“You can’t do anything to me. I’m not guilty,” Nikita muttered, stepping back. His entire body trembled with fear.
At the start of June, the warm summer weather settled in. People, tired of the dust and stifling air of the city, escaped to cottages, the countryside, or the seaside. Simon and his wife, Emma, along with their daughter Lucy, set off early one morning for a weekend in the small village where he’d grown up—where his mother still lived.
“Alright, everyone ready? Nothing forgotten? Let’s go before the sun really starts to blaze,” Simon ordered, climbing into the car. Lucy sat beside her father, while Emma settled in the back, away from the air conditioning.
At a family meeting, they’d decided Lucy would spend her last school break at her grandmother’s. She hadn’t wanted to leave the city, but with her friends scattering in different directions, staying behind would’ve been dull.
“Why so glum? You’ll love it, you’ll see. There are friends there too. You might not even want to come back,” Simon encouraged.
“Whatever, Dad, it’s fine,” Lucy grumbled, buckling her seatbelt.
“That’s more like it,” Simon said, brightening. “Last long holiday before it all gets serious—exams, university, then real life.”
The city shook off its sleepiness as they drove through quiet streets, the roads still free of rush-hour traffic. The car soon left the urban sprawl behind.
The sun had just begun to rise, its rays cutting through the trees along the motorway like sharp needles. *Everything is fine—so why this unease?* Simon wondered, watching the grey tarmac blur beneath the wheels.
Four hours later, they arrived at the village, nestled in greenery and flowers. Grandmother flung the door open, gasped with delight—finally, they were here—and kissed each of them in turn.
“Look at Lucy, all grown up! Practically a lady now. Simon, I’ve baked your favourite tarts. Come inside, don’t just stand in the hall,” she fussed cheerfully.
“Everything’s still the same,” Simon sighed, glancing around the room, breathing in the familiar scent of home. “Nothing’s changed. You’ve even kept everything in the same place. Mum, you haven’t aged a bit.” He hugged her tightly.
“Oh, stop it,” she swatted his words away. “Bet you’re hungry after the drive. Wash up, breakfast is ready.”
“Keep an eye on this one, Mum. Don’t let her run wild. No late-night gallivanting,” Simon said, already devouring half a tart with a satisfied hum.
“Like you were any better at her age,” his mother chuckled, sliding a glass of homemade elderflower cordial toward him.
“Exactly! Go on, Gran, tell us what he was really like. He acts like he was born a saint,” Lucy countered.
Grandmother busied herself setting out more food, then glanced out the window.
“Anyone fancy a cuppa?” she asked, scanning the room. “Your friends are already outside waiting, Lucy. They saw the car,” she added with a knowing look.
“Who?” Lucy asked, darting to the window.
“Eat first,” Simon said sternly. “They can wait.”
“I’m full. Thanks, Gran, the tarts were amazing.” Lucy shifted impatiently.
“Go on, then, scamp,” Grandmother relented. “Be back by lunch.” And Lucy was gone in a flash.
“Mum, be strict with her. She looks grown-up, but there’s still a whirlwind in her head,” Simon said as the door clicked shut.
“It’s peaceful here. Don’t worry.”
The next evening, Simon and Emma prepared to leave. Standing by the car, he gave Lucy his final instructions.
“Help Gran. And keep your phone on, alright?”
“Dad, enough, I get it,” Lucy rolled her eyes. “If you’re this worried, maybe I should just come back with you?”
“Honestly, Simon, you’re smothering her,” Emma chided. “We should go—it’ll be late by the time we’re home.”
As they drove off, Simon watched his mother and daughter shrink in the rearview mirror. He glanced at Emma. *She’s calm. Why am I winding myself up? Lucy’s smart. Nothing will happen. I need to learn to let go…* He forced himself to push back the unfamiliar dread tightening in his chest.
Three weeks passed. Lucy called every day, updating them on village life. Gradually, Simon relaxed. But one Saturday morning, his phone rang, jolting him awake.
“Work calling?” Emma mumbled, eyes still closed.
Simon grabbed the phone. His mother’s name flashed across the screen—he answered immediately.
“Yes, Mum? Why so early?” His heart already thudded, warning of trouble.
“Simon… I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep Lucy safe,” she sobbed.
“What happened?” Simon shot upright, grabbing his jeans.
“It’s bad. Come quickly. Lucy’s in hospital—she’s in a coma…” Her voice broke into weeping.
“Get dressed. Lucy’s in hospital.” Simon tossed the phone aside, yanking on his jeans.
Emma sat frozen, then let out a gasp, sinking onto the bed.
“What’s wrong with Lucy?” she whispered.
“Mum’s hysterical—I couldn’t make sense of it. We’ll find out when we get there.”
He’d skipped refuelling the night before. Now, the petrol station queue stretched endlessly—weekend city-dwellers fleeing the heat.
“What do we do? We’re wasting time!” Emma wrung her hands.
“Hang on.” Simon fetched a jerry can, filled it, and returned to pour the fuel in. They sped off.
“She didn’t want to go… We made her… If she’d stayed, this wouldn’t—” Emma sobbed.
“Stop it!” Simon snapped. “I can’t take this. Maybe it’s not as bad as Mum thinks.” But he didn’t believe his own words.
Nearing the village, Simon called his mother. She was at the hospital. Seeing him sprint down the corridor, she threw herself against his chest, weeping.
“We won’t get sense out of her. Emma, stay with Mum. I’ll find the doctor.”
Simon found him in the staff room, the smell of fresh coffee thick in the air.
“You’re the father? Good you’re here. Lucy’s friend has a broken leg, a few ribs. But Lucy—she has a serious head injury. We’ve operated, removed the haematoma. She hasn’t woken from the anaesthesia. We’re hoping her youth will pull her through. Coffee?”
“Will she… recover?” Simon forced out.
“We’ve done all we can. There’s a chance, but…” The doctor shrugged.
“Where’s the boy? The one she was riding with?” Simon interrupted.
“Trauma ward, first floor.”
Simon stormed out.
“His name’s James Whitmore!” the doctor called after him.
Simon entered the ward and saw a young lad with a cast-covered leg propped on the bed.
“You’re James?”
“Yeah. And you—”
“Lucy’s dad. Tell me what happened.” No preamble.
“What’s to tell? We went for a ride. Rain had left the roads slick. Something got under the front wheel—a stone, maybe. Bike skidded, we came off.”
“Lucy wasn’t wearing a helmet?” Simon guessed.
“No.” James looked away. “Neither was I. We weren’t going far, just a quick ride.”
“Go on,” Simon pressed.
“Next thing… My leg was busted. Ribs hurt like hell. Lucy… She was out cold.”
“You called an ambulance…” Simon prompted.
“My phone was smashed. Lucy didn’t have hers.”
“So you what—lay there till morning?” Simon’s voice cracked with fury.
“Dark. No cars. I couldn’t shout for help. Even if I could stand, how would I get her to hospital? It’s not my fault!” James’s voice rose to a shout.
Simon studied him, sensing evasion.
“I rode bikes at your age. Never alone—always in groups. Who else was there?” Simon’s gaze pinned him.
James flinched.
“You’re hiding something. Spill it. If you’re innocent, why lie?” Simon’s stare bore into him. James swallowed hard.
“Fine. Just promise you won’t tell anyone.” James looked up desperately.
“Depends. Talk. And no lies.”
“I swear, it wasn’t me. Nathan fancied Lucy. Told me to stay away. But he wasn’t around that night, so we went riding. Tom’s bike was knackered, and Chris just didn’t come.”
“Old ladies yell when we speed through the village, so we headed out. Stopped by the road, just talking. Then I saw Nathan coming—recognised his flashy bike. His dad spoils him rotten.”
JamesSimon gripped the steering wheel as he sped back to the hospital, praying silently—*Just let her be okay*—while the weight of his anger slowly gave way to the fragile hope that Lucy would wake up and this nightmare would finally end.
