Читать книгу The Drowned Village - Kathleen McGurl - Страница 13
ОглавлениеStella answered the phone after just a couple of rings.
‘Hello? Mrs Braithwaite speaking,’ she said, and as always Laura was mildly amused by the posh-sounding ‘telephone voice’ Gran always put on when answering the phone.
‘Gran, it’s me, Laura. I’m at Brackendale Green now, and it’s just like you saw on the TV – you can walk right across the lake-bed and in and out of the old buildings.’
‘Oh my goodness! How very strange!’
‘It’s a shame you aren’t here too. Perhaps I should have brought you.’
‘Oh no, dear. I’m too old to be gallivanting all the way up to the Lake District. My holidaying days are over. So, tell me, what can you see?’
‘Well, right now, I’m standing on a little stone bridge that looks like it used to be at the end of the main village street.’ Laura glanced at Tom who was listening in, smiling broadly. She decided not to mention to Gran that she was with someone. Gran would only try to matchmake. She’d said many times that Laura was too lovely a girl to be on her own for long and that it was time she started dating again, or ‘stepping out’ as Gran put it.
‘I remember that bridge. It was very near my father’s workshop.’
‘Really?’ Laura looked back towards the village, trying to visualise how it might have been. She realised she did not know anything about Stella’s father, her great-grandfather. ‘What kind of workshop? What did he do for a living?’
‘He was a mechanic,’ Gran replied, her tone low and wistful. ‘He had a workshop where he mended people’s cars, tractors, generators, anything, really. Bicycles, too.’
‘I suppose he had to move his business when the village was abandoned,’ Laura said. There was a silence at the other end of the phone, and a little gasp, as though Stella was stifling a sob. ‘Gran? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, dear, of course I am. Never mind your silly old gran. It’s just bringing back memories, you being there.’
‘Which house did you live in? Can you direct me to it, from the bridge?’ Tom perked up at this question. Laura knew he was longing for her to ask if Gran had known his ancestor Maggie Earnshaw.
‘Well now, let’s see if I can remember. If you walk into the village, on the left there were three cottages, then a gap. Then opposite that gap was a huge tree. An oak. That wouldn’t be there now, would it?’
Laura walked along the village’s main street, counting those first three cottage ruins. ‘There’s a tree stump, Gran.’
‘Oh yes, they did chop all the trees down, I remember now. Next to the tree there’s a building – that was my father’s workshop. And our cottage was right behind it, with the door opening onto Church Street. Opposite but a bit up the road to the right of our front door was the pub – the Lost Sheep. Pa often used to go in there of an evening.’
‘Leaving your mother looking after you?’
‘Yes, me and . . . well. Until Ma died. She died when I was ten, you know. Not long before the dam was built. Pa was glad she never had to see the village being demolished.’
Laura suddenly realised how little she knew of her grandmother’s early life. But now wasn’t the time to go into all of it. She had followed Stella’s directions and was now standing in front of the remains of Gran’s cottage. ‘Well, I’m here now. The walls of your cottage are about waist-high – the top parts have been demolished. There’s a window to the left of the door. I’m going in . . . there’s a fireplace opposite, quite large, like an inglenook fireplace. There’s . . .’
‘I wonder if they can find it?’ Gran’s voice sounded faint and tremulous.
‘Find what? And who do you mean by “they”?’ Laura asked.
‘It might still be there. After all this time. Too late, of course, but perhaps they can get it . . .’
‘Gran? Are you all right? Get what?’
‘The box. It might still be there, after all this time.’
‘What box? Where?’
‘Oh, the old tea caddy. It’s probably not still there. Not after being underwater all this time.’ Gran gave a huge sigh, and when she spoke again she sounded more like her usual self, to Laura’s relief. ‘Don’t mind me, Laura. I’m just a silly old woman, talking about a silly old thing that used to be in the cottage.’
‘Well, there’s nothing here now,’ Laura said, looking around her at the interior of the cottage. ‘Just some rubble, dried-out mud, a bit of driftwood. I’ll take some photos, then when I’m home we can look through them, if you’d like.’
‘Yes, that would be lovely, dear. Well, I’ll let you go now and you enjoy your holiday. I’ve got Sophia coming tonight to help me get ready for bed, so don’t you worry about me at all.’
‘Sophia’s lovely. I’m glad they’ve assigned her to you. I’ll ring again tomorrow.’
‘No need to ring every day, love. I’m perfectly all right.’
‘OK Gran, I won’t. Bye then. Love you.’
As she ended the call, Tom stepped forward into the cottage. He’d been hanging back, presumably so he didn’t overhear all of her conversation. He looked at her questioningly. ‘Was this where your grandmother lived?’
‘Yes, from what she said, she lived here. The building behind was her father’s workshop. And that one over there,’ Laura pointed out of the door, ‘was the pub. The Lost Sheep, it was called.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen some old photos of it. Had your gran ever heard of any Earnshaws?’
Laura shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask. I’ll ring her again tomorrow. Thing is, she was acting a little strangely so I didn’t want to bombard her with too many questions. It must be so weird for her, knowing that people are walking around the village, and in and out of her old home, for the first time in so many years.’ She decided not to mention Stella’s ramblings about a tea caddy.
Suddenly, Laura felt overheated and a little dizzy. The sun had been beating down on her head for hours, and there was no shelter out here in the middle of the lake. She sat on a low part of one of the cottage walls, pulled out a water bottle and drank, realising she was probably a little dehydrated.
‘You OK?’ Tom asked.
‘Too hot. I think I need to get into some shade.’
‘Come on. There are trees beside the car park. Do you have a hat you can put on, to keep the sun off your head?’
‘Yep. Back in my tent,’ Laura replied, with a rueful smile at him.
Tom shook his head in mock exasperation, then held out a hand to haul her to her feet. She took it gratefully. Unlike her own, hot, dry hand, his felt strong and cool.
‘Steady now,’ he said, as she stumbled slightly, her head spinning. He caught hold of her upper arms and held her until she got her balance.
‘Sorry. I’m all right now. Best get into that shade, though.’
He let go of her, but walked close beside her all the way back across the lake-bed to the car park. She noticed him taking little worried glances at her, and was grateful for his concern. She’d been stupid not to wear a hat. It might be September but the sun was still so strong.
At last they reached the car park, and found a bench hewn out of a tree trunk that was under the shade of a spreading oak, rather like the one Laura had pitched her tent beneath. She sat down, immediately feeling better now that she was in shade.
‘Can’t believe how hot it is, this late in the summer,’ Tom said.
She nodded. ‘I’m beginning to regret having walked here from the campsite. Obviously I’m not as fit as I’d thought.’
‘You walked?’ Tom looked back towards the Old Corpse Road. ‘I drove. I’d planned to have a quick look at Brackendale and then go for a walk up that ridge there, that leads onto Bracken Fell. But now I’m thinking I should drive you back to the campsite. That’s my car, over there.’ He pointed at an elderly, beaten-up estate car. ‘Come on. Let’s take you back to the campsite for a rest and get some liquid into you.’
It was a very tempting offer. Laura looked at him gratefully. She might have only just met the man but there was something about him that she liked. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want you to miss out on your walk.’
‘It’s too hot, anyway. I can do it some other day – I’m here all week.’ He stood, rummaged in a pocket for his car keys and clicked the unlock button. The car’s indicators flashed in response, and he crossed the car park to it and opened all the doors. ‘Wait a minute until some air’s blown through.’
The car was still stiflingly hot when Laura got in, but once they’d got going, with the windows wound right down, it cooled quickly. ‘Sorry the air conditioning doesn’t work,’ Tom said, as they drove past the dried-up lake. ‘Hey, in a minute we’ll pass the dam. Want to stop for a moment and take a look? I’ve a spare hat in here somewhere you can wear to keep the sun off.’
‘Sure, I’d love to see it,’ Laura replied. She was feeling better already from the breeze through the car and the water she’d drunk. A few moments later, Tom pulled into a small car park beside the dam. He rummaged around in the clutter strewn across the back seat of the car and retrieved a baseball cap, which proudly displayed the Munster Rugby club logo. ‘Sorry, best I can do, but it’ll help.’
‘It’s perfect,’ she said with a smile, and pulled it on. They walked over to where a low wall marked the edge of the car park, from where there was a view along the length of the dam on the lakeside. ‘Look, you can see how high the water level normally is,’ Laura said, pointing to marks near the top of the structure, a change of colour of the concrete. ‘Amazing to think how much water is normally held back by this.’
‘Yes, well, of course, all of the area we were walking around is normally well underwater,’ Tom replied. ‘Shame they don’t let the public walk across the top of the dam.’
Laura looked where he was pointing. There was a narrow walkway that led across the top of the dam to the far side of the valley. But a hefty locked iron gate barred access to it. ‘I suppose it’s not safe.’
‘Probably safer than some of the more hairy ridges up the mountains,’ Tom laughed. ‘Want to have a look at the information board over there?’ They walked over to it, and read the brief history and technical details of the dam. ‘Fifteen hundred feet long, fifty feet wide at the base, ninety feet high. Ugh. Don’t you wish it was all in metric?’
‘Yep. Good grief, what a lot of concrete they used.’ Laura peered closely at the pictures of the dam under construction – men precariously balanced on scaffolding while they poured concrete; men in waders, thigh-deep in wet concrete; men sitting high up on the top of the structure eating their lunches. ‘No health-and-safety regulations back then, by the look of things.’
‘No. Two men died, it says here.’
‘That’s so sad.’ Laura was silent and thoughtful for a moment. ‘I understand the need for the reservoir, but it does seem a shame that a village had to be destroyed and men lost their lives to achieve it.’
‘I guess there’s always some risk to the workmen building something of this scale. And as for the village, I’d like to think that if there had been a suitable uninhabited valley they’d have used that instead. It’d have cost less for a start.’
‘I suppose so.’ Laura gazed at the view down the valley, below the dam. The river was barely more than a trickle, winding its way between fields and woods, similar to the landscape in Glydesdale. To the left and across the valley was a collection of unattractive boxy houses, at odds with the traditional Lakeland stone cottages. ‘What’s that place over there?’
Tom consulted the map on the information board. ‘It’s called New Brackendale. It was built to house the dam-workers, and then some of the people from Brackendale Green moved here after the valley was flooded. Ugly-looking place, isn’t it?’
Laura nodded. Compared with the photos of the old village that she’d seen on the other information board, this one was certainly much less appealing. ‘I wonder if any of our ancestors moved there?’
‘My family didn’t. They went to Keswick,’ Tom replied.
‘I don’t know about Gran. All I know is she moved to London as a young woman, when she became an actress. She was in a few plays in the West End, then she met my grandfather and gave up acting but stayed living in the south. I must ask her where she moved to after the dam was built. Yet more questions for her!’
‘You need to write that list,’ Tom said, with a smile. ‘Shall we go?’
They got back in the car, and continued along the road out of the valley. From the dam onwards it was much wider, clearly built for much more traffic than the narrow lane beside the lake that only led to a walkers’ car park. On either side of the road, the fells became lower and the valley wider as they continued. Laura felt a pang of regret as they left the mountains behind – daft, she thought, as it was only temporary and as soon as they took the turn that led into Glydesdale they’d be heading deeper into the mountains once again. There was something about being surrounded by lofty peaks that she loved. It healed her soul, she thought. And her soul certainly needed some healing after what Stuart and Martine had done.
At the next junction, there was a small road leading off to the right, signposted ‘Brackendale House Museum’. ‘Ooh, I wonder what’s there?’ Laura said.
‘Don’t know. Perhaps some local history? Sounds like it could be worth a visit.’
Laura was silent for a moment, debating with herself whether to ask him if he’d like to go there, in the next day or two, with her. If she did, how would he respond? Would he consider it just a friendly request to follow up on their shared interest in the drowned village, or would he read more into it? She liked Tom. She’d only known him an hour or so, but she felt comfortable in his company and already she was beginning to feel she knew him. They’d clicked, somehow. As an experiment, she made a mental comparison of Tom with Stuart. He was kind – the way he’d treated her when she felt dizzy was testament to that. Stuart would have scoffed and told her to ‘man up’. Tom was interested in some of the same things as her – history, mountains – whereas Stuart was more into video games and nightclubs. Tom was tall, broad-shouldered, strongly built, with soft grey eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Stuart was good-looking, sure, but in a cold, chiselled way. His eyes were dark and brooding, and his smiles did not always reach them. But however nice Tom was, Laura knew she was not ready for any kind of new relationship yet, and she’d hate him to think she was interested in him.
The moment passed, and she realised it was too late to sound spontaneous if she asked Tom if he’d like to go to the museum with her. She felt a pang of regret. She shouldn’t have been overthinking things. The rest of the journey passed more or less in silence, with each of them making only a few comments about the scenery they passed through.
Back at the campsite, Tom dropped Laura off beside the shop, with a cheery ‘See you later, drink more water!’ as she needed to buy something for the next day’s breakfast. She did not see where he drove off to.
She spent the rest of the afternoon resting and rehydrating, paddling in the stream, lying in the shade of the oak with a book. Bliss. She decided to go to the pub for an evening meal rather than cook again on her little gas stove, so just before darkness fell she stuffed her purse into a pocket, closed up her tent, and walked across the campsite and down the lane the short distance to the pub. It was a converted farmhouse, with a few rooms used for B&B, and a side extension that was open as a café in the daytime. The bar itself was in a low-ceilinged, stone-flagged room, with an assortment of small wooden tables and chairs dotted around. A large fireplace suggested it would be delightfully cosy in the winter months. A sign over the door announced that walkers and dogs were welcome, no need to remove muddy boots. She grinned at this. Her kind of pub, and the last place she could imagine Stuart fitting in.
She ordered a pint of the local bitter and a dinner of pie and chips, and noted the WiFi network name and password that was written on a note pinned above the till. Free WiFi. Perfect. She found a small table tucked in a corner, pulled out her phone, connected to the internet and began searching for information about Brackendale Green, the dam and the Old Corpse Road. Now that she’d seen it, it was all so much more exciting and interesting.
She was so absorbed in reading the web pages she’d found that she didn’t immediately notice Tom sit down next to her. ‘Room for a little one?’ he said.
She looked up and smiled. ‘Of course. Can I get you a drink? As a thank-you for looking after me today.’
‘Later, perhaps. I’m all right at the moment.’ He held up a nearly-full pint. ‘Are you eating? I can recommend the pies here. I’ve ordered one myself.’
‘That’s exactly what I’ve ordered, too. Want to look at the pictures of Brackendale I’ve found?’ She passed him her phone, and he peered at the images she’d been scrolling through. ‘Having been there brings it all to life, doesn’t it?’
‘Certainly does.’
Their food soon arrived, and after eating they resumed searching websites and exchanging the titbits of information they’d found.
‘Hey, here’s the website for Brackendale House Museum,’ Tom said, handing his phone over to her.
‘Oh yes, that place we passed,’ Laura replied. ‘I definitely want to visit that.’
‘Me too,’ Tom said. ‘I want to go up Bracken Fell tomorrow, but maybe we could do the museum the day after? Actually, do you fancy climbing the mountain with me as well?’
‘If you’re sure. I mean, I don’t want you to change your plans for me,’ Laura said, allowing a tone of wariness into her voice. It wouldn’t do to let him think she was available. She’d need to make it clear she wasn’t interested.
‘Well, I’m definitely going, and it’d be good to have some company,’ Tom replied.
‘Well then, why not?’ Laura smiled and Tom grinned back.
