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Heather Birch was on holiday in Scotland when IT happened. Forever after it was only ever referred to as IT. "The weekend IT happened" "The IT holiday" "When we did IT" and every time, in conversation, the word IT was emphasised as if to let people know, to advise people, that something extraordinary had happened. Of course, only three people ever knew what it meant, everyone else simply thought it meant the foreign holidays.

Heather was now thirty five, divorced, and living in Charlotte, North Carolina, having treated herself to this holiday in relief at her divorce having gone through so quickly and easily. She'd been married for barely nine years, her final divorce papers coming through just four days before what would have been her ninth wedding anniversary. Jeff, her ex, had been sixteen years her senior, and at first had been loving and attentive. Long before the end though, he had been screwing around. Heather hadn't known about that until after she had asked him for a divorce. What had triggered the divorce though was something completely different and un related. A horse accident.

They had been living a few miles outside of Baltimore, in Maryland, at the time. Heather had always ridden motor bikes and horses, and one of the attractions Jeff had originally held for her was that he owned a farm and stables. They had met at a show jumping event, and it was at that same event ten years later Heather finally realised she needed to get away from him. After the event, leading her horse back to the horse box for transport home, something, she never knew what, spooked her horse. The horse had bolted and foolishly Heather had tried to hang onto his reins, but the horse was one of the strongest they owned, and had pulled her over before she could finally let go. As it raced off, it had trodden on her three times. She was in a lot of pain, but surprisingly there was absolutely no blood.

"Oh get up," Jeff had said crossly. He hadn't actually seen the accident itself as he was on the other side of their other horse, trying to calm that one down when the first bolted. Heather was having difficulties breathing though and just waved at him weakly, trying to attract his attention. "You're just winded," he said shortly. "Lie there while I go sort out both horses."

It was nearly half an hour before Jeff returned, having caught the horse and put both into the travelling horse box before hitching it to the car. "I think I've broken my collar bone," was the first thing Heather said to him, indicating her right shoulder. "I think you should call 911."

"Don't be stupid. If it's really that bad I'll drive you in to the hospital. The horse barely touched you, so it's probably just bruises."

"The horse trod on me," she gasped. "And my breathing still isn't better."

Jeff looked at her in annoyance. "Oh for fuck's sake. Give me your hand." Heather reached up her left hand, which also ached considerably, and Jeff tugged her up. She screamed at the pain, but Jeff got her standing, where her breathing eased considerably. She struggled into the car and Jeff drove her home. She made her way into the house whilst Jeff put the horses away. Even her left arm felt funny now, and she was starting to feel a little dizzy.

"I need an ambulance," Heather told Jeff when he returned.

"No you don't, you just need a lie down and a rest."

"I can't lie down, that makes my breathing worse. And I can hardly move either of my arms." She gasped, and Jeff saw her actually turn a little grey. "And I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

"It's just the pain." He looked at her, and then gave a sigh. "Oh come on then."

He was much more gentle with her this time, as if trying to make up for his earlier callousness. She had actually walked into the hospital, given the details to the receptionist, and sat down to wait for nearly twenty minutes before she had been called to go for x-rays.

Barely five minutes after that, nearly two and a half hours after the original accident, two doctors had rushed into the x-ray room where she had lain for longer than she had expected.

"You have to have an operation, and right now. There's no time to waste."

"What?" gasped Heather, who's breathing had become difficult for her again over the last few minutes. "I walked in here, surely there's time for a second opinion."

"You don't seem to understand," the senior of the two doctors said, worry very evident on his face. "If you don't have that operation right now, you WILL die." Even as he was speaking four more people rushed into the room with a gurney. A mask was fixed to her face, with air, in fact as she later discovered 100% oxygen, flowing coolly onto her face and her breathing felt a little better. She was moved to the gurney and rushed to O.R. And rushed it really was, because the orderly's pushing her, as well as the doctors and nurses with her, were all running, and at no small speed either.

Another mask was put over her face, and the next thing she remembered was waking up in a hospital bed with at least three tubes coming out of her, and another attached to her face blowing air, oxygen, up her nose.

"You're extremely lucky to be alive", the doctor told her a few hours later. "You had a dislocated shoulder," he touched his own left shoulder, "both collar bones broken, a broken right humerus," he touched his right upper arm, "and seven broken ribs. But none of them were, of themselves, likely to kill you." He stared at her. "The difficulties you were having with your breathing should have told you something was very seriously wrong. Both your lungs were partially collapsed. The right lung, the larger lung, was almost completely collapsed. Your lung function was down to about ten or fifteen percent, your blood-ox level was under seventy percent. That should have been ninety eight percent or better. And you had a small amount of internal bleeding into the chest, causing pressure on your left lung and heart. Could have stopped your heart, could have collapsed your left lung completely." He shook his head at the stupidity that had allowed her to delay her treatment for so long.

He stared at her, and then smiled grimly. "I cannot emphasise enough just how serious I am about this. Another half an hour, an hour at the absolute most, you would have been dead." He watched as she started to turn grey in shock, and checked the oxygen feeding into her nasal cannula. "Everything is fixed now," he said, his smile softening, "but you'll be with us for another ten days, and on oxygen for at least half of that. You're currently on ten litres per minute of oh-two." He looked at his watch. "Three o'clock. Okay, we'll turn that down to eight in about six hours, about nine pm, and down to six in the morning, and slowly down to two over the following forty-eight hours. You'll probably be on that low dose then for maybe another forty-eight hours again before your lungs are healed enough, but we'll check it every morning anyway. Your lungs were badly bruised, but fortunately they weren't damaged, so they'll recover quickly, but with your rib injuries as well you'll still have some pain breathing for a couple of weeks yet."

He smiled slightly. "On a slightly lighter note, you'll have a good luck charm imprinted on your chest for many years to come." He nodded and left the room.

A nurse came in almost straight away.

"What did he mean by a good luck charm?" Heather demanded.

The nurse looked baffled. "On my chest," Heather amplified.

"Oh." The nurse smiled slightly. "The horse stood on your chest, right?"

"I think so yes."

"Well it left a hoof print, or rather a horse shoe print on your skin and left breast. The surgeons are not sure the damage to your breast will ever recover completely."

She blanched. "Will I need surgery for that?"

"No. You can have it if you want it, but the damage isn't enough to prevent the breast from doing its job, and except in the shower," the nurse smiled to show that she simply meant when Heather was nude and examining her breast, "there should be no obvious difference. Just make sure you wear a properly fitting brassiere."

When she went home nearly two weeks later, Jeff had been a somewhat apologetic, but she felt that he didn't care enough, and began to seriously think for the first time about divorce. She realised they hadn't touched in many months, possibly even over a year, and the last time they had made love had felt distant and almost forced. Heather was naturally a very loving and tactile person, and she now began to realise just how much she had missed the true affection of another person. It had been such a slow and gradual process that she hadn't even noticed that Jeff no longer touched her in a loving way any more.

Fortunately there were no children so when she suggested, almost diffidently, that they have a trial separation, Jeff had looked at her sharply. A few moments later, and in what Heather thought was a surprisingly calm and relaxed voice he asked, "Do you want a divorce?" Heather nodded reluctantly. "Okay, get the papers. I'll sign them. I'll settle half a million on you, and that's your limit."

Jeff was relieved. He was not as highly sexed as his young wife, in fact he had noticed something which she hadn't. That five out of the last six times they had made love, she had been the initiator. He also liked his women passive and demure in bed, whilst Heather was often the aggressor. At first it had been exciting, but he'd soon got tired of her demands and began to find other more gentle and amenable women. He had always been reasonably careful, and now, as he looked at his beautiful wife, he realised that she still didn't know. Well, he decided, he would be gentlemanly enough not to tell her.

As he looked at her he realised that she was still very beautiful, but he now felt nothing for her. It had been a mistake from day one. His family and friends had both told him that, but he had been in love, or thought he had, and hadn't listened. The fact that it had taken them this long to realise the mistake showed to him at least just how far they had both been prepared to go to try and make it work.

Heather was startled at just how matter of fact Jeff was. She wondered if he too had perhaps been thinking about separating. She'd had no thought of any sort of settlement or alimony up until that point, but realised that in fact a half million dollar settlement was, under their current financial circumstances, generous without being over generous. A chat to a local divorce lawyer, with a payment of one hundred dollars, had persuaded her to go ahead with the divorce on those terms. She was also relieved. She'd had every intention of turning the trial separation into a permanent one, followed by divorce in due course, but this just made the whole thing easier, quicker and cleaner.

There wasn't even much haggling. It seemed that both wanted out enough that they were prepared to give ground and compromise intelligently. Neither hated the other, there was no animosity, and within just four days they had split everything to their mutual agreement. There was no contest in any way, everything had been agreed, and the judge was satisfied that there were no loose ends, and granted their unconditional divorce with just a five minute hearing.

In fact due to various bureaucratic hold ups which neither Jeff nor Heather were able to do anything about it was another three months before the final papers had arrived, making their divorce final. With one last signature each, the two were no longer married. The whole divorce process, from Jeff's original question to the final signatures taking a little under five months.

Heather was surprised just how relaxed and free she felt afterwards. She had rented a small flat still in Baltimore, and shortly after that moved to North Carolina where she now worked as a police forensic psychologist.

Just three months after the divorce her father, who still lived in Windsor, Connecticut, where she had been born and brought up, rang her out of the blue.

"Fancy a holiday now you're free and single again?"

"Why? Where?"

"Well, I've had an offer to present a paper at an international conference in London at the end of August, but I've decided to go early and take a bit of a holiday first. Since you're now free, I thought you might like to join me."

"Yeah, okay. Is it just in London?"

"No. I plan on actually going for a bike tour around North West Scotland, and then down to Edinburgh for a couple of days."

Heather laughed. She knew of her father's fascination with Scotland. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. When are you going."

"Probably in about two weeks time. That'll give me nearly three weeks before the conference starts." "Well I can't take all that amount of time off. I've not been here long enough. I can do seven days definitely, ten days if I'm lucky."

When Heather approached her manager the following day, she was given the ten days without any questions. "You can take as long as you like," her manager told her with a laugh. "Don't forget, you're freelance, no work, no pay." "Oh. Yes." Heather said startled. Then laughed herself. "Ten days'll do just fine."

"That's good, because you're really needed now."

They made plans to go to fly into London, and booked a NorthWest Airlines flight from Bradley in Connecticut to Gatwick, to the south of London, and from there an internal flight to Inverness on the east cost of Scotland, where the bike tours were based. Ralph's paternal grandparents had both been born in Scotland, although they had not met until they were both living in Connecticut, where they had married and lived the rest of their lives, with strong Scottish accents to the day they each died. Their own son, Ralph's father, Heather's grandfather, had not been at all interested in the old country, but they had instilled their passion for their original homeland into their grandson, so given the opportunity, he in turn had instilled it in his own offspring, and was slowly instilling it into his eldest son's child.

They had booked with a motor cycle tour group for a six day tour starting at Inverness and going up to Ullapool, down to Gairloch, Kyle of Lochalsh and onto the Isle of Skye, from there down to Mallaig, around Loch Shiel on some real dirt and farm tracks, before heading back to Fort William up to Aviemore, the so called skiing capital of Scotland, and back to Inverness.

The leader of the group, Pete, had been a little concerned when he heard that a female was coming on the group, but Ralph had persuaded him that she was perfectly safe and competent, and he had reluctantly relented. It wasn't that he was a sexist, he told himself, but that she would be the only female in the group, and that the average female was not as physically strong as the average male. Heather and Ralph arrived at Inverness to join the group, and Pete immediately took Heather out for a five minute assessment ride, and came back reasonably happy. It was unlikely she would be the best in the group, in fact Ralph was a much better rider anyway, but she certainly wouldn't be holding them up.

Over those six days Heather went from a competent and reasonably confident rider to an excellent rider, having done things she had never done at home. The third evening, as they relaxed in a small Bed and Breakfast hotel in Mallaig, Ralph made Heather smile.

"You know, • he told her once they were alone. "I honestly think that you could probably be considered in the top ten percent of American road bike riders for skill. You've come on so much in just three days. By the end you could even be in the top five. Maybe.• He gave her a wry smile. "'Course, that still only puts you in the top 50%, maybe 30%, of British riders.•

"Why do you say that?•

"Because of the British roads.• He told her. "They're not bad, • he started.

"They're often better'n our's, • Heather interjected.

"Indeed, but they are generally narrower, windier and a lot busier than ours. Riders, and indeed auto drivers as well, need to be that bit more skilful just to cope.•

Heather smiled, feeling proud of herself, knowing that she had indeed improved massively, but more pleased that her father had noticed the improvement. "Thank you, • she said simply. And gave him a kiss on the cheek before retiring to her own room.

On the last afternoon of their ride, an hour or so after they had started back to Inverness to pick up a hire car for the trip down to Edinburgh from where Heather would catch the first of her planes taking her home in a few days time, the incident had happened which later lead to IT.

They were in a group of ten riders, including Pete. As they went down a fairly narrow and hilly road, they came up behind a BMW 5 series saloon car. Pete was in the lead, Heather at number two, and Ralph at number three, with the other seven in line two seconds or so apart behind Ralph. Pete had overtaken the beamer easily, but even as he had done so he had felt it start to speed up. It was nearly ten minutes, because of the road, before Heather thought it safe to overtake, but as she had done so, the BMW driver had put his foot down sharply. The rest of the group had had 750cc or 850cc machines, but because Heather was physically smaller she had been riding a 550cc, perfectly adequate for the road, and well within her capabilities, but lacking the immediate oomph she needed to get past the beamer as quickly as she would have liked. She did get past him, but only at the cost of a madly racing heart and at the last moment as a huge truck thundered past her going the other way. The BMW had pushed up dangerously close to her, obviously trying to harass her.

A sudden straight stretch had allowed the bikes in front of the beamer to pull away before it could accelerate again, and by the end of the short straight stretch, Ralph and three more bikes had passed it. Ralph was angry, and as he roared passed the car shook his fist. The BMW driver had instantly tried to accelerate even more, but the bigger motor bikes had a far better power to weight ratio and easily moved past.

A few miles further on Pete had pulled into a gas station. A smaller bike meant a smaller fuel tank, so Heather needed to refill slightly more often, and Pete had worked out that this was the last possible place to fill up before a long stretch on back roads. All ten bikes were in front of the BMW by this time and all pulled in to wait.

"I hope he pulls in here, • Ralph said angrily.

"Don't do anything daft, • Heather said quietly, still a little shaken at just how close the other driver had been. She leaned forward, her helmetted head resting on her fathers chest for a few moments before standing up again.

One of the other guys had started to fill Heather's tank for her. She took off her helmet, shook out her rich, curly brown hair, and took over the pump with a smile of thanks. All the riders apart from Pete and her father were younger than Heather, and to a man they were a little in love with her.

Barely a minute later the BMW pulled in. Pete, Ralph and two others had been watching out for it while they waited for Heather to finish up. The driver saw them but ignored them until he had pulled up and got out.

"Where I come from, • Ralph said angrily, striding towards the driver, "what you did to my daughter would be called terrorism, and George W. Bush sends in the marines Œ•

The driver interrupted. "You're American!•

"Yes, so?• Then Ralph registered the mans accent. "So are you. That makes it even worse. That was my daughter you were trying to kill.•

Pete interrupted them both. Flashing a badge at both of them, but addressing the newcomer. "Sergeant Duncan of the Northern Constabulary. Can I see your passport and driving licence please sir.• The man quieted down and passed over his papers with a slightly haughty look.

"A diplomatic passport. I haven't seen one of those in a while.• He looked up. "All that means is that I cannot immediately prosecute you. But I can have a complaint made to your ambassador.• He smiled slightly. "Since the gulf war your ambassador has been a little more forthcoming about letting us prosecute diplomatic staff who break our laws.•

Ralph spoke up. "Ambassador Wilkes is a close personal friend of mine, • he said calmly, "and worse for you, he is Heather's God father as well. I can guarantee that a prosecution will be permitted.• Pete smiled slightly, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the revelation, both men watching the diplomat's attitude deflate.

Pete spent five minutes walking around the car, checking tires, lights, anything else he could think of, before filling out his pocket book with the drivers details. He handed back the papers. "You're a guest in this country, • he said calmly. "if you want to stay here I suggest you are more courteous on the road, and obey our laws. Good day.•

He turned away, dragging Ralph with him. "Come on, • he said softly enough for the driver not to hear. "Leave him stew. I'll tell you the joke when we get home.•

There were no more incidents, and because their stop in Aviemore ended up only being long enough for a quick bite to eat, a few hours later they were back in Inverness.

"What was the joke' you were telling us about?• asked Ralph once all the bikes had been checked back in, and all the paperwork completed.

"Joke?• queried Pete.

"The American driver?•

"Oh. Yeah.• Pete grinned slightly, a somewhat embarrassed look on his face... "Diplomats cause innumerable problems on the roads. Particularly in and around London. They cause real traffic chaos sometimes. The US, whilst not the worst by any means, is also not as good as it should be. The odd minor infringement here and there is, well just about acceptable, but some countries take the piss.•

Ralph frowned, and Pete clarified. "Take the piss, erm, stick two fingers up at the law, treat it as a joke basically.•

"Oh. Yes, I had heard the expression before but was never sure quite what it meant. I always thought it meant drunk or something.•

"Okay. Pissed means drunk. Pissed off means annoyed. Take the piss means to make a joke out of something that's very definitely not funny. Anyway, in this country a parking offence is a civil offence, whilst almost any driving offence is a criminal offence.•

"Yeah, I think I knew that.•

Pete smiled again. "Not many people even in this country realise that even a speeding ticket is technically a criminal offence. Anyway. A few weeks ago a German diplomatic vehicle knocked down, and killed, a pedestrian, and the driver claimed diplomatic immunity. Well you can imagine what happened in the press. But even before the press started screaming, the foreign office sent out formal notes to all the ambassadors to advise them that this sort of offence would not be tolerated, and that the British government would seek to bring them to justice. Yeah?•

"Okay. I'm with you so far.•

"Well almost all of the western governments, plus a few others agreed, provided reciprocal arrangements were made, that in certain circumstances diplomatic protection would be waived. Both the US and Germany agreed, the US very reluctantly which made a lot of people annoyed. As it turned out, there was video footage from a nearby shop to show that in fact the German driver was not directly responsible, or at least not solely responsible, but the point is that if I send a complaint to the US embassy, there is a good probability that his diplomatic cover will be temporarily removed. And he knows it. Did you see the way he went grey?•

Pete and Heather both laughed at the memory.

"Now, on top of that, since the essentially unequivocal support of your presidents war in Iraq by our PM, your ambassador and his staff almost can't do enough for us. Those two combined, plus any testament you might make if, as you say, you know the guy, •

"The ambassador's my godfather, • interrupted Heather. "I love him to bits.•

Pete laughed. "We could make life a misery for him if we wanted to. And he knows it. The real funny part though, is that I haven't been a full time copper for nearly sixteen months now. I got knocked off my bike at speed and injured my back and both knees enough that I cannot work full time any more.•

"Oh god, are you okay now?• Asked Heather, concern rich in her voice, remembering some of her own falls, off her horses and her bikes.

"Yeah. I'm a special constable now, effectively a part timer. Sadly it does mean that I couldn't actually report him. But he doesn't know that. He'll be a damn sight more careful in future, just in case.•

"Oh, no!• exclaimed Heather, half laughing.

"If I reported him, and called you as a witness, could you do anything then?• asked Ralph.

Pete nodded. "I guess so. If you want to, go ahead.•

"I'll think about it.•

The two men shook hands, and Pete gave Heather a kiss, before Heather and her father headed back to their B&B.

They had been in six different B&B's so far. A different one each night. The facilities and rooms had been very different, as obviously had the settings, but the general comfort levels had always been good. Some had been pretty spartan, but they had generally been the most comfortable, one had had beds so soft that Ralph awoke the following morning with a sore back. Three nights they had had single rooms each, they had had a twin room twice which hadn't bothered them at all, but the first night of the tour proper the owner of the B&B had misunderstood Ralph's booking and had put them together in a double.

They had just laughed. It had been a king size bed anyway, so they had not been bothered in the slightest. Now, back in Inverness and at their seventh B&B, again they were given another double room, but this time the bed was a standard double bed, just four foot six wide. Mrs Pumpherston, their latest landlady, who had also misheard Ralph's request, had chattered cheerfully and non stop to them, and during all the talking had told them that they were completely full up now. Once they saw the bed the two of them just looked at each other. Heather shrugged. She was too tired to worry.

"She said she's full up, so she can't change us round now, • said Heather in a tired voice. "I'm just going to have a hot bath and go to bed. For some reason I'm starting to feel a bit jumpy. I guess it was that Œ• she made a noise with her mouth that could have been anything, "who tried to run me off the road earlier.•

Ralph smiled at her. "Okay darling. I'm going down to the bar for a little while, see if I can find out what's happening locally for tomorrow. You just relax and I'll see ya later.• They had fortunately been given a room with an en-suite bathroom, so Heather sank into the hot bath and relaxed.

Some forty minutes later, Heather left the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her hair but otherwise completely naked, just as her father entered the room. Heather gave a startled shriek, more a loud gasp.

"Sorry, • laughed Ralph, eyeing briefly his daughters nude figure. He'd not seen her naked since she was four or five years old, and had never even thought about it before.

Even in the very brief scan, his eyes had taken her all in. She had a very attractive figure, he thought. Slightly wide on the hips, and her boobs appeared to barely sag at all. All her horse and motor bike riding had left her with a very fit body, firm flat stomach, strong thighs and arms, but also a few marks and scar remnants. He could see the mark on her left breast, more as a faint paler line, that the horseshoe had given her in the serious accident the previous year. He was even surprised to see that her obviously trimmed pubic hair was exactly the same rich red/brown color that her long wavy hair was, and even that the light sprinkling of freckles that covered her face extended all the way down to her stomach.

It suddenly occurred to Ralph that he couldn't ever remember seeing his daughter in a bikini. She had always worn one piece swim suits, and had never worn crop-tops in public. It wasn't that she was a prude, simply the fact that she didn't particularly like bikinis or crop tops. She honestly believed they didn't suit her figure or coloring. In this she was wrong, but it was her belief.

All this Ralph took in in barely a second as he apologised and turned to leave again.

"'Sokay, • said Heather. "Come on in. I'll just be a mo.• She turned, a slight smile on her face, pleased, in a way, that her father had looked at her, proud that he had obviously found her attractive, but also gratified that neither of them had shown the slightest embarrassment, and yet also, strangely, pleased that her father had offered to leave to give her privacy. A privacy she neither needed nor craved.

Ralph turned back. Gave her a second look, and a smile, this time limiting his gaze to her face. He had always thought his daughter beautiful, but then what parent didn't, but as he looked at her once more, he discovered that she really was very, very, beautiful. The light dusting of freckles aside, she had very clear skin, which the hot bath had highlighted somewhat, a generous mouth that was usually in a half smile, and blue/grey eyes that had always sparkled with mischief.