Free Isabella's Heiress by N.P. Griffiths

for road space.
    Emma moved closer to Father Eamon, as the new surroundings made her feel suddenly vulnerable and exposed. A feeling of envy for the people walking along, oblivious to what might await them, rose in Emma’s stomach.
They have it so easy,
she thought, as they headed into their jobs and she found herself having to dance a minor ballet, pirouetting to avoid oncoming city workers. It was an art that Father Eamon and Taryn seemed to have got down to an elegant side step.
    Finally they reached the south end of the bridge and turned left onto a drab raised passage. The downbeat mix of covered concrete walkway and shop fronts selling anything from stereos to sandwiches to newspapers was a stark contrast to the world Emma had just left. Below them a chattering metropolis went to work unaware of the three souls in their midst.
    They came out onto Station Approach, a long semi-circle that was home to a crowd of buses and taxis, and commuters vainly queuing for both. Emma followed the other two through the glass doors and onto the concourse of London Bridge station, home to a thriving mass of people all caught up in their own little worlds of take-away coffees, newspapers and speed walking. A voice announced that the eight fourteen to East Croydon would be leaving shortly as the three of them headed across the station concourse.
    â€œThat is ours,” said Father Eamon.
    They approached the ticket barriers and went through, unopposed. Emma allowed herself a brief smile as she walked past a blue-jacketed ticket inspector who was none the wiser for her presence.
    Platform fourteen was ahead of them and Emma couldn’t help but notice the intricate Victorian latticework stretching across the roof: it seemed to go on forever and was at odds with the mixture of portacabins and wheelie bins below it. The train, the doors opened as if on command and Emma stepped on board and took the first seat she came across. They were the only ones in the carriage.
    The train pulled away, allowing Emma to look out onto a changing landscape of new-build flats and council estates uneasily sharing limited urban space. Both Father Eamon and Taryn stayed silent, allowing her time alone with her thoughts. This was only a short journey but it was fraught with emotion, each new vista bringing back memories from the dark recesses of her mind.
    A voice came over the public address system announcing their imminent arrival at North Dulwich and Emma’s stomach churned. They pulled into a near-empty platform and Father Eamon’s voice broke the silence.
    â€œThis is our stop.”
    They rose from their seats and Emma felt Taryn’s hand give her arm an encouraging squeeze as they stepped onto the platform and walked towards the stairs. Looking around Emma felt mixed emotions, at once finding solace in familiarity yet distanced from her old neighbourhood by the circumstances that brought her here. She breathed in her surroundings, hoping for some sort of relief from the city they had just left.
    Outside the station, they turned left down Red Post Hill and Emma closed her eyes lifting her face to the sun. Even though she could feel no warmth, there was something comforting in the light. She opened them to find Taryn doing the same thing. They walked down the hill before turning left into the leafy comfort of East Dulwich Grove with Emma and Taryn’s eyes still adjusting to the sun. Cars passed and children played whilst waiting for a bus as all around them life went on. The road was home to large detached houses, with well-maintained hedges and gravel driveways, the houses owned, no doubt, by well-maintained families thought Emma. People carriers and small hatchbacks lined the pavement, whilst four by fours and German saloons had made the gravel their domain.
    They turned into Gilkes Crescent, the cars the same only this time the houses were large elevated semis. The warm summer silence was broken only when a liveried delivery van