The Forgotten Village. Lorna Cook
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of the talking anyway.
The clock on the car radio showed 11 a.m. by the time Melissa was finally on her way through the country lanes, passing quaint traditional white fingerpost signs every few miles. In the distance, over the green hills littered with sheep, she could see the coastline and out to sea as she drove. The sun glinted off the water brightly. She was going full pelt in her hatchback, eager to keep the appointment she had agreed to. It felt like an old-fashioned sort of meeting; the kind people made before mobile phones and email meant you could casually cancel moments before and hope it would be okay. Why hadn’t she taken Guy’s mobile number? With her outrageous timekeeping, she wasn’t going to be there for at least another fifteen to twenty minutes. And that was assuming she didn’t get stuck behind a tractor.
As her car eventually skidded to a halt in the car park, kicking up a bit of turf, Melissa could see Guy leaning against the gatepost. She smiled. He had waited.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she said as Guy pointed to his watch and raised his eyebrows with a grin. ‘I couldn’t find my car keys and I thought my boyfriend might have moved them and then I almost forgot I promised to buy us some lunch. But it’s not from a service station. Oh no, it’s from a lovely little deli, so I think you’ll like it. But I don’t have a picnic mat, so we’ll have to just sit on the grass, which I don’t mind, if you don’t. And look,’ she said, presenting a huge bottle, ‘ta-da. I remembered to bring water today!’
During her little speech, his face took on a confused expression, but Melissa couldn’t work out why. She lowered the water.
‘I really am sorry I’m late,’ she said again.
He smiled thinly, but she still couldn’t read his expression; his eyes were hidden behind mirrored Ray-Bans, which meant Melissa could only see her own flustered reflection.
‘What’s wrong?’ Melissa asked.
‘Nothing.’ His expression lifted. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Let me carry that.’ He reached out and took the water bottle and the bag of shopping from her hands.
‘Thanks.’ Melissa locked the car and they walked together into Tyneham. ‘I thought we could eat the picnic up by the Great House. I realise you didn’t get to see it yesterday. You were too busy escorting a dehydrated woman back down the hill.’
He laughed. ‘True.’
They walked on a few paces.
‘No golf buggy today?’ Melissa ventured.
He looked sheepish. ‘Not today. God, I felt like a complete idiot yesterday, whizzing past everyone in that bloody buggy. I absolutely loathe things like that.’
She looked at him through her sunglasses and they fell into a companionable silence.
‘So,’ he said after a while, ‘how long have you been with your boyfriend?’
‘How do you know I have a boyfriend?’
‘You just told me. He was one of the reasons you were late.’
‘Oh. Did I? About eight months.’ Melissa looked at Guy. Was it her imagination that Guy looked a bit annoyed?
‘Shall we look in the schoolhouse first?’ Guy asked, seemingly changing the subject.
Melissa nodded, wondering why Liam’s existence might be bothering Guy. He didn’t think this was a date, did he? Of course he didn’t. She was being silly. He was a famous historian and she’d seen the way he had women practically falling at his feet.
Guy opened the large wooden door to the schoolhouse and held it for her. If there hadn’t been a few tourists in front of her, Melissa could have sworn she’d been transported back in time. Everything inside the bright, airy room was cleanly scrubbed, but the original open-lid desks and chairs were still on the dark wood floor. Pieces were displayed around the walls: drawings of famous landmarks, old charts showing capital cities and times tables. It was all very atmospheric. The few tourists inside the room were whispering, out of a sort of respect.
Melissa walked around, grateful that it wasn’t as busy in the village today as it was yesterday. She might have struggled to have actually seen any of the items inside the room otherwise. She thumbed through some of the textbooks on the shelves before stopping at the curved metal coat pegs on the far wall, still showing the names of the last of the children to attend the school before it had closed for requisition.
‘My gran came to this school.’ Guy stood beside her and looked at the coat pegs.
‘Really?’ Melissa raised her eyebrows. ‘Wow.’
‘It’s mad to think she sat at one of these desks and copied out tasks from that chalk board.’ He nodded to the front of the classroom.
‘How old was she when she left the village?’ Melissa turned to face him.
‘Seventeen. She was working up at the Great House by that point, so she’d long since left the school.’
Guy moved off and Melissa flicked through a few of the children’s exercise books, trying to decipher the old-fashioned handwriting. She wondered why she’d never really bothered to explore museums and the kind of houses the National Trust owned before. Perhaps she’d never really known anyone who was interested enough to go with her, but now she was here, she was fascinated and enjoying herself.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Guy leaning back against the wall, fully engrossed in reading an old leather-bound encyclopedia. A few teenage girls arrived, clearly bored on a day out with their parents, and were making themselves busy, trying to catch his eye. Melissa smiled. Even if they had no idea who the man hidden behind the mirrored shades was, he was incredibly attractive. He looked up and gave them a quick smile before looking down at the book again. The girls giggled and nudged each other. Guy was completely oblivious.
‘Melissa, are you ready to go and look at Tyneham House?’ He put the book back on the shelf. ‘There’s not as much to see as in here, but it’s a sunny day and we can eat our picnic.’
Melissa agreed, put the exercise book down and accompanied Guy out the door. She gave the girls a polite smile as she edged her way past them and tried not to laugh when they shot her daggers.
‘Those girls were eyeing you up,’ Melissa teased.
Guy looked around blankly. ‘Which girls?’
‘Never mind.’ She laughed.
‘They probably thought I was someone else. People often assume I’m some A-lister when they think they recognise me, and then try hard to hide their disappointment when they realise “Oh, it’s just you off the telly.”’
‘Oh, I feel so bad for you.’ Melissa nudged his arm and Guy found himself laughing.
They walked through the rest of the village in companionable silence. Now Guy wasn’t being driven around in a golf buggy with the organisers chatting to him non-stop, he could see the village properly, for what it was. A bloody mess. He had been waiting to see the village without quite realising it, for most of his adult life; ever since his grandmother had talked quietly about Tyneham years ago and her idyllic childhood there. As a historian, his specialist subject was World War Two and so he knew of the few villages up and down the country that had been taken over by the army during the war. Whole communities had been forcibly ejected. His grandmother had been part of one such community and now he was seeing where she’d grown up. He’d been amazed that she hadn’t wanted to come with him, see the village and walk, very literally, down memory lane. ‘It would be too painful,’ she had said. ‘Best not go back.’
He and Melissa strolled past shells of pubs, farm labourers’ cottages, and what used to be shops. Guy sighed at what he saw and was grateful his grandmother hadn’t come along. She’d have hated this. Inside, he was reeling. He shook his head. This had been his grandmother’s village and now it was a ruin. Crumbling brickwork, boarded-up windows, great chunks of roofs missing, and the occasional Danger – No Entry sign.