Lorna Cook - The Forgotten Village

Melissa trudged on up the hill and stopped to look at her map. She was now ragingly thirsty as she wiped stray strands of her ponytail off her neck. All that was left up here was Tyneham House, more affectionately known as the Great House, the leaflet told her. The note against it simply stated that it had been home to the Standish family, who had owned it for over three hundred years until they, like the villagers, had found their home commandeered from underneath them. They had been given a month to leave.

What’s good for the goose , Melissa thought as she folded up her map and tucked it into her back pocket. She’d been walking for ages and had become ridiculously hot while looking inside the farm buildings and dilapidated cottages. Many of the ramshackle buildings were hidden within the woodlands that surrounded the village and the whole atmosphere was proving deliciously eerie. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand she chastised herself that in the impromptu act of getting in the car for a day out, she had forgotten water. Her mouth was dry, but there wasn’t a café or gift shop on site from which to buy a drink. She couldn’t believe what an oversight it was given the amount of tourists present. They were never going to make any money this way. She resigned herself to giving the church and school a miss and calling it a day – just after she’d had a little peek at the manor house.

Two tourists on their way back passed Melissa as she arrived at the end of the tree-lined avenue that led to the house and she smiled at them politely, envying them their bottled waters. There was no one else up here and she was grateful for the peace and quiet. She was ready to soak in the atmosphere, undisturbed.

As with most of the other houses in the village, a permanent display board had been placed at Tyneham House, positioned by the entrance to the front drive. There was a potted history of the house and where the bricks used to build it had come from, which Melissa skipped over.

There was very little detail about any of the prior residents, which seemed odd. But there was a picture of the last owners, Sir Albert and Veronica Standish. At least that’s what the picture caption said. There was no information printed about them other than the fact they had been the last residents of the house, and with the image printed crudely onto the strange plastic board they could have been anyone.

Melissa stepped forward to look closer. The couple in the small black and white photograph looked unremarkable. But, despite the heat, she shivered. Her mum would have said that someone had walked over her grave. Melissa wasn’t sure she believed in that sort of thing.

She pushed the thought away and walked through the wide red-brick entrance into the front drive. She could see holes in the brick walls on both sides where wrought-iron gates would once have been fixed but had long since been removed. She put her hand against the warm brick wall to steady herself for a minute or two as the sun beat down on her head. The heat was making her nauseous and she fanned herself with her leaflet for a few seconds before ploughing on. She wasn’t usually this feeble. Just a few quick minutes glancing in the windows of the house if they weren’t boarded up, and then she’d head off.

But as she let go of the wall and walked towards the large pale-bricked Elizabethan building in front of her, her vision blurred and her stomach churned. Melissa reached out to grab the wall again, but it was too far behind her and her fingers grabbed pointlessly at the air. She started to stumble forward, her legs gave way and the ground rushed up to meet her. As her eyes flickered shut, she was only vaguely aware that a strong pair of arms had grabbed her, breaking her fall.

Melissa opened her eyes slowly and looked up into a man’s face.

‘Are you all right?’

It was the historian. He was crouched over her; his face full of concern, laced with a hint of panic. He was very attractive up close, but then Melissa wondered why he was so close. And why was she on the ground?

‘Are you all right?’ he repeated. ‘I could see you falling from all the way back there.’ He pointed over her head towards the avenue. ‘I don’t remember the last time I had to run that fast.’

Melissa nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she said out of good old-fashioned British politeness, although it was clear she wasn’t fine at all. Her head still hurt and her raging thirst hadn’t diminished. And she was still on the ground.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Hmm. Stay still for a few minutes at least,’ he said. ‘You just passed out. There must be a first-aider here who can take a quick look at you.’

She sat up slowly, ignoring his protestations. ‘How long was I out?’

‘Not long. About thirty seconds or so.’

‘Oh.’ Melissa coughed dryly.

‘Here, have this.’ He offered her his chilled bottle of water and Melissa sipped, then offered it back. He shook his head. ‘It’s yours.’

She put it on the ground, where it rolled to one side and came to rest against a piece of fabric. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘My sweater. I put it under your head when I laid you down.’

‘Did you catch me?’ She looked into his eyes. They were a startling shade of blue that the photograph on the leaflet hadn’t done justice.

He nodded. ‘When I caught sight of you wobbling, I ran so fast I almost careered into you.’

Melissa spied her sunglasses a few feet away. She felt lucky they hadn’t smashed. They must have fallen off her face as she passed out.

He looked in the direction of her gaze; stood and scooped them up, then handed them back before looking at his mobile phone.

‘There’s no signal out here. No phone mast for miles; the village never needed one. So I can’t summon any help. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid, until you feel well enough to walk.’

‘I feel fine now,’ she said, only half-fibbing. ‘I think I was just a bit dehydrated.’

Melissa looked around, hoping the golf buggy might return for its celebrity passenger so she could hitch a lift, but she didn’t mention it.

He sat down next to her and eyed her carefully. ‘OK. Well, we’ll give it a while before we move. Just rest for a bit.’

Melissa nodded and reached for the water again before taking another sip. ‘That’s much better,’ she said, screwing the cap back on. She looked at the house properly and felt a strange kind of sadness.

‘Are you interested in this sort of history?’ Guy nodded towards the house.

‘Not usually,’ Melissa admitted and then felt a bit guilty admitting this in front of a historian. ‘I was curious about this though and I had the day to kill. I seem to have accidentally come on a surfing holiday, but I hate surfing, so I’ve been finding other things to do with my days. I’ve never even been to Dorset before. I had no idea about Tyneham.’