**Driving Lessons**
Emily parked her Mini Cooper by the office and hurried toward the entrance. Two women strolled ahead, chatting leisurely. Just before the doors, they stopped abruptly, blocking her path. Without hesitation, Emily shouldered between them, nudging them aside, and yanked the door open.
“Oi, where d’you think you’re—” A string of insults followed her.
Any other day, she’d have fired back, but today, she was hopelessly late. Ignoring the remarks, she dashed to the lift, slipping inside just as the doors began to close—bumping into a man in the process.
“Sorry,” she muttered, turning away.
For a split second, the women’s angry faces flashed between the closing doors. The lift ascended smoothly. *Should’ve stuck my tongue out at them*, Emily thought belatedly.
Her cheeks were flushed from rushing, her hair a mess. A mirror lined the back wall, but the lift was too crowded to reach it. She smoothed her hair with her hand instead.
Someone behind her snorted. She just *knew* it was the man she’d bumped into. Glancing back, she found him staring, chin slightly raised—or maybe it just seemed that way because he was taller. A faint whiff of his cologne lingered. For a moment, their eyes locked. Emily whipped her head around, sending her hair flying.
The lift shuddered to a stop. The doors slid open, and she stepped out, acutely aware of his gaze on her back.
“Fancy her, then?” asked Nicholas once the lift moved again. “She fancied *you*. Did you see how she nearly snapped at you?”
“Come off it. Batting eyelashes and skinny legs don’t work on me. I’m not some daft lad. She’s all fire now, but wait till she’s married—then the real her’ll come out. ‘Oh darling, Rebecca and her husband holidayed in the Maldives, and we’re stuck with Turkey *again*? I’m sick of it. Laura’s got three fur coats, and I’ve only one. I feel like a pauper!’” David pouted exaggeratedly, mimicking his ex-wife’s tone. A few stifled laughs rippled around them.
“Just bad luck with Lisa, mate,” Nicholas said as the lift halted. They stepped out.
“Right, this way,” Nicholas nudged.
“Agreed. After her, I can’t even look at women. Enough of this.” David paused by a glass door. “Here?”
Meanwhile, Emily was being torn into by her boss.
“Where the *hell* have you been? The client’s been ringing off the hook—you’re blowing the deal!” he roared, spittle flying.
“James, I swear, it won’t happen again. There was traffic—”
“Spare me. Go to bed earlier and leave before rush hour. One more late, and I don’t care if your mum’s ill—you’re out. Now *go*. Take the samples and get to that client.”
Emily backed toward the door.
“Thanks, James. I’m on it. Promise—no, *swear*—it won’t happen again…” She slipped out, exhaling hard.
“Robinson’s been looking for you. Proper raged,” a colleague said as Emily entered the office.
“Found me already.” She grabbed a folder from her desk and left.
She skipped the lift, took the stairs two at a time, and froze at the car park. In her rush, she’d parked her Mini too close to the Nissan in front, assuming the driver behind her would leave space.
No such luck. A hulking black Range Rover loomed over her Mini, nearly touching its bumper. Trapped. *What now? If I’d parked like this, there’d be hell…* Except she *had*.
Walking to the meeting wasn’t an option. Emily slid into the driver’s seat, tossed the folder onto the passenger side, and twisted the key. She inched backward, cranking the wheel, freeing the car millimeter by millimeter.
Her nerves frayed. James’s threats echoed in her ears. He’d probably already called the client, warning them she was en route—while she wasted time wrestling her car free.
One last reverse. Too hasty. A soft *thud*. The Range Rover’s alarm blared. *Perfect*. She edged forward, praying no damage was done, then got out. A scratch and a small dent marred the Range Rover’s wing. At least the headlight was intact. The car’s hazards flashed once, then silence.
No one around. Security cameras were too far to catch her plate. Emily sighed, got back in, and sped off. Nothing left to lose.
A week passed without incident. Then, an unknown number flashed on her phone.
“Emily Charlotte Robinson? Detective Harris speaking…” She barely listened, typing one-handed, until “detective” snagged her attention. “Is registration… yours?”
“Yes,” she said, ignoring the alarm bells. Too late. She’d admitted it.
“Come to the station… Room six… Pass at the front desk… If you don’t, I’ll send a summons.”
“I’ll… I’ll come.” Her face burned, the phone slick in her palm.
*He noticed. Of course he did.* No ordinary bloke drove a Range Rover. Why’d she have to be late *and* park badly? But it was his fault too—didn’t he see her Mini? Her stomach churned.
“On July 24th, you struck a vehicle in your office car park and fled the scene. That’s a serious offence. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Emily swallowed. She stared at Detective Harris like a rabbit in headlights, fingers picking at her handbag.
“I hope you’re not denying it? Cameras caught everything. And don’t say you didn’t notice—you *got out* and looked.”
“Offence? The Range Rover driver parked too close! It was a tiny scratch, barely a dent!”
“Fly out, then? I’m no racing driver,” she ranted. “My boss threatened to sack me if I was late—I panicked. I’ll pay for repairs… Please, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She trailed off, cringing at her own words.
“You *will* pay. Here’s the owner’s estimate.” He slid a paper across. Her eyes darted over the figures.
“*How much?*” Her voice cracked. “For a *scratch*? Any garage would buff it out in minutes! That’s more than my car’s worth—I’m still paying off the loan!”
The detective sighed.
“You know who owns that Range Rover?”
“Who *cares*?” she snapped, then reined it in. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“That’s for the court. Fleeing worsens it. Penalty could be a fine… or losing your licence.”
“What? My mum’s ill—I *need* my car for work!”
He tapped his pen.
“The victim wants the maximum penalty. Write your account—mention your mum. Better to admit fault than blame him.” He pushed a paper and pen toward her.
“Can I talk to him? Who is he?”
“Big-name businessman here. Doubt he’ll speak to you.” He scribbled a number. “Had you stayed, it’d be different…”
No answer. Probably blocked her.
Two weeks later, court halved the repair sum—her mum’s illness spared her licence, but she got 48 hours in a holding cell. *To teach her*.
Emily sat shell-shocked in the corridor, trembling. Not just at the thought of sharing a cell with criminals, but her mum finding out. Her heart couldn’t take it. Maybe lie—say she was visiting a friend? But her mum would call… and they wouldn’t let her keep her phone. The worry’d kill her.
“God, why did I *run*?” She remembered saving for her Mini, how proud she’d been. Now this. Nothing like the films. Ahead: barred windows, iron locks, cramped bunks…
Footsteps. A vaguely familiar man approached the courtroom, phoned someone, and a second man emerged, updating him on the case.
*The Range Rover owner.* Emily sprang up.
“Happy now? Some silly girl scratched your posh car, so why not throw the book at her? Big, strong men, eh? Let her rot with criminals. My mum’s got a heart condition—just out of hospital. Don’t care, do you? Not *your* mum.” Her voice shook with rage.
“Wait. Nicholas, what’s she on about?”
“You *wanted* her punished, yeah?” Nicholas faltered.
“Stay here.” The man—*David*—stepped into the courtroom despite Nicholas’s protest.
Emily slumped onto a bench. Nicholas paced, shooting her dirty looks. A long wait.
“Sorted. You’re not going inside. Go home. And take care of your mum,” David said, emerging.
“What?” She jumped up.
“I smoothed it over. Withdrew the complaint.”
NichAs Emily walked away, she realized sometimes second chances came from the most unexpected places—and with them, the chance to start anew.
