Page 4 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
Mary sighed, the memory of her conversation with Conor playing in her mind. For the umpteenth time, she had suggested that he might enjoy a break fromwork by joining them in Cumbria. Instead, Conor had wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
‘Happiness for me,’ he teased, ‘is having my large, loving, close-knit family…’ He paused for effect. ‘…in another country for the summer holiday.’
Mary told herself that Conor was joking, but deep down, she suspected there was truth in his words. Her workaholic husband rarely prioritised time away from the office. As she reached out to lightly stroke Caitlin’s track-suited leg, she said, ‘Your dad’s far too busy to take time off, and you kids are lucky to have so many holidays. He always makes it up to us at Christmas.’
Mary thought of Conor’s extravagances during the festive period. Closing the real estate business for two weeks, her husband spent every moment treating his family to a lavish pantomime at Cork’s grand Opera House, gourmet meals at the best restaurants, and all the latest gadgets. None of them could complain. Life in Kindale was perfect.
‘Now, settle down, the lot of you, and let me concentrate on driving.’
Mary hoped the kids would soon be asleep, leaving her to enjoy the drive. As she’d anticipated, before the signs for Cork came into view, her brood was snoozing. Even Caitlin’s eyes had closed. Usually keen to help with the route, she now had an inflatable pillow tucked behind her neck, her long, dark hair falling softly over her dipped head.
Mary glimpsed her reflection in the rear-view mirror. She knew that her rich brown curls showed the first signs of grey, and there were freshwrinkles around her eyes. But regular visits to Gaelic Glow, a posh Kindale beauty salon, helped maintain her fresh-faced look, unlike her waistline, which seemed to be on a journey of its own. Weight-loss injections had been suggested at the salon, but Mary refused. Nor would she plump her lips or join the cosmetic surgery club, where the only membership required was the willingness to part with a large chunk of cash.
Mary saw that Declan, clutching his teddy bear, was sucking his thumb. Finn held onto a football and nestled beside Declan while Maeve reached out her arm to encase her younger brothers.
‘My raven-haired babies,’ Mary breathed, and her heart lurched as she thought of their innocence. Free from cares and untouched by the world’s harsh realities.
Her children had inherited Conor’s dark hair, long lashes, and flawless skin that tanned easily and glowed in the summer sun. Conor believed there was Spanish blood in his ancestry, while Mary sometimes mused over her Cumbrian roots, possibly Roman. She often thought of her father’s name, Atticus, named after Titus Pomponius Atticus, a Roman literary figure.
Thank goodness Dad isn’t called Pomponius, she thought to herself, smiling as she navigated the motorway toward Dublin port. Her grandparents, long gone, must have had a mischievous sense of humour when they christened their son. At least Mary had a simple name. She thought of Mungo, her brother, who’d endured relentless teasing during his school years. The story behind his name was straightforward: Clara, their mother, had been obsessed with the pop group Mungo Jerry. She often sangtheir hitIn the Summertime. It was easy for Clara to name her son, with the tune playing in the background, when the twins were born on a sunny July morning.
Mary chuckled to herself.At least she hadn’t been christened Jerry!
The miles whizzed by, and by lunchtime, the kids were awake.
‘I’m hungry,’ Finn announced as they drove into the port.
‘Then we’ll have a meal on the ferry.’ Mary stared out to the sea, where the water was as still as a millpond. ‘It’s going to be a calm crossing to Holyhead,’ she smiled.
The drive from Holyhead to Cumbria, mostly along motorways, took about four hours. As they neared Cumbria and the last few miles lay ahead, they passed a service station.
Caitlin stirred. ‘Can we stop? They have a great farm shop here.’ She gazed at a cluster of trees surrounding a small lake, where travellers relaxed at picnic tables.
‘No,’ Mary replied firmly. ‘We’re almost there, and you know that your granddad has the best farm shop in the area.’
Mary bit her lip. Barn Hill Farm had grown far beyond the humble sheep farm of her childhood, and its recent success was entirely down to Mungo. Atticus, on the other hand, couldn’t be credited.
‘Hey, look, Mam,’ Caitlin said as she sat up. ‘Here’s our turn.’
As the Range Rover glided through the last stretch of road, Mary lowered her window, breathing in the rich, heather-scented air that drifted from the fells. ‘Ah,’ she exhaled with pleasure. ‘I’m home.’
Returning to Cumbria in the warm, dry days of late July and August always filled her with joy. The fells, dotted with wildflowers, were lush and green, and with the Lake District National Park nearby, the kids loved exploring.
Mary thought about her father, wondering if Atticus would feel any different about their visit this time. Since Clara’s passing, he’d shown little enthusiasm for family gatherings, and Mary yearned for that to change. Despite her efforts to involve him with his grandchildren, Atticus remained distant, generally preferring his own company.
Mary yearned for the days when her dad had been happy. Back then, the farmhouse kitchen buzzed with life, its warmth radiating from the AGA cooker as Clara created her treats. The rich aroma of freshly baked cakes and bread would fill the air, while Atticus pinched a slice of cake as it cooled, teasing Clara with a playful slap on her rear. The kitchen table was the heart of the home, always surrounded by family and friends.
‘This year, Dad,’ Mary said as she pulled off the main road and turned onto the driveway of Barn Hill Farm, ‘you’re not going to be a miserable grump.’
Mary noticed the farm shop and café were bustling with visitors as her childhood home appeared.Barn Hill House, constructed generations ago from weathered local stone, was nestled into the landscape. The garden was a riot of colour, thanks to her sister-in-law Helen’s meticulous care, with overflowing hanging baskets and pots on the front porch. The contrast with her futuristic, glass-fronted, modern pile back in Kindale struck her, and Mary yearned for the cosy simplicity of wooden beams, vintage furnishings, and Helen’s touches that brought warmth to every corner.
Mary parked her vehicle next to Mungo’s Land Rover and sighed. Her dad had everything: a lovely cottage, financial stability, and a family that loved him. Surely, there was a way to ignite his passion for life again. Mary remembered that Atticus had always been industrious. If he wasn’t happily herding sheep, he was tinkering about in his workshop repairing an old engine, crafting toys, or inventing a new game for them all to play. He always found time for their annual holiday to Wales, not forgetting his regular pint in the pub with his best friend, Arthur.
She cut the engine and stepped onto the cobbled yard, making a vow that during this holiday, she’d bring her father back to life to enjoy whatever years he had left.
‘Mam,’ Caitlin’s excited voice called out, ‘Jake’s driving Grandad’s tractor!’
Mary turned just in time to see Caitlin leap from the car and slam the door as her sleeping siblings woke and scrambled out with equal enthusiasm.
