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
