“Not a lot, really.”
Taryn huffed. “Typical. You have to do a task - you know that much, don’t you?”
Emma hesitated, remembering what Father Eamon had said about the cardinal rule, “Yeah. He said we mustn’t speak about it.”
“Individual tasks, yeah, but I’m talking about the whole thing. Did he explain what’s going on here?”
“No, not really. He said it would all become clear in time.”
“Yeah, right, clear as mud if you leave it up to these guys. You have to complete a task to move on. It’s all to do with the treaty of Cordoba and the betrayal of…”
“That’s enough, Taryn. Do not fill Emma’s mind up with things she need not yet know.” Father Eamon had stopped to let them catch up and had been listening to their conversation as they approached. He was resting on a large chunk of concrete that had once been a piece of the road in front of him; now there was a gaping wound stretching between the pavements. As Emma looked into it, she saw fractured pipes spewing their contents in to the bottom, creating a muddy soup of dirt, rock and metal.
“I’m only telling her what she needs to know.”
“I understand but the whole thing eludes you - and me for that matter. It is better that Emma sees as well as hears, would you not agree?”
“Yeah, but it’s not fair. It’s bad enough that we’ve ended up here. The least you could do is explain what else goes on here apart from our trials. What about all the people I see? What are they doing here? Sister Ignacia goes all mysterious when I ask her about it.”
Emma was trying to follow the conversation and failing. “Aren’t the other people here because they have to complete the trials just like us?”
“I don’t mean those other people. I mean the other people. You know, the people that live here.”
“What people?” Emma was startled. This was something that Father Eamon hadn’t mentioned. She was starting to wonder what else he had been holding back.
“You see my point. This is something Emma needn’t have found out about until a more appropriate time; but now she will wonder why I did not tell her, and also wonder if there is anything else I have held back.
“Well I can tell you now, Emma, that there are many things that I have held back, some of which I will share with you when the time is right and some of which I will keep my council on as they are of no issue to either you or Taryn. Do not think any the worse of me for this. You have to understand that I must only allow you enough information to complete your time here. Anything else is a distraction and would not serve you well. As for the people of whom Taryn speaks, she is right to say that they live here but it is more complicated than that and I will tell you about them when…”
“…The time is right. I know. Just don’t ask me to like it.”
“I understand, but you are strong and I have faith in you and your abilities.”
Emma just hoped he had enough faith for both of them.
They carried on down the road in silence, both Emma and Taryn more concerned in avoiding the man-made rock-falls than talking. Father Eamon seemed to navigate his way through it all with consummate ease.
“Oh for fucks sake!” Taryn took yet another tumble as a small pile of rubble and brick dust gave way beneath her. Emma allowed herself a quiet giggle, remembering how Taryn had always been completely hopeless at team sports when they were at school.
Taryn looked ruefully at Emma as she gratefully took her outstretched hand and dusted herself off. “The sooner I’m out of here the better.”
“No argument here.”
Taryn’s eyes dropped down to Emma’s waist as they caught up with Father Eamon, “Ooh, nice jeans. D & G?”
“No DKNY. I got them just before…well you know.”
Taryn gave Emma a consoling hug, “I know it does take some getting used to but there is a bright side.”
Emma almost choked. “Oh really? And what would that be?”
“Well, now you’re dead, there’s no danger of growing out of them.”
Emma gave Taryn a look.
They turned left on to King William Street and Emma stopped. There was mist drifting across the road. Her stomach did an involuntary cartwheel.
“Fear not the mist, Emma, ‘tis off the river. There is no change in temperature is there? That is the sign of the Gentle Men.”
As they approached, the mist parted around two stone columns, each with a gas lamp on top. They were ten foot high and rectangular, the granite giving off a purple hue. She could only see a short distance ahead, maybe fifteen feet, before everything was swallowed up again; but it was enough for Emma to make out the start of a wide bridge, whose elegance was only partially masked by the mist now drifting across.
“I don’t understand. Where are we?”
“We are exactly where we should be,” said Father Eamon. “London Bridge.”
“This isn’t London Bridge.” Emma was confused. She had crossed the bridge a thousand times when she was alive and the mist could not disguise the fact that this was different.
“Not the one you remember, maybe, but it is London Bridge none the less.”
Emma stood looking at him nonplussed.
“This is the old London Bridge, not the new one. There is a shifting reality here: elements change. Over the course of a city’s life, events leave a mark for better or worse within the plane; they come and go in the form of realms, each one distinct from the others. What is here now may not be here tomorrow.”
Emma tried to take this in but all she could do was look at the cobbles stretching out ahead of them into the mist. Heat from the ornate two-headed gas lamps placed along the bridge caused the mist to rise as they walked revealing the cold luminescence of the marble blocks.
Father Eamon looked over at the women. “I think it is time we cross over.”
There was a groan from Emma’s left. Taryn was grimacing. “This is the bit I hate.”
Father Eamon smiled. “Come, Taryn, you are used to this now.”
“Used to it, yes. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
Father Eamon moved them to one side of the road.
“Grab my arms.”
Emma and Taryn took hold and the sensation of falling was instant. The mist cleared as marble and iron gave way to the granite and concrete Emma was familiar with, complete with rush-hour traffic and commuters.
A wave of heat hit them as, once again, Emma had to shield her eyes against the low morning sunlight. The noise of the rush hour traffic threatened to overwhelm her. Buses, motorcycles and lorries all vied 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.
“That is ours,” said Father Eamon.
They approached the ticket barriers and went through, unopposed. Emma allowed herself a brief smile as sh
e 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.
“This 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 went by.
They arrived at a house bordered by a hedge and yellow Begonias. There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary about this house but Emma knew what was waiting for her inside.
“God, I haven’t been here in…”
“…Ten years.”
Emma finished off Taryn’s sentence. It was something they had done as children but the resurrection of an old habit brought little comfort here.
They stopped at the driveway and Emma held back, unsure whether to continue. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to see her family but a small voice told her that it would only cause more grief.
“We do not have to go in Emma, we can always turn back.” Father Eamon had turned to face her. He stood by the fence that divided the driveway from her neighbours. Emma could remember Steven, her next-door neighbour, putting it up a few years previous as a replacement for one that had blown down in a storm. The image of him swearing as he struggled to keep the posts straight whilst he poured the wet concrete around them made her smile but in an instant it was gone
“No, I want to continue.” It occurred to Emma that she had no idea how they were going to get in. She looked uncertainly at Father Eamon, “How do I open the door?”
Father Eamon smiled, “Like this.” He turned to the door and Emma watched as his eyes narrowed and his breathing slowed down. The front door started to shimmer before slowly evaporating into what Emma could only describe as a heat haze. Through it she could see watery visions of the hallway shifting lazily left and right. Again she hesitated, this time not sure what to think of what she had just seen.
“It’s okay Em; you just walk through.” Taryn was now standing by her side “Watch, I’ll show you”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll go first.” For all her misgivings, Emma couldn’t allow Taryn to go ahead of her. It didn’t feel right, as if it was in some way intrusive, even though as a child Taryn had virtually lived there.
Emma stepped forward; she raised her left arm and pushed the tips of her fingers slowly through the rippling haze. There was the briefest sensation of heat but then they broke through into cooler air beyond. Taking confidence from this, Emma stepped through, closing her eyes as her face was immersed in a tingling flurry of light. When she opened them she found herself in a hallway, one that looked completely unchanged from when she was last in it twelve months previous, except now, as her eyes and ears adjusted, something was missing. At first she couldn’t place it but slowly she realised what it was. Noise. There wasn’t any at least none that you would expect to hear inside a suburban home. At first Emma thought that maybe they had arrived when everybody was out but then she remembered seeing her parents car in the driveway and they never went anywhere without it.
Emma moved further into the hall and heard a sound coming from the kitchen. It was quiet and gentle but with nothing to stop it, it carried into the hallway. Emma ventured further in and looked for the source of the noise, only to feel like her heart was being wrenched out.
Her mother sat at a table, her head supported by her hands. Piled up in front of her were photo albums. One was open, the photos inside showing a young child sitting in an imitation car at a fairground, an impish smile on its face. Other pictures showed the child standing with a man kneeling beside her, her dark tousled hair covering one eye as again the impish smile shone through. Next to the albums was a box of tissues that, as Emma watched, she dipped into.
She was a frail shadow of the woman Emma had loved, her silver blonde hair tied back into a bun, her hands prematurely aged. Had Emma turned around, she would have seen Father Eamon gently stop Taryn from coming to her side but she was transfixed on the table. Her mother’s face was hidden but Emma could hear the sobs. Emma watched her mother turned the stiff cardboard page, struggling to work it through the ring bindings. For a brief second a pained smile crossed her face as new photos were exposed only to disappear and be replaced with more tears. “Oh, Emma” her mother’s voice was soft but the words were cracked and came through deep breathes and sharp intakes of air.
“It’s okay mum. I’m here.”
Emma had never felt pain like it. Watching her mother, wretched and weeping, she knew things had changed. She was on the outside looking in. For all the pain and tears, she knew she was no longer a part of this family no matter how much she wanted to cling on.
Her mother looked up and, for the briefest moment, Emma thought she saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes only for it to be dashed as she heard the slightest of noises behind her and realised her mum was looking towards the source.
Emma turned and followed her gaze. In her distress she hadn’t heard the footsteps behind herself. Standing in the doorway was a woman a year younger than her. The hair was shorter and the face fuller but other than that, Emma’s sister was undeniably from the same bloodline.
“Mum.” The woman walked straight across the floor, Emma instinctively moving out the way, and wrapped her arms around their mother’s neck in a vain effort to comfort her.
Emma wanted nothing more than to take away all the pain even though right then her own was almost too much to bear. She turned and walked out of the kitchen in a daze and headed to the stairs, walking past Father Eamon and Taryn who was weeping uncontrollably. As she slowly walked up the stairs, her hands touched lightly on the wallpaper and the family pictures hanging there. Reaching the top, she turned left onto the landing and stopped in front of a door. Looking in she could see a wardrobe set back into an alcove and a dressing table against the wall on the left. She walked in to find the room unchanged since she had left it six years ago except now her father was sitting on her bed looking blankly in to thin air. Emma
looked around, taking in the mementos of her past. On the wall was a picture taken on a school trip to France. There were four of them in it, Taryn, her and two other girls from her class whom she had been close with at the time. It was at an odd angle, as if it had been taken off the wall and then carelessly put back. On the dressing table was a small jewellery case, which had been given to her on her fifteenth birthday by her gran. The latch had broken, so Emma had decided to leave it here when she had moved out. Now it served to bring back memories of a happier time. She turned back to face her father.
“Dad, I’m so sorry.” She knew he couldn’t hear but guilt sat like a vulture on her shoulder, slowly picking her apart. She sat on the bed and just looked at him. For a while he sat there not moving, just looking at the wall and then he did something Emma had never seen him do before. He cried. These were not the silent sobs of her mother but were deep and heavy. It felt to Emma like one of the pillars her life had been built on, her father’s guaranteed strength, had just crumbled in front of her. She looked away not wanting to see but could not block the sound from her ears. After a while, her father’s tears spent for now, stopped and he went back to looking at the wall. Emma sat there just looking at him. He was hunched over, which gave the effect of prematurely ageing him and to Emma he looked older than his fifty eight years. She leant forward to hug him, as much for her own comfort as his and was met with a searing cold as she approached him. She tried again only to find the pain waiting for her. Emma sat on the bed, defeated, her father none the wiser to his daughters vain efforts.
After a while Emma got up, realising that no good could come from staying here and headed towards the bedroom door. When she got there she turned around and took a final look.
“Bye, dad.”
She left the room and headed downstairs to be met by Father Eamon and Taryn, who was still struggling to get herself together.
“Are you ready?” It was Father Eamon, his eyes searching hers.
“One second.” Emma headed into the kitchen to see her mother and sister in the same position they had been in when she had left, oblivious to her presence.
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