**The Daughter**
Leonard slowed his car when he spotted the two girls frantically waving by the roadside. He hadn’t driven through this part of the countryside in years—no reason to. The place was tucked away, almost forgotten, with nothing beyond but the rolling hills.
“Where are you headed?” he called out, leaning through the window.
“To Farthington, please!” The girls couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen—worn-in jeans, thin jumpers, messy fair hair, and wide, trusting eyes.
“That’s a fair way off. Still, I’m going that direction. Hop in.”
No sooner had they settled in than Leonard launched into a lecture—he always enjoyed scolding others. “You’re too young to be hitchhiking. You don’t know me, yet here you are, in my car.”
“Mister, there’s no bus. We went to town and had to hitch back. Got this far, now we’re doing it again.”
“You should’ve waited for the bus,” Leonard grumbled, turning just enough to catch the gaze of one girl—bright blue eyes, earnest, so painfully naive.
“Where are your parents letting you wander off to?”
“It’s our first time. But we can tell you’re nice.”
“Little fools, how would you know?” Still, the childish praise warmed him. “Though it’s true—I am decent. But don’t go getting in cars with just anyone. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He could have dropped them by the road—their village was barely a mile off. But swelling with a sudden sense of duty, he drove on.
“We haven’t much money,” one girl fretted. “Just leave us here—we’ll walk.”
“Nonsense. I’ll take you proper.”
He left Daisy at the first lane. Maisie lived closer to the centre. Leonard nearly regretted not meeting Daisy’s parents—he’d have given them a stern talking-to about letting her roam alone.
“That’s our house—just there.” Maisie pointed. Her eyes sparkled as if she’d just returned from some grand adventure. “I’ll bring out the fare.”
“Keep your coin. Fetch me some water instead. Are your parents home?”
“They should be.” No sooner had she spoken than the garden gate swung open. A woman in a headscarf and work clothes—fresh from the vegetable patch—stepped up to the car.
“What’s this? Where’s the bus?” she demanded, alarmed.
“My thoughts exactly—girls this age shouldn’t be hitchhiking. Risky business.”
“They always take the bus to town,” the woman defended weakly before trailing off mid-thank-you. Then she froze. Leonard had removed his cap, and now there was no mistaking him. They’d known each other, once, in another life.
“Len? Is that you?” She pulled off her scarf, staring hard.
“Aye. Leonard Woodley. And you’re—Vera Abbott? Blimey, barely recognised you.”
“Likewise—you’ve gone grey early.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “This your girl, then?”
“She is, Len. Mine.” She turned sharply. “Maisie, inside. Lunch is waiting.”
The girl studied him—curious—before vanishing into the house.
“Of course she’s mine. I didn’t abandon her.”
Leonard’s face flickered with surprise before he collected himself.
“We talked, but nothing was settled—”
“Settled? You said it was my problem. So we left. Simple as that.”
“Still a shock. I just gave her a lift—how was I to know? How old is she?”
“Fourteen. Didn’t you see it? She’s got your eyes. I never paid much mind before, but seeing you now—it’s plain.”
“What do you want?” Leonard edged toward the car door.
“Nothing, Len. Didn’t beg then, won’t start now. We don’t need a thing from you. Just thought you ought to know.”
“Right. Best be off.” He climbed in and turned the key, but Vera rapped on the window. Reluctantly, he lowered it.
“Forgot to say—thank you. For bringing her home. Strange, isn’t it? After all these years… Still, you did right. Suppose even a deadbeat dad’s good for something once.” She stepped back with a wave.
Leonard had no reply. He drove on, cursing himself for faltering. Rumours had reached him over the years—that Vera had kept the child. He’d pretended it meant nothing. Told himself it was all too sudden.
He thought of his life now—comfortable enough. His wife ran two shops; he helped where he could. No children of their own, though. Just her lad from her first marriage. They’d never discussed more—always too busy. He sighed, remembering Maisie’s eyes—his eyes.
For a moment, he considered returning one day. Then he thought of Vera’s hardened stare—some things couldn’t be undone. And he remembered his wife, the unshakable law of the household. The old fear crept back, sharp as it had been fourteen years ago.
_____
“Who was that?” Michael stepped out from the garden, frowning at the unfamiliar car. “Maisie riding with strangers now? Maisie, out here!”
“Dad, I won’t do it again—I was with Daisy. The man was kind, he gave us a lift.”
Michael wiped his brow. “See that you don’t. Your brother looks up to you—set the right example. Next time, it’s us or the bus.”
“Mike—a word.” Vera beckoned him aside. “No point hiding it. That was Maisie’s father—her real one. Just happened by. Gave them a ride.”
“He knows she’s his?”
“Now he does. Let him sit with that.”
“Right. I’m the one on her birth certificate. Took her to school, parent meetings—and now this bloke turns up…”
“Don’t fret. Coward, he is. Won’t come sniffing round. Might eat at him—might not. Should we tell her?”
“She knows I’m not her blood. Doubt she’ll love me less for it.” Michael sank onto the bench. “I trust her—always have.”
Maisie burst from the house, flinging her arms around them both. “Missed you!”
“One day, and you’ve missed us?” Michael chuckled.
“Swear I did.”
“Believe you, love.” He hugged her tight and smiled.
