She stepped off the train, dragging a suitcase behind her, ignoring the clatter as it dropped over the edge of the train doorway onto the platform beneath. She hurried to the steps that arched over the tracks, heaving her case over the barrier, nodding at the guy manning the exit, who, with a flicker of recognition crossing his face, opened the gate for her.
She walked towards the exit doors, which opened automatically as though to greet her, and, standing with her feet wide and shoulders back, she lit her first cigarette for five years and surveyed the town that fought her and won.
She was back.
Isobel Hester was home.
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