**The Unofficial Brother**
“Give him back! Stop it! You’re hurting him!” Tears streamed down Sophie’s face as she thumped the boy who’d snatched her kitten. She swung with all her might, but it was useless—just made him laugh as he squeezed the tiny creature tighter. Desperate, Sophie sank her teeth into his arm. In an instant, she was shoved aside, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. Something warm trickled down her chin. She wiped her face with her palm, saw red, and squeezed her eyes shut, screaming as loud as she could.
“Help!…”
Miraculously, someone heard. The boy yelped, and Sophie cracked her eyes open. From where she’d landed, she barely saw his grubby trainers kicking mid-air before he thumped onto the pavement. “Oi! You nutter?!” His voice had lost its earlier swagger.
“Try that again, and I’ll nut you proper! Clear off! And if I catch you near her again, you’ll answer to me—got it?” The voice was calm, almost bored.
Sophie turned her head. Great, another one. Though he’d stepped in, who knew what he’d do next? Frantic, she scanned the ground. Where—there! A tiny, motionless fluffball lay near the bins. Still on her knees, she scrambled over and brushed its fur. It was breathing! Cradling it against her jumper, she willed herself to run—straight to Nan’s. Only her legs weren’t cooperating.
“Alright, kiddo? Blimey, you got proper clobbered, didn’t ya?”
The boy standing over her was older—lanky, awkward, trying to catch her eye. “Lemme see. Bit your lip or summat?”
“Dunno…”
“Right. Can you stand?”
Sophie shook her head. Delayed shock hit like a wave, and she burst into messy sobs.
“Oi! He’s gone. Won’t bother you again—not if I’m around. Promise. What’s this, then?” A grubby hand with bitten nails reached for the kitten, but Sophie curled away, wailing louder.
“Alright, alright! Hands off!”
Sophie hiccuped, trying to calm down. Stupid idea, going out without Nan. She’d begged and sulked till Mum finally caved—”You’re a big girl now, nearly Year One! Prove you’ll stay in the cul-de-sac, yeah?” So much for that.
The boy fished a tattered leaf from the flowerbed. “Here.” He dabbed her chin gingerly. “Cor, you look like a proper horror-film extra now.”
“Shut up!”
“Only teasing. C’mon, up you get.” He hauled her to her feet as Sophie clung to the kitten.
Nan was waiting by the flats. “Sophie! Look at the state of you!”
“Nan, don’t shout! Look!” She thrust the kitten forward. “He’s alive, just poorly!”
Nan’s lecture waited till they’d patched Sophie up. “Who’s this, then?” She nodded at the boy loitering nearby.
“Saved me, Nan! Proper walloped that bully!”
“Knight in scuffed trainers, eh? What’s your name, lad?”
Sophie gaped. “Dunno…”
The boy shuffled. “Luke.”
“Margaret Dawson.” Nan grinned. “This disaster’s my granddaughter. Fancy a cuppa?”
Luke shook his head. “Best get back.” But Nan’s eyes had already flicked over his threadbare hoodie and too-short jeans. Something in her chest tightened—just like her son at that age, always sticking up for strays.
That night, Mum’s “talk” was worse than shouting. “You broke trust, Sophie. What if you’d been hurt where Nan couldn’t see?”
“But the kitten—”
“—is why you’re not grounded. But no more adventures, yeah?”
The kitten—now christened Biscuit—got a shoebox bed and stolen doll’s bottle. Next morning, Nan shooed Sophie outside. “Remember the rules. And, Sophie—thank that boy proper, eh? Manners cost nowt.”
Luke was slumped on the bench. “Ta for yesterday,” Sophie blurted.
He shrugged.
“You proper miffed?”
“Not your business.”
“Tell me anyway,” she said, swinging her sandals. And bit by bit, he did—nights of shouting when his mum’s “mates” came round, Nan’s pension pinched for booze, empty cupboards.
Sophie chewed her lip. “You’re proper lonely, ain’t ya?”
Luke stiffened. “S’pose.”
“I get it,” she said quietly. Then, brightening: “I know! Let’s be unofficially siblings!”
Luke blinked. “Wot?”
“Like in stories! You call me sis, I call you bruv. Then neither of us is alone. ’Cept…” She frowned. “You prolly think I’m a dumb kid.”
Luke crouched till they were eye-level. “Nah. Best offer I’ve had.”
From then on, they were inseparable. Luke told her things he’d never told anyone—how he dreamed of joining the fire brigade, how Nan’s bad hip needed surgery. So Sophie acted.
“Don’t be cross, but… I told Mum about your nan.”
Luke scowled.
“Mum’s a surgeon! She’ll help!”
Sophie’s mum, Dr. Helen, did more than that. She fixed Nan’s hip, steered Luke’s mum toward rehab, and—when nosey Mrs. Thompson sneered, “That boy’s trouble”—shut her down with a glare.
Years later, a tall cadet scanned the graduation crowd. Nan was too frail now, but Helen had promised to come. A whirlwind in a sundress cannoned into him. “LUKE! YOU DID IT!”
“Oi, menace!” He swung Sophie off her feet. “Where’s Mum?”
“With your girlfriend! Told ’em I’d fetch you.” She poked his medals. “Knew you’d make it.”
“Only ’cause you nagged me through GCSEs.”
She grinned. “Next time you rescue someone, make sure it’s not me, yeah? You’ll be busy enough.”
Laughing, she dragged him toward the others. The day was young, and life—finally—was good. Why waste a second?
