Page 71 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘That would make me so happy.’ Britta smiled.
One day, knowing that Britta wasn’t working, Atticus announced that he had a surprise trip planned. She was to be ready at ten o’clock and to pack a swimsuit. With Winnie’s awning safely removed, Atticus strapped Ness into her seat, and together in the camper, they headed for Casita del Mar.
As Winnie chugged happily through the lanes of Solma Vacaciones, the sun shone in the clear blue sky, and campers going about their day waved and smiled as Atticusdrove past.
‘Where are you off to?’ Erik called out mid-workout in his outdoor gym.
Atticus pulled up by the pitch. ‘We’re going to Tabarca. What about you?’ he replied.
‘I have work to do and some local business to attend to,’ Erik replied, wiping his perspiring brow. ‘But we could catch up later?’
‘That would be grand,’ Atticus smiled, and revving Winnie’s engine, went on his way.
The route to the cottage had become as familiar as the winding lanes at Barn Hill Farm back home. With Winnie’s engine purring gently, Atticus drove slowly through the little town of La Marina, where outdoor cafés were lively with patrons sipping coffee and catching the gossip of the day. The track to the beach was bumpy, and as he carefully navigated, Atticus noticed many motorhomes still parked up in laybys, the sun-kissed occupants sitting outside chatting or heading to the sea for a swim.
‘Guten Morgen!’ Atticus called out as he recognised familiar faces from the café. Hands were raised in greeting, and smiles exchanged.
‘You’re right on time, as usual.’ Britta smiled as she slung her bag into Winnie and inched Ness along the seat. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Today, my love, we’re going to experience the magic of the island of Tabarca,’ Atticus said. ‘I hope you’ve packed your sketchbook.’
‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to go there,’ Britta said as she made herself comfortable and rested a hand on Atticus’sleg. ‘I can see the island from the cottage. It’s only accessible by boat from Alicante or Santa Pola.’
‘At this time of year, there are infrequent ferries,’ he said. ‘But I know one runs from Santa Pola today.’
‘And we have perfect weather for the trip.’ She reached out and gently stroked his cheek.
Atticus flicked Winnie into gear and turned to catch a glimpse of Britta. ‘Almost as perfect as you,’ he said with a smile.
A little while later, having navigated the narrow streets of the coastal town of Santa Pola, Atticus found a parking space for Winnie close to the harbourfront. With Ness trotting beside them, they headed hand in hand to the ferry booth at a hut on the quayside, where Atticus purchased their return tickets.
Britta wore a colourful cotton dress, and her hair was in a heavy plait between her shoulders. She held a floaty straw hat and wore jewelled sandals. Atticus began to take photos as she climbed the boarding steps to the boat. He grinned when Britta turned and waved with Ness beside her, the old dog’s tail wagging excitedly. The sea was choppy, and a warm, salty spray dampened their skin as they sat on the upper deck and admired the passing scenery.
‘In summer, the island is a popular tourist destination,’ Atticus said. ‘People head over here because the snorkelling and scuba diving are so good.’
‘But is there much history?’ Britta asked.
‘I searched the internet and discovered that theisland was a haven for Barbary pirates until the eighteenth century.’
Britta stared at the land, which slowly became more apparent as the boat got closer. As sunlight danced on the waves, she could see the island’s rugged coastline with rocky cliffs and hidden coves. Seabirds soared overhead as they approached the little harbour, where fishing boats bobbed like dancers, gracefully swaying, their colourful hulls painting the harbour with vibrant charm. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said as Atticus helped her step from the boat to the quayside.
‘Apparently, Tabarca is the smallest inhabited island in Spain,’ he explained as they wandered along cobbled paths, past a restaurant and café, before walking beneath a stone archway leading to the village. The streets were narrow and lined with whitewashed buildings, where bougainvillea burst from window boxes beneath colourful wooden shutters.
An indent in a wall displayed a glass-fronted nativity scene, reminding the couple that Christmas wasn’t far away.
‘Will you still be here at Christmas?’ Britta asked, staring at the religious figures gathered around a crib.
‘Yes, I will.’ Atticus squeezed her hand. ‘I’d like to be with you if that’s okay.’
When Britta turned, smiled, and stood on her toes to kiss him, he felt that his heart might burst.
‘I’d like that very much,’ she whispered.
They wandered from one end of the island to the other and soon learnt that significantconstruction had taken place when King Charles III of Spain sought to fortify and populate the island.
‘These must be the defensive walls established by the king,’ Atticus said, looking up from his guidebook. ‘He was also responsible for the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul,’ he added as they stood in front of a large stone building, whose wooden cross dominated the skyline.
‘What a shame that the church is locked,’ Britta said, turning away. ‘I would have liked to look inside.’
