ Atticus scratched his head and tried to think back to the night before. He vaguely remembered linking arms with Cheryl and Ruby after the barbecue had ended as they walked him back to Winnie. ‘I must have fallen asleep,’ he muttered to himself, pulling back the curtains. Light flooded into the camper, and Atticus squinted. Ness was pawing at the door, and with a sigh, he knew it was time to get up. Reaching for her lead as she raced out, Atticus picked up his hat and stumbled out of the camper.
‘Right, Ness, let’s get you walked,’ he said.
Yawning wide and shaking his shoulders to bring life to his bones, Atticus stepped away from his pitch and set off.
An hour or so later, Atticus was wide awake. After two days on the road, the hot shower and shave in the shared amenities made him feel brand new. Now, wearing clean clothes, he’d connected Winnie to all the services and was delighted to find that she had running water – properly draining away – and electricity from the on-site supply.
Taking a folding chair out of the storage space, Atticus sat in the sunshine and drank from a water bottle. He had an unusual thirst that morning as he ate the last of his bread, which he layered with the remains of the cheese, and wondered how much alcohol had been in the sangria.
He decided that he must send a text to Mary to let herknow that all was well. Reaching for his phone, Atticus began to type.
