Page 57 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘Drive carefully.’ Cheryl smiled and leaned in to kiss Atticus on the cheek. ‘If you get back early, come to the pool party,’ she added.
Minutes later, Atticus sat behind the wheel of the Fiat. The top was down, and the sun was hot as he drove slowly through the site.
On his way to the pool party, Erik stopped when he saw Atticus. ‘Enjoy your date!’ he called out. Campers sitting in the sunshine raised their hands as Atticus went past, each with a friendly greeting. They were a tight-knit community and enjoyed exchanging friendly banter.
‘You’ve still got it!’
‘Smooth operator!’
‘Charm her off her feet!’
‘Go get ’em, tiger!’
Atticus shook his head as he heard their comments. ‘Nothing gets past these folk,’ he said, and thought of Cheryl and Ruby’s gossip grapevine.
But as the road stretched ahead and the sun shone brightly, Atticus knew he couldn’t be annoyed. Everyone seemed to have his best interests at heart, and it was impossible for him to feel down or sad in a place where the atmosphere was so cheerful. In this enclosed bubble, problems felt far away, along with the world’s troubles. Atticus knew that these people had lived lives that may have been difficult, after all, everyone had problems to overcome. But here, they rewarded themselves with the little things that gave pleasure in later life.
‘And why not?’ he asked Ness. ‘At our age, it’s now or never and all about making the most of what we have left.’
He thought of his Instagram account. Atticus was staggered by the number of followers he had amassed, but after reading the comments and realising that his photos might inspire others of his age group to follow suit and have an adventure, he was keen to add more.
Turning off the main road, Atticus drove carefully along a track until he came to the beach. A row of ancient cottages, their walls weathered by the salty sea air, came into view, and he thought of the generations of fishermen who’d lived there. Not unlike that of a sheep farmer on the Cumbrian fells, their coastal life must have been relatively simple.
The cottages were rustic, built of sturdy stone and weather-beaten wood. Rusting metal blinds covered manydoorways, and paint-peeling wooden shutters were secured with heavy padlocks.
Atticus checked his watch. He was early but decided to find Britta’s cottage to avoid being late. He parked the Fiat, and Ness hopped out.
Britta had told him that she lived in a cottage named Casita del Mar.The Cottage by the Sea. But as Atticus searched along the row, he wondered if he’d got it wrong. These buildings looked derelict. Surely no one lived here.
He considered going to the café and asking there. Stepping onto the sand, Atticus kept the cottages on his right while Ness ran towards the sea. From this side, he saw that the row was separated by wooden rails and trellis. To his surprise, each cottage seemed to have its own personality, some decorated with fishing nets or weathered buoys, with driftwood and seashells alongside planters of ornamental grasses. All had an expansive terrace area and steps leading down to the beach.
Halfway along, bunting fluttered from the framework of a pastel-painted cottage, where lanterns were strung along old wooden beams. Standing beside an easel, with sun-kissed blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, Britta gazed at a canvas.
Atticus saw that her dress – a soft, floaty fabric – wrapped gently around her slim frame, accentuating her curves. The delicate fabric fell lightly across long legs, the skin, a golden hue, suggesting days spent under the warm embrace of the sun.
He was mesmerised. There was a sense of raw beauty about Britta that belied her years. Bathed in theglow of the late afternoon sun, with her gaze fixed on her work, she carried herself with the vitality of a much younger woman. As he stared, Atticus felt a forgotten desire stir. A feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Suddenly, turning from the canvas and showing no surprise at his presence, Britta looked directly at Atticus. In that moment, their eyes met, and both began to smile.
In the distance, the waves rolled towards the shore, and the sky was a perfect blue. Atticus felt a profound connection, as though he had a fleeting glimpse of something magical happening – like the promise of a new beginning, a spark of romance in the air. It was a feeling he couldn’t ignore, one that told him this was more than just a casual date.
Ness began to bark and pounded along the beach.
‘You’re early,’ Britta called out. ‘Please, let me welcome you to Casita del Mar.’
Any nerves he’d felt suddenly vanished, and with confidence, Atticus strode across the sand and climbed the steps as Ness skidded to a halt beside him. ‘The dog?’ he asked, reaching for Ness’s collar.
‘Oh, she’s fine. I have water for her,’ Britta said, moving away from the easel and placing a dish on the floor of the terrace. Ness began to drink thirstily, then, as though she’d been there a thousand times before, lay down on a rug and closed her eyes.
‘This is lovely,’ Atticus said, admiring the comfortable outdoor seating where cushions were scattered haphazardly over a sofa-like swing, suspended by thick ropes from the ceiling. A brick-built oven doubled as a barbecue, alongsidetwo rattan chairs and a table tucked under the trellis. Atticus imagined relaxing there, having a bite to eat while admiring the glorious view.
Britta’s easel stood in the middle of the terrace.
‘May I?’ he asked.
Britta shrugged. ‘Yes, of course, it’s not very good.’
The canvas she was working on depicted soft washes of watercolour that blended into shades of sand and sea. Atticus could see that it was the view from Britta’s cottage. The landscape rose in the middle ground, curving into the bay, revealing a village of whitewashed houses with terracotta roofs. In the distance, the buildings of Santa Pola perched along a rocky promontory.
