“You can’t do anything to me. It’s not my fault,” muttered Nigel, backing away, his whole body trembling with fear.
At the start of June, the warm summer weather had finally settled in. People, starved of nature and rest, fled the gritty, suffocating cities for the countryside, the seaside, or their cottages. Simon, his wife Emily, and their daughter Sophie left early in the morning to spend the weekend in the little village where he’d grown up—where his mum still lived.
“Alright, everyone ready? Nothing forgotten? Then let’s go before the sun really starts blazing,” Simon commanded, settling into the driver’s seat. Sophie plopped into the passenger seat beside him, while Emily tucked herself into the back, as far from the air conditioning as possible.
At the last family meeting, it had been decided Sophie would spend her final summer holiday with Grandma. She hadn’t been thrilled about leaving town, but with her friends scattering to different corners of the country, staying would’ve been unbearably dull.
“Why the long face? You’ll love it, you’ll see. There’ll be friends there, too. You might not even want to leave by the end,” Simon reassured her.
“Oh, come on, Dad, I’m fine,” Sophie grumbled, clicking her seatbelt.
“That’s the spirit,” Simon said, brightening. “Last long holiday before your GCSEs and A-levels, then uni—proper grown-up life after that.”
The city was waking up, shaking off its sleepy sluggishness. The roads weren’t yet clogged with traffic, so they made quick work of slipping beyond the city limits.
The sun had only just started its ascent, its rays slicing through the trees like sharp needles, stabbing at Simon’s eyes. “Everything’s fine… so why does my heart feel so uneasy?” he wondered, watching the tarmac blur beneath them.
Four hours later, they rolled into the village, nestled in greenery and blossoms. Grandma flung the door open, threw up her hands—”Finally!”—and smothered everyone in kisses.
“Look how big our Sophie’s got! A proper young lady now. Simon, I baked your favourite scones. Come on through, don’t crowd the hallway,” she fussed.
“Nothing’s changed,” Simon sighed, taking in the familiar room, the same childhood smells clinging to the walls. “Same old place, same old you,” he said, hugging her.
“Oh, get away with you,” she swatted him off. “Hungry after the drive, I’ll bet? Wash up, and we’ll have breakfast.”
“And Mum—keep an eye on this one. Don’t give her too much freedom. No late-night gallivanting,” Simon said, tearing into a scone with relish.
“Honestly, have you forgotten what you were like at her age?” Mum chuckled, sliding him a glass of homemade lemonade.
“Yeah, go on, Gran, tell me—was he really the saint he pretends to be?” Sophie shot back.
Grandma bustled about, piling the table with treats, glancing out the window as she did.
“Anyone fancy a cuppa?” She eyed her long-awaited guests. “There’s already a couple of your mates waiting outside—spotted the car,” she added, giving Sophie a knowing look.
“Who?” Sophie asked, already darting to the window.
“Eat first,” Simon said sternly. “They can wait.”
“I’m full. Thanks, Gran, the scones were amazing,” Sophie shifted impatiently from foot to foot.
“Go on then, you little scamp,” Gran relented. “But be back for lunch.”
Sophie was out the door in a flash.
“Mum, be firm with her. She looks grown, but she’s still got her head in the clouds,” Simon said when the door clicked shut.
“Don’t fuss. It’s quiet here.”
The next evening, Simon and Emily prepared to drive back. By the car, he delivered his final fatherly sermon.
“Help Gran. And don’t turn off your phone, yeah?”
“Dad, seriously, I get it,” Sophie rolled her eyes. “If you’re this worried, maybe I should just come back with you?”
“Simon, you’re smothering her,” Emily intervened. “Let’s go, or we’ll be driving half the night.”
Pulling out of the drive, Simon watched Mum and Sophie shrink in the rearview. He glanced at Emily. “She’s calm. Why am I winding myself up? Sophie’s sharp—nothing’ll happen. I need to learn to let go…” He willed himself to ignore the gnawing unease in his chest.
Three weeks passed. Sophie called every day, updating them on village life. Slowly, Simon relaxed. Until Saturday morning.
“Work calling?” Emily mumbled, eyes still shut.
Simon grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Mum’s name flashed on screen. He answered instantly.
“Yeah, Mum. Why’re you calling so—?” His heart hammered before she even spoke.
“Oh, Simon, love… I’ve let Sophie down,” Mum’s voice cracked.
“What’s happened?” Simon launched out of bed, snatching his jeans.
“She’s in hospital—coma. Hurry!” Mum dissolved into sobs.
“Get dressed. Sophie’s in hospital,” Simon said, tossing the phone aside.
Emily gasped, sinking back onto the bed.
“What’s wrong with her?” she whispered.
“Mum’s hysterical—we’ll find out when we get there.”
Last night, he’d skipped refuelling. Now, queues snaked around the petrol station. Weekend city exodus.
“What do we do? We’ll lose hours here,” Emily fretted.
“Hold on.” Simon hauled their emergency canister from the boot.
Five minutes later, they were back on the road.
“She didn’t want to go… We talked her into it…” Emily hiccupped.
“Stop it!” Simon snapped. “This is bad enough without that. Maybe it’s not as bad as Mum thinks.” (He didn’t believe it either.)
Near the village, Simon rang ahead. Mum waited at the hospital. Seeing him sprint down the corridor, she collapsed against him, sobbing.
“She’s useless right now. Em, stay with her. I’ll find the doctor.”
He located him in the staff room, the scent of fresh coffee hanging in the air.
“You’re the father? Good. Your daughter’s friend has a broken leg, couple of ribs. But her head injury’s severe. We’ve operated—removed the clot. Still unconscious. Young bodies rally, though. Coffee?”
“Will she… be alright?” Simon choked out.
“We’ve done our best. There’s a chance, but…” The doctor shrugged.
“Where’s the boy? The one she was riding with?” Simon cut in.
“Ortho ward, first floor. Name’s Liam Colson.”
Simon barged into the room, spotting a kid barely out of school, one leg casted under the blanket.
“You Liam?”
“Yeah. You’re—?”
“Sophie’s dad. What happened?”
Liam swallowed. “We were on my bike. Rain left the roads slick. Front wheel hit something—stone, stick, dunno. We skidded off.”
“No helmets?” Simon guessed.
“Yeah.” Liam looked away. “Wasn’t planning a long ride.”
“And then?”
“Realised my leg was smashed. Ribs hurt like hell. Sophie… just didn’t wake up.”
“You called an ambulance?”
“Phone was wrecked. Sophie didn’t have hers.”
“So you just… waited? Till morning?” Simon’s voice shook.
“Dark. No cars. Couldn’t even shout. Even if I’d stood, how would I’ve gotten her here? Not my fault!” Liam’s voice cracked.
Simon studied him. Something didn’t add up.
“I used to ride. Never alone—always in packs. Who else was there?”
Liam flinched.
“Spit it out. If you’re innocent, why lie?” Simon pressed.
“Swear you won’t tell?”
“Depends. Talk.”
“Okay. Nigel liked her. Told me to back off. He wasn’t around that night, so we went for a ride. Jake’s bike broke down, and Tom bailed.”
Liam chewed his lip. “Old ladies yell when we rip through the village, so we headed out. Stopped to talk. Then I saw Nigel’s Ducati.”
Simon’s jaw tightened.
“Sophie panicked. Hates him. We took off, but he caught up fast. Tried to overtake. Then—bam—stone under the wheel.”
“Or he rammed you?” Simon’s voice was deadly quiet.
“No! I felt the stone. I’m not lying!” Liam’s eyes held steady.
“You already lied. Why trust you?”
“Up to you,” Liam muttered.
“Fine. Why’d help come so late if Nigel was there?”
Liam paled.
“He said he’d fetch help.”
“No phone?”
Nigel twisted the truth, scared of getting caught, but Sophie woke when Simon needed hope most—proving sometimes second chances arrive just in time.
