DAUGHTER
“Why do they let young girls hitchhike alone? Barely out of school, already thumbing lifts,” Leon muttered as he slowed down, spotting two teenagers waving desperately by the roadside. He hadn’t driven through the neighbouring district in years—no reason to. It was out of the way, like a dead end before the hills swallowed the road.
“Where you headed?” he called through the window.
“Can you take us to Millfield?” The girls couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen—tight jeans, T-shirts, light wispy fringes, and wide-eyed innocence.
“That’s quite a way. But alright, I’m going that direction. Hop in.”
As soon as they settled in, Leon launched into lecture mode—he always liked playing the wise elder. “You’re too young to be hitching rides. You don’t know me, yet here you are in my car.”
“Sir, there’s no bus! We went to the town centre and hitched back partway. Now we’re stuck again.”
“You should’ve waited for the proper bus,” Leon grumbled, turning to meet the gaze of one of the girls—blue eyes, trusting, the kind that believed every word spoken to her. “And where are your parents in all this?”
“First time doing this. But we can tell you’re nice.”
“Naïve little things—how would you even know if I was decent?” Still, the childish praise warmed him. “Though it’s true, I am. But don’t go getting in just anyone’s car. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He could’ve dropped them right there—the village was only a kilometre ahead. But feeling oddly protective, he drove on.
“We don’t have much money,” one girl fretted as they neared the turn-off. “You can drop us here, we’ll walk.”
“Nonsense. I’ll take you proper.”
He dropped Emily at the first lane, then drove Lucy almost to her door. Leon almost wished he’d met Emily’s parents—he’d have given them an earful about letting her wander alone.
“That’s our house—just there!” Lucy pointed, eyes bright as if she’d been gone weeks, not hours. “Wait, I’ll get you some money!”
“Keep it. Just fetch me some water. Parents home?”
“Should be.” The gate creaked open before she finished. A woman in a headscarf and muddy wellies—straight from the garden—stepped out.
“What’s this? Where’s the bus?” she demanded.
“That’s what I said—two girls flagging down strangers? Not safe. You shouldn’t let them roam alone, even if it’s close.”
“They always take the bus to town!” the woman protested before faltering. Leon removed his cap, and recognition hit. They’d lived in the same village once.
“Len? Is that you?” She tugged off her scarf, staring.
“Yeah… Leon. And you—Vera? Blimey, barely recognised you.”
“Well, you’re no spring chicken either, balding already!”
Leon flushed. “So… she’s yours?”
“Course she is. Didn’t abandon her like some.”
He stiffened. “We talked—nothing was certain—”
“Oh, it was certain enough when you said it was my problem. So we left. Simple as that.”
“Still a shock. Just gave a lift—how was I to know? How old’s Lucy?”
“Fourteen. Didn’t you spot it? She’s got your eyes. Never paid mind before, but seeing you now… it’s plain.”
“What d’you want, then?” Leon gripped the wheel, ready to leave.
“Nothing. Didn’t beg then, won’t now. We don’t need a thing from you. Just thought you should know.”
“Right. Off I go, then.” He revved the engine, but Vera rapped the window. Reluctantly, he rolled it down.
“Forgot to say thanks—for bringing her home. Proper decent of you. Fancy meeting after all these years… happens once in a lifetime, I reckon. Still, cheers for seeing her safe. Shows even a deadbeat dad can be useful once.” She stepped back, waving.
Leon had no reply. He drove off, cursing himself for freezing up. Rumours had reached him years back—Vera keeping the kid. He’d pretended it wasn’t his business, told himself it was all too sudden.
His life wasn’t bad. Comfortable. Wife ran two shops, he helped out. No kids of their own, though—just her son from her first marriage. She never mentioned more—too busy. Sighing, Leon pictured Lucy’s eyes—his eyes.
Maybe he’d visit someday. But the thought vanished as quick as it came. Vera’s stare had sealed the past shut. Then he remembered his wife—the undisputed boss at home—and fear prickled his neck, same as fourteen years ago.
____________________
“Who was that?” Michael emerged from the garden, scowling at the unfamiliar car. “That who drove our Lucy? Hitchin’ with strangers now?”
“Dad, I won’t do it again—Emily was with me, and the man was nice!”
Michael wiped his brow. “You don’t scare us like that. Your little brother looks up to you—set an example. Bus or us from now on.”
“Mike—quick word,” Vera called him aside. “No point hiding it. That was her father—biological one. You know the story. Just happened to pass through.”
“He knows she’s his?”
“Knows now. Seemed right, given the chance.”
“Well, great! I’m the one on her birth cert, the one at parent evenings—now he shows up?”
“Relax. He’s spineless. Won’t come crawling back. Might haunt his conscience… or not. Should we tell Lucy?”
“She knows she’s adopted… reckon we should. Won’t change how she sees me.” Michael slumped on the bench. “I trust her. Know she won’t turn.”
Lucy bounded out, hugging them both. “Missed you!”
“One day and you’re homesick?” Michael chuckled.
“Swear I did!”
“Believe you, love.” He hugged her tight, smiling.
