Simon buckled his coat and peeked out into the driveway. The cracked paving stones were slick with meltoff snow, little grey islands of slush tucked between the ruts. It was an early March morningwet and chilly, but not freezing. He spotted that the tyre tread on the old Ford was already dusted with a fine layer of damp road grime.
Today they had to get the MOT under the new, stricter rules, and the thought of a petty snag was already buzzing in his chest.
Emily stepped out, propping the heavy front door with her shoulder, and shot him a quick glance.
Did you sort the paperwork? she asked.
Everythings in the glove box. Ive already downloaded the ereceipt, he replied, handing her the gloves theyd left by the boot the night before.
She nodded and turned her gaze to the car: the body still glistened from yesterdays wash, the wipers lay straight. It looked perfect on the outside, but the rumours about the new standards at the test centre kept him on edge.
Their teenage son, Daniel, was the last to shuffle down the steps, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Why do we even have to go? he muttered, tugging the hoods drawstring to zip it up.
Otherwise well be left wondering where the fines are coming from, Simon said, already slipping the key into the drivers door lock. He turned the lock back and forth; it gave a crisp click, the mechanism felt solid. Everything worked. Their neighbour had bragged that an inspector had found a wobble in his seat and sent him home, so theyd better be safe.
The drive to the MOT station took about half an hour. The road wound through fields where thawing streams glimmered like ribbons, and lazy clouds hung low over the verge. Simon kept the car steady, listening for every vibration. Emily had her phone out, scrolling a neighbourhood group chat where everyone complained about the tougher checks, some suggesting make a deal on the spot, or theyll just send you back.
See? she held the screen up. Theyre saying the queue was long and half the people left emptyhanded.
Panicmonger lot, Simon muttered, but the comment gave his stomach a strange knot.
At the service yard, a crowd of cars sat under a drizzle that darkened the tarmac. A worker in a bright yellow vest was waving a twoway radio, directing traffic. Simon pulled up behind the white line.
Lights, indicators, brake now, the young inspector barked, grabbing a tablet that instantly loaded the electronic request. Simon obeyed, the engines hum matching the pedals response. Everything was proceeding by the book.
Within five minutes they were pushed into the inspection bay. A older inspector, his hair peppered, nodded from beneath his hood.
Rear right door lock, show me.
Simon pressed the release button. The latch lifted, the door swung open.
And the outside?
Emily stepped into the drizzle, tugged the handlenothing. She gave it another yank, the effort travelling up her arm.
It wont open, she said.
The latch isnt catching, the inspector noted, tapping his tablet. Under the new rules thats a critical fault. We have to reject it.
Simon felt a mild but sharp sting, like a light slap. He turned to the man, trying to tell if this was a joke.
The lock opens from the inside, right?
Its rule threeonetwo, the inspector answered flatly. If you cant open the door from the outside, evacuating passengers becomes a nightmare.
Emily let out a breath that sounded like a gasp. Daniel flashed a smug, I told you so but stayed silent.
In the waiting room, smelling of motor oil and damp plywood, they were handed a fault report. They had twenty days to fix it, and a reinspection would be free.
We could sort it faster, the young inspector whispered, handing his tablet back. £5, and itd be logged straight away.
Simon saw Emily instinctively reach for her bag as if checking her wallet. He caught her eye.
Thanks, but well manage ourselves, he said, feeling his face flush with a strange mix of irritation and resolve.
They stepped back into the drizzle. The wind nipped at their cheeks, rain spattered from the roofs edge right onto their collars. Daniel was the first to break the silence.
Dad, itd be easier to just pay up. Everyone does it.
Simon flicked on the wipers, the blades scratching the dry glass.
Everyone isnt a reason, he replied.
At least we wont have to come back twice, Daniel added.
Emily stood beside the door, holding it shut so the wind wouldnt slam it shut.
Weve got a visit to Moms in a week. Are you sure well find a mechanic in time?
Simon turned the ignition; the engine purred just as it had that morning.
Well make it. Its a cheap lock, I can replace it myself.
His words sounded fragile. In his head a swirl of thoughts: reupholstering, sourcing a part, risking a sensor failure instead of a simple mechanical break. The £5 seemed like a tempting shortcut, a warm glow in a cold rain.
The drive home was quiet. The cabin smelled of damp floor mats, the windscreen hissed at cruising speed. Simon remembered his dads advice: Dont get into sketchy dealstwo minutes of saving, a lifetime of doubt. He exhaled, gripped the steering wheel, and made up his mind.
He turned the engine off at the driveway.
Well do it the honest way, he said calmly, as if reading from a manual. Weve got time. Daniel, after school youll help me take the panel off.
Emily lifted her eyes, a mixture of annoyance and relief flickering across them.
Fine. But if we dont have it sorted by Sunday, well have to pay the garage.
Simon nodded. In that moment the decision felt set in stone. The shortcut of £5 and youre done was now a mile away from their own stubbornness. There was no turning back.
The evening light softened, street lamps flickering like warm circles on the puddles. A crow cawed nearby. The family slipped inside, the house smelling of cooling soup. The staircase creaked as Daniel headed upstairs. Simon leaned against the fridge, looking at the printed MOT regulations magnetised to iteach requirement now felt like a personal challenge.
He knew a busy week lay ahead, but a quiet satisfaction settled under his skin: the choice was made, and there was no road back.
Monday morning began with the satisfying clatter of tools in the garage. Simon and Daniel were fiddling with the rear door. A lone bulb hung from a wire, bathing the bonnet in a faint, frosty glow from the street outside. Emily poured coffee and peeked through the kitchen window, smiling faintly at their focused faces. It felt like the whole family was sharing a common purpose again.
Daniels grip gave the lock the extra push it needed, and the door gave a soft click, swinging wide. Their quiet joy was genuinea step forward in fixing the problem. Simon patted Daniels shoulder.
Good job, he said, slipping his tools into a drawer. Lets give everything a final onceover before we put the panel back.
A thorough inspection showed the lock was solid again. They screwed the upholstery back in place. Daniel thought about how this sort of work gave him a warm sense of confidence, until the gentle tap of tools finally stopped.
The next MOT appointment loomed. Emily suggested they have lunch together, putting other chores on hold. The scene at the table was relaxed, easy laughs and a few wordssometimes thats all you need.
A while later they were back at the test centre gates. The day was clear but brisk; early sunshine sparkled on the wet road. The same young inspector greeted them, the one whod turned them away before.
All set? he asked, glancing at his tablet.
Simon gave a confident nod, showing the door.
The inspector tried the mechanism again, ran through the checklist, and made a note on the tablet. This time the paperwork took less time, and one by one the bureaucratic hurdles fell away.
Its all fine, the inspector finally said, handing the tablet back to Simon and hitting send. The diagnostic reports in the system. Congratulations.
The family idled the car a moment longer, soaking up the relief and a quiet pride in their own resolve. Emily wrapped her arms around Simon, Daniel hugged his parents tightly.
Now we can head to Grans without any drama, Daniel said, visibly pleased with how things turned out.
Simon smiled, feeling the day a shade brighter than before. Theyd navigated the law by their own hands and sense of right.
Yeah, doing it straight up feels better, Emily agreed, a warm grin spreading across her face. Every breath was deeper, faces relaxed. Theyd weathered the test, the wasted time, the nerves, and emerged with something stronger.
In the crisp March air life seemed to take on new colours, breathing subtle changes. Instead of fatigue they felt a thriving optimisma fresh day, another family winand that was just lovely.
