The Drowned Village - Kathleen McGurl

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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.

       JED

      Thankfully, John Teesdale had decided to remain loyal to his long-term, village customers and had sent a message to the dam-works to say that their workmen were no longer welcome in his pub. Jed was able to go for a drink once or twice a week without fear of running into the man whose lip he had split.

      It was harder, however, to steer clear of Maggie, but since that night she seemed to have cooled off

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