The Daughter
“What kind of parents let their girls hitch rides alone? Barely more than children,” muttered Leon as he slowed the car, spotting the two teenagers waving eagerly by the roadside. He hadn’t driven through this part of the county in years—no reason to. It was a quiet, out-of-the-way place, tucked like a forgotten corner, the hills looming beyond.
“Where you headed?” he called through the window.
“Yarcombe, please!” The girls—thirteen, maybe fourteen—wore tight jeans, hoodies, and had that bright-eyed look, all scraped-back hair and trusting smiles.
“That’s not exactly round the corner. Ah, well, hop in. I’m going that way.”
The moment they settled in, Leon launched into a lecture—he did love a good sermon. “You’re too young to be thumbing lifts. You don’t know me from Adam. What if I were some creep?”
“Sir, the bus never came. We went to town and had to hitch back. Made it this far, but needed another ride.”
“Should’ve waited for the proper bus,” he grumbled, turning halfway—then froze. One of them had eyes like blue glass, wide and guileless, the sort that believed every word spoken to them.
“Where are your parents in all this?”
“First time doing it, honest. But we can tell you’re good. Just look at you.”
Leon nearly laughed. “Little idiots. How would you know if I’m good?” Still, the praise warmed him. “Suppose 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 mile off. But something paternal swelled in him, and he drove on.
“We haven’t got much cash,” one girl said nervously. “Just drop us here, we’ll walk.”
“Nonsense. I’ll see you home.”
He left Daisy at the first lane, but Megan lived deeper in. Part of him wished he’d met Daisy’s parents—give them a piece of his mind about letting her roam loose.
“That’s ours,” Megan pointed, eyes shimmering as if she’d been gone months, not hours. “Wait—I’ll fetch money.”
“Keep your coins. Water’s fine. Parents home?”
“Should be—” The gate swung open before she finished. A woman in a headscarf and muddy wellies stepped out, fresh from the garden, frowning at the car.
“What’s this? Where’s the bus?”
“Exactly what I said—two girls hitching alone. Not safe.”
“They always take the bus to town!” the woman protested. “But—thank you—” She faltered. Leon tipped his cap, and the air thickened.
“Len? That you?” She tugged off the scarf, staring hard.
“Leon… Bloody hell. Vera Fenton?”
“Not a boy yourself these days. Going bald early, ain’t you?”
Leon reddened. “She yours?”
“‘Course she is,” Vera said, sharp. “Meg, inside. Lunch is on.” The girl lingered, curious, then vanished.
“Wouldn’t be like *some*, ducking responsibility.”
Leon stiffened. “Never confirmed it was mine—”
“Oh, *confirmed* enough when you said it were my problem. We left. Simpler.”
Leon exhaled. “Still a shock. Just gave a lift. How old’s Meg?”
“Fourteen.” Vera’s voice turned knife-edge. “Didn’t notice? She’s got your eyes.”
“And what d’you want?” He gripped the door.
“Nothing. Never begged then, won’t now. Just wanted you to *know*.”
He jammed the key in the ignition. Vera rapped the glass. He rolled it down.
“Forgot to say *thanks*,” she said softly. “For bringing her home. Funny, eh? Years pass, then—poof—there you are. Suppose even a deadbeat dad’s good for one thing.” She turned, waving him off.
Leon drove in silence, gut churning. Rumours had reached him—Vera kept the child. He’d pretended it meant nothing. Now?
His life wasn’t bad. Comfortable. His wife ran two shops; he helped. No kids of their own, just her boy from a first marriage. No time, she said. He sighed, recalling Meg’s eyes—*his* eyes.
Maybe he’d visit. But Vera’s stare—cold as the past—flashed in his mind. So did his wife’s iron will. Fear prickled, same as fourteen years ago.
__________
“Who was that?” Michael emerged from the vegetable patch, scowling. “Meg riding with strangers now?”
“Dad, I won’t again! It was Daisy and me—he was nice!”
Michael wiped sweat. “You don’t *do* that. Set an example for your brother. Bus or us, clear?”
“Mike—quick word.” Vera drew him aside. “No hiding it. That was *him*. Meg’s real dad. Showed up out the blue.”
“He *knows*?”
“Knows now. Had to say.”
Michael kicked dirt. “*I* raised her. School runs, PTA—and he swans in—”
“Relax. He’s a coward. Won’t come sniffing. Might not even lose sleep.” She hesitated. “Should we tell Meg?”
“She knows she’s adopted. Won’t change now.” He sank onto the old bench. “Trust her.”
Meg burst out, hugging them both. “Missed you!”
“One day?” Michael laughed.
“Swear I did!”
“Believe you, love.” He pulled her close, smiling.
