The girl
“Why do folks let young girls hitch rides alone? Barely more than kids,” muttered Leonard, slowing down as he spotted two teenagers desperately waving by the roadside. It had been years since he drove through this part of the countryside—no reason to. The place felt tucked away, like a dead end, beyond which lay the moors.
“Where you headed?” he asked, leaning out the window.
“To Yarnton!” The girls couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen—slim in their tight jeans and windbreakers, pale fringes framing their faces, eyes wide with trust.
“That’s not exactly nearby. But alright, hop in—I’m going that way.”
As soon as they settled in, Leonard launched into a lecture; he loved playing the wise elder. “You’re too young to be hitching rides. For all you know, I could be anyone.”
“Mister, the bus never came. We went to town, had to hitch back. Made it this far, then tried again.”
“Should’ve waited for the next bus,” Leonard said, turning to meet the gaze of one—blue eyes, innocent, the kind that believed every word spoken.
“Where are your parents in all this?”
“It’s our first time. But you’re nice—we can tell.”
“You’re just kids—how would you know if I’m nice?” Still, their praise warmed him. “Though, fair, I am. But don’t go getting in cars with strangers. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He could’ve dropped them at the village edge—just a kilometre to walk. But the role of protector suited him, so he drove on.
“We don’t have much money,” one worried.
“Keep it. Just fetch me some water later.” He glanced at the girl again. “Parents home?”
“Should be.”
The gate swung open before they parked. A woman in a headscarf and muddy wellies—straight from the garden—marched over.
“What’s this? Why not take the bus?”
“That’s what I said—standing on the road like that, it’s not safe. Kids shouldn’t be out alone, even if it’s close.”
“They always take the bus to town,” the woman defended. Then she trailed off, staring. Leonard removed his cap—no doubt now. *Gordey.* They’d lived in the same village once.
“Len? That you?” She tugged off her scarf, squinting.
“Yeah. Leonard… Wait—Veronica? Veronica Wren? Blimey, barely recognised you.”
“You’re no spring chicken either. Balding already? A bit early for that.”
Leonard flushed. “Your girl, then?”
“Mine, Len. All mine.” She turned to her daughter. “Maisy, go inside. Lunch is on.”
The girl studied him—*his eyes, in her face*—before skipping off.
“*Mine.* Didn’t abandon her like you did.”
Leonard stiffened. “We talked, but nothing was certain—”
“Oh, don’t start.”
“—didn’t expect this. Just gave her a lift. How old is she?”
“Fourteen. Didn’t you see? She’s got your look.”
Leonard’s hand hovered near the ignition. “What d’you want?”
“Nothing. Didn’t beg then, won’t now. Just wanted you to know.”
He revved the engine. Veronica knocked on the glass.
“Forgot to say *thanks*.” Her voice was steady. “Fancy meeting after all this time. Might never happen again. Cheers for bringing her home. Suppose even a deadbeat dad’s good for something once.”
Leonard drove off, cursing himself. Rumours had reached him—*she kept the kid.* He’d pretended it meant nothing.
His life wasn’t bad. Comfortable. His wife ran two shops; he helped. No children of their own, though—just her son from a first marriage. She never mentioned more. Too busy.
He sighed, picturing Maisy’s eyes—*his eyes.* Maybe he’d visit. Then he remembered Veronica’s stare—*no going back.* And his wife’s iron rule. Fear returned, fresh as fourteen years ago.
_____________
“Who was that?” Michael stepped from the garden, frowning at the unfamiliar car. “Maisy—hitching again?”
“Dad, I won’t! I was with Daisy. The man was nice!”
Michael wiped sweat from his brow. “No more scares. Set an example—your brother looks up to you. Buses or us, understand?”
“Mike—quick word.” Veronica pulled him aside. “No point hiding it. That was her biological father.”
“And he *knows*?”
“Now he does.”
Michael scoffed. “*I* raised her—school runs, parent nights. Now *he* waltzes in—”
“Relax. He’s a coward. Won’t be back.”
“Tell Maisy?”
“She knows she’s adopted. Doubt she’ll love you less.”
Maisy burst out, hugging them both. “Missed you!”
“One day apart?” Michael laughed.
“Swear I did!”
“Believe you, love.” He held her close, smiling.
