Sophie clutched her scraped knees as hot tears streamed down her face, her small fists pounding uselessly against the older boy’s side. “Give him back! Stop! You’re hurting him!” she sobbed, her voice breaking. The bully only laughed, tightening his grip around the tiny black kitten’s body until its pitiful mewls became faint gasps. Desperate, Sophie sank her teeth into his wrist—only to be flung backward onto the pavement. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth as warmth trickled down her chin. When she wiped her face with a shaking hand, the crimson smear made her squeeze her eyes shut and scream.
“HELP!”
To her shock, someone answered. A startled yelp came from the bully as Sophie blinked through her tears. From her crumpled position on the ground, she glimpsed filthy trainers kicking wildly in the air before their owner crashed onto the tarmac with a thud.
“What the—?! You mental or what?!” The boy’s voice had lost its sneer, wobbling now with something like fear.
“Next time I see you near her, you’re done. Got it?” The new voice was calm, almost bored.
Sophie turned her head, heart hammering. Another boy? He’d intervened, but what did he want? Her panicked gaze darted around—there! The kitten lay motionless near the kerb. Scrambling forward on scraped hands, she gathered the limp bundle against her jumper. Still breathing. She had to get home. Gran would know what to do. But her legs refused to cooperate.
“Oi. You alright? Blimey, you’re in a state.” The older boy crouched beside her—fifteen, maybe sixteen, all sharp elbows and too-thin wrists beneath a frayed hoodie. His attempt at a reassuring smile looked awkward, unpractised. “Lemme see your face. Bit your lip, did you?”
“Dunno…”
“Right. Can you stand?”
Sophie shook her head. The delayed shock hit like a wave, and suddenly she was crying all over again.
“Hey—none of that! He’s gone. Won’t touch you again.” A grubby hand reached toward the kitten, making Sophie flinch. “Easy! Not gonna hurt him. Look—cats carry their young like this.” He mimed scruffing the kitten’s neck.
“But—”
“Proper little fighter, you are,” he muttered when Sophie finally met his eyes. Something in his expression softened. “Come on. Where d’you live?”
Sophie hesitated, then pointed to the red-brick estate across the square. Gran was already pacing near the stairwell, hands flying to her mouth at the sight of them.
“Sophie! Look at the state of you!”
“Gran, don’t be cross! It’s—he’s hurt!” She thrust the kitten forward, her voice wobbling. “He was crying before but now he’s too quiet—”
“Never mind that fluffball, look at your knees!” Gran’s scolding faltered as she took in Sophie’s companion. “And who’s this? Your knight in shining armor?”
“Saved me from Liam Barker! He was proper brave!”
Gran’s gaze sharpened. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Jake.”
“Margaret Hayes.” She jerked her chin toward the high-rise. “You’ll stay for tea, won’t you?”
Jake stiffened. “Can’t. Me nan’ll be waiting.” His eyes flicked to Sophie, then away. “Just… make sure she’s alright.”
Gran’s lips pursed as she watched him leave, shoulders hunched against the wind. Too thin, that one. Hoodie two sizes too big. The way he’d looked at Sophie—like he’d never had anyone to protect before.
Inside, while Gran cleaned Sophie’s cuts, Mum’s lecture came later than expected. No shouting, just quiet disappointment that burned worse.
“You promised to stay in our courtyard.”
“But the kitten—”
“And if something worse had happened? If Jake hadn’t been there?” Mum’s hands, usually so steady stitching wounds at St. Thomas’, trembled slightly. “One more chance, Sophie. Don’t make me regret it.”
Jake appeared the next day on their bench, staring at his battered trainers.
“Thank you,” Sophie blurted before Gran could remind her. “Proper forgot yesterday.”
He shrugged. “S’nothing.”
“Why’re you sad?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Ain’t sad.”
Sophie kicked a pebble. “D’you… wanna be family?”
Jake blinked. “What?”
“Like in stories! Sworn brother and sister. Then neither of us’d be alone.” Her grin faded. “But you wouldn’t want a little sister like—”
“Shut it.” Jake crouched until they were eye-level. “You’re brilliant, you are.”
And just like that, their odd little pack was formed.
Two years later, Jake paced outside King’s College Hospital while Mum scrubbed in for his nan’s gallbladder surgery.
“Quit fidgeting,” Sophie ordered, handing him a WHSmith bag. “Brought you Maltesers.”
Jake’s laugh was shaky. “Sworn sisters don’t half come in handy.”
The years rolled on—Jake smuggling Sophie sweets when Mum worked nights, Sophie proofreading his college essays, Gran teaching him to make proper Yorkshire puddings.
At his graduation from the Fire Service College, Sophie barreled into him with enough force to nearly topple his mortarboard.
“You did it!”
Jake scooped her up, spinning until her school plaits flew out like ribbons. “Had good help.”
Mum watched from the sidelines with Jake’s girlfriend—the nurse who’d tended his nan. Somewhere along the way, the makeshift family had become real.
Sophie squeezed his hand. “Promise you’ll still save me sometimes?”
“Only if you make it difficult.” He tweaked her nose. “Go on, you menace. Let’s find Mum before she cries into her handbag again.”
The afternoon sun gilded the college lawns as they walked, three steps forward into whatever came next—together.
