Page 44 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘Hola,’ Atticus replied, thinking that local folk were as friendly as those back home. ‘Buenos días!’
He stopped to stare at grey herons wading in the shallows. With their long legs and necks, the majestic birds fascinated Atticus. Entering a wooded area, he saw Great Cormorants perched on tree branches, their sleek black plumage forming dark silhouettes against the brightness of the sky. When the birds took flight, Atticus thought of the miles of windswept coastlines and tumultuous seas that their vast wings soared over.
‘Nature is amazing,’ he said to Ness.
When they reached the beach, Ness began to excitedly run around in circles and Atticus grinned. The old dog wasn’t the only one experiencing a new lease of life.
He slipped off his sandals and paddled in the waves lapping against the shore. The soft, golden sand stretched as far as his eye could see, curving into a bay where the whitewashed buildings of the town of Santa Pola glistened in the early-morning sunshine. Enjoying the warm, salty water on his toes, he thought about the climate and how everyone here agreed that the area, combined with the laid-back atmosphere and healthy cuisine, was the ideal place toreduce stress and enjoy mental well-being. No wonder so many retired folks spent most of the winter on the Costas.How Clara would have enjoyed it!
Atticus tilted his hat and scanned the beach. Halfway along, there was a café at the end of a row of old fishermen’s cottages. Erik had mentioned that the café served great food, and at this time of day, a breakfast menu was chalked on a board. It might be something Atticus enjoyed, as it offered English food.
Atticus had the café in mind as he strolled past a sign pronouncing ‘Naturist Area’, noting with relief that there were no unclothed bodies. ‘I think we’ll have a treat and indulge in a full English,’ he told Ness as he brushed sand from his toes, slipped into his sandals, and clipped on her lead.
Taking the steps to the café, Atticus saw that it was busy, but he found a table that overlooked the bay. Placing his hat down, he studied the menu and waited to be served.
Gazing out to sea, Atticus saw the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean in the distance, and he was fascinated by dark shapes dotted along the horizon. Erik had told him that these were mussel beds and explained that the vital ecosystem was a haven for various marine species, which supported a thriving fishing industry. Erik himself owned a fishing boat and, for a modest rent, supported a local family who might otherwise have been unable to fish. The father and son used traditional methods – trammel nets and longlines – to harvest not only mussels but also a variety of other seafood. Erik admired their commitment to sustainability, knowing their carefulpractices would help preserve the region’s fishing culture for years to come.
Atticus thought about his own principles for farming methods. Intrigued, he considered taking a guided tour of the beds during his holiday.
He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice a woman standing beside his table, a notepad in her hand. But when he felt Ness’s wet nose bump his leg, he jerked his head and turned. For a moment, the café chatter blended into the background, and time seemed to stand still.
‘It’s a great view, isn’t it?’ the woman smiled. ‘I’m Britta, your server. What can I get for you?’
Momentarily frozen, Atticus’s breath caught in his throat. ‘Yes… A g-great view.’ He stared at Britta, captivated by her beauty.
Britta smiled and Atticus was mesmerised. Her skin reminded him of melted caramel, and he wanted to reach out and touch the soft blonde hair that gathered loosely into a clip, with wispy tendrils escaping. He couldn’t help but be enchanted by the curve of her lips, the dimples in her cheeks, and the way her cornflower-blue eyes stared down at him.
‘Are you alright?’ Britta asked. ‘Can I get you some water?’
‘Y… yes, that would be grand,’ Atticus stuttered.
‘Anything else?’
‘Aye, I’ll have a café con leche and a full house.’
‘Full house?’ Britta tilted her head.
‘Oh, sorry. Where I come from, it means an English breakfast with everything,’ Atticus replied.
‘Okay, and would your dog like some water too?’
Atticus looked down at Ness and saw the dog staring at Britta with the same fascination as his own.
‘Water? Sorry, water, yes. Ness would like that.’
He watched as Britta walked away. Her body moved gracefully as she stopped to take orders or clear glasses from tables. Britta’s voice, with a slight hint of an accent, was music to his ears. As Atticus tore his eyes from the kitchen where she’d disappeared, he wondered what on earth had just happened.
One minute, he was sitting calmly, taking in the beauty of the beach, but the next, he was stumbling like a schoolboy blinded by his first crush.
‘I need to pull myself together,’ Atticus said to Ness.
Coughing to clear his throat, he sat up and determined not to be so foolish. Men of his age didn’t fall in love at first sight, nor second or third. In fact, it was unlikely to ever happen at all. And why would he entertain such thoughts? He was happy just as he was, with no one to report to or worry about other than himself, the dog, and their temporary way of life.
And there was Clara.What on earth would his wife think?
It was some time before Britta returned with Ness’s water and his breakfast order, which enabled Atticus to control his emotions.
‘Sorry it took so long,’ she said, placing his breakfast before him. ‘The café is busy today. Can I get you anything else?’ she asked, leaning down to pat Ness.
