The Drowned Village - Kathleen McGurl

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so she might not remember anyone. What was your great-grandmother’s name?’

      ‘Margaret Earnshaw.’

      ‘My gran is Stella Braithwaite. But that’s her married name. I’m not sure what her maiden name was. I need to make a list of all these questions to ask her!’ Laura grinned. It was great to have someone to talk to about all this, and Tom certainly seemed interested.

      ‘It’s fabulous that she’s still around to ask. My grandmother died a few years back so most of what I know is from online research. In fact, it was when she was diagnosed with cancer that I began researching my family tree. I recorded her speaking about the past, everything she could remember, to give me a start. But she never lived here, and she said her mother, Margaret – though everyone knew her as Maggie – never spoke about her early life.’ Tom sighed. ‘So I’ve no one to ask. The people who lived here are all just names and dates to me.’

      They’d reached the end of the main village street, and come to a small stone bridge. It looked incongruous sitting there in the middle of the lake-bed, a bridge crossing nothing. ‘This must have been the footbridge over the stream that flowed through the valley to the original small lake. It’s marked on the old maps of the village,’ Tom said. ‘Amazing that it’s still in such good condition.’ He ran a hand over the stonework. He was right – the mortar between the stones appeared solid, the surface of the bridge looked as though a quick sweep would restore it to perfect condition.

      They turned and looked back at the village. ‘I really want to know more about it now,’ said Laura. ‘Coming here has made it all very real. I can’t wait to ask Gran to tell me more about it.’

      ‘Why don’t you ask her now? You could ring her, perhaps? Maybe she could describe whereabouts her house was. And I’d love to know if she remembers any Earnshaws.’

      Laura looked at her watch. Monday, midday. Gran would be at home, pottering around the house, perhaps thinking about making herself a light lunch. She had no lunchtime carer visit, so unless one of her many friends had come to call, she’d be on her own, and hopefully the phone would be within reach. ‘OK, I’ll try her now.’ She pulled out her mobile and punched in Gran’s number. Thankfully, standing out here in the middle of the valley there was some reception. She felt a quiver of excitement as she waited for Stella to answer. Would she be able to pick out the right house? What a shame Gran was not fit enough to be able to come here herself.

       JED

      ‘Stella, watch Jessie for me, will you?’ Jed called from the workshop, where he was trying to file down a piece of metal to make a replacement bracket for the seat of old Sam Wrightson’s tractor. Jessie, now that she could walk, was becoming difficult to look after when he was trying to work. While she’d been a baby he could put her in the playpen he’d made from chicken mesh, with a few toys, and she’d amuse herself. She’d always seemed happy enough as long as she could see him. But now, she refused to go in the playpen and if he put her in it she simply lifted one side of it up and crawled out underneath, giggling in that infectious yet infuriating way she had. And then she’d stand too close while he was welding, or start lifting tools off his bench to play with, or try to play hide-and-seek under the workbench. It was really not a suitable place for a small child to be.

      ‘Yes, Pa, coming.’ Stella was just home from school, thank goodness, and if she could keep an eye on Jessie for a couple of hours Jed would be able to get on with some work, until the light failed. He had electric light in the workshop, but was short of oil for the generator – what little he had needed to be conserved.

      ‘Come on, Jessie. Let’s go and look for tadpoles. Pa, we’ll be down by the lake. I won’t let Jessie get wet.’ Stella retrieved Jessie from the pile of oily dust sheets she’d been hiding in, and took her by the hand.

      ‘Be back in time for tea,’ Jed said.

      ‘All right.’ Stella and Jessie left the workshop, and Jed heaved a sigh of relief. He could get on uninterrupted at last. And he needed to. If he didn’t get some of his backlog of jobs finished he wouldn’t be paid. That would mean no more oil for the generator, no new clothes for Stella who was rapidly growing out of her school uniform, and no food on the table. Life was indeed hard. He still missed Edie with a pain that felt like an iron fist punching him in the gut. He’d promised her the girls would want for nothing. He would provide for them, no matter what it took.

      ‘Jed? Hello! I saw Stella go out with your little one, so I guessed you’d be on your own now. Let me make you some tea – I’m sure it’s about time you sat down for a rest.’ It was Maggie.

      Jed sighed, and put down his tools. ‘I could do with a cuppa, it’s true, but I’ve not the time to sit down to drink it.’

      ‘Oh, you will. It’ll only be a few minutes. I’ll pop into your kitchen and make the tea then, shall I?’ Maggie didn’t wait for an answer, but went through to his cottage straight away. He continued working while she was there, feeling vaguely uncomfortable about her being in his home on her own, poking about in what he still thought of as Edie’s kitchen. But, he berated himself, she was only being kind and neighbourly. And he could certainly do with the tea.

      She was back a minute later with a steaming mug, and a slice of fruit cake. He pressed his lips together. That cake had been a gift from Mrs Perkins at the village shop, and he’d been saving it for the girls’ tea. But if he told Maggie that, it would be admitting how much he was struggling.

      ‘Thank you.’ He took the mug and sat on a stool beside his workbench.

      Maggie pulled a battered chair forward, brushed it off, and sat tentatively on the edge of it. ‘Any time. I’m here for you, you know. Anything I can do to help.’

      Take Jessie for a few hours each day, Jed thought, but he’d tried that once when Edie was sick and it hadn’t worked out. Jessie hadn’t taken to Maggie, and she’d ended up bringing the tantrumming child back to him after only an hour, saying she was uncontrollable. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

      She smiled, patted her hair, and pulled her chair a little nearer him. ‘Remember, any time you need anything, anything at all, you know where I am.’

      ‘Thanks,’ said, again. ‘Actually, Maggie . . .’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘I just need some time to get on with my work. Stella’s taken Jessie out for an hour or so, and I need to get this piece finished for Sam Wrightson’s tractor seat, and at least one of those bicycle repairs done, and the knife-sharpening for Mrs Perkins, before they come back.’

      ‘But it’s already five o’clock. Surely it’s time to stop work for the day? We could go across to the Lost Sheep for a drink while they’re out.’

      He shook his head. ‘No, Maggie, I really must get this work done now.’

      ‘Oh, well. Later, perhaps? When the little one’s in bed? Your Stella can babysit.’

      ‘I might be in the Sheep for a pint later,’ he said. It was Friday after all, and it had been a tough week. With Stella home all weekend he could catch up on his work then.

      Maggie smiled wolfishly, and once more patted her neatly waved blonde hair. ‘I shall see you there, then,’ she said. She stood up, brushed down the back of her skirt, and leaned over Jed to kiss his cheek. Her blouse had a couple of buttons undone, and he averted his eyes to avoid seeing straight down the front of it.

      ‘You’re blushing!’ she said, with delight. ‘It was only a peck on the cheek, you silly man!’ She flounced out of the workshop, stopping at the door to waggle her fingers at him. ‘See you later!’

      He let out a huge sigh. Well, at least now he could get on at last. He finished his tea, took the uneaten slice of cake back through to the cottage, and continued working

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