June 14
Today I found myself drifting back to the memory of that orange kitten I first saw while out on a walk with Mum. Miss Clarke had organised a game of Duck, Duck, Goose at the nursery, and I never got the chance to get any closer. The kitten was just like the one I call Len. He was ginger, his whiskers a blur, and I still cant decide whether his tiny eyelashes were a shade of amber or simply a trick of the light. Lens mother used to say the sun kissed him, and she would plant a kiss on his forehead before she passed away. Since then, no one has ever kissed him again. Father is always too busy, and GrandmotherMrs. Jenkinsseems to have little affection for Len.
If the sun really did kiss him, does that make him a sunson? I wonder if the little ginger kitten also got a sunkiss. Do kittens even have eyelashes? Those questions fluttered through my mind during the quiet hour.
Leonard, why arent you asleep? Miss Clarke brushed my blanket tighter. Close your eyes, love. I obeyed, but sleep refused to come. I lay there listening to Miss Clarke whispering in the staff room:
How long is this going to go on? One assistant for two groupsgiven the number of children we haveits just madness. Who would work for that pay?
Another voice answered, Good thing Annas left, isnt it? With the way she treated the children, wed rather have no nanny at all.
Miss Clarke replied, We cant just abandon the kids, but well never sort this out together.
Anna Valery, the former nursery nurse, terrified everyoneme included. She was quick to scold, and if a child refused the thick, lumpy porridge, shed shove a spoon down their throat until their tongue ached. Once she pressed the spoon so hard that it spattered onto the table. I was petrified, but Miss Clarke washed me up and changed my clothes, and she sternly told Anna not to do that again. Soon enough someone complained, and Anna never returned.
During the evening stroll, I tried once more to catch sight of the kitten, only to glimpse a flash of a ginger tail disappearing behind the hedges near the gazebo. Then Father appeared. Since Mums death, he barely speaks to me and hardly notices me at all. He shuttles me home from nursery and drops me off in my room to play.
One afternoon, I overheard Grandmother snapping at Father:
Steven, Ive told you a hundred times youre raising a child that isnt yours. He doesnt look like you, do you see that?
Father retorted, Mum, he looks like Nadine.
She scoffed, He barely resembles Nadine. Why not just do a DNA test? Its simpler than caring for a strangers child.
I never understood their harsh words, but Ive grown used to the sharp tone and simply tune it out.
A new nanny started at the nursery todaynothing like Anna. She was gentle, spoke quietly to the children, and they actually ate. Her name was Irene Spencer. I set my spoon down and stared at her, curious.
Hello, whats your name? Leo, right? Im Irene. Why arent you eating, love?
I dont like porridge with lumps, I mumbled.
Ill tell you a secret, I dont like those lumps either, and I never force the kids to eat them. You can just leave them on the plate; later well see who had the most.
That sparked a competition in me. I began hunting for lumps in my bowl, only to discover there were hardly any. In the process, I ate the rest of the porridge without even noticing. Irene praised me, calling me a great lad. No one had ever praised me before, and it made my heart swell.
From then on I looked forward to going to the nursery. Irene helped Miss Clarke wherever she could, and the children quickly grew fond of her.
One quiet hour, Miss Clarke asked Irene to look after the little ones while she slipped into the headmistresss office. The children were peacefully sniffling, but I still couldnt drift off.
Little Leo, why are you still awake? Irene stroked my head.
Did you know my mother is in heaven? I whispered.
Her throat tightened; shed never expected that. Shed taken a liking to this quiet, gingerhaired boy from the moment she saw me. Shed already noticed that I was alternately swept away by Father, then by Grandmother, and never by Mum.
No, love, I didnt know, she answered gently. And the sun did kiss you, didnt it?
Yes, I said, smiling a little. Do kittens have eyelashes?
I suppose they might, she replied. Why do you ask?
I told her everythingabout the ginger kitten hiding in the bushes, about how I imagined the sun had kissed him too, and how perhaps that made him my brother. Id never had a brother; I just wanted someone to share a kiss with, now that Mum was gone.
Do kittens kiss children? I asked, eyes brimming.
She brushed my messy, orange hair and nodded. They do, but their tongues are a bit rough.
Later, the headmistress whispered to Irene about me: His mother was in a childrens home and passed away recently. His stepgrandmother never accepted his motherinlaw. She kept telling his father he wasnt his real son. Hes a neat, wellkept boy, but hes stopped smiling. He used to beam like the sun, all because of his mum.
A few weeks later I didnt show up at the nursery. A nasty virus was sweeping the town, even though summer was almost here. I stayed home, sick, and didnt return for a fortnight.
Its over, Leo wont come back, Miss Clarke told Irene. Father had taken me to the childrens home. He went to the office to sort the paperwork.
To a childrens home? With a living father and grandmother? Irene asked, stunned.
Yes, Miss Clarke said. Fathers DNA didnt match. After five years, they ran a test. Hes not my son.
Irene walked home in a daze, the image of the ginger boy who kept asking about kitten eyelashes flickering in her mind. Suddenly, a bright orange ball of fur darted out from the nursery fence and landed at her feet. She scooped it upit was a kitten, the very one Leo had spoken of. Not a newborn, but a scruffy teenage kitten, bright ginger, dirty but cleanable. No eyelashes, as it turned out.
When her husband, Stephen, came home late that night, the fluffy cat boldly leapt into his arms.
Looks like weve got a new family member! Ir, will it ruin the furniture? he joked, seeing the worry on her face.
Its fine, she laughed, I just asked because the kids say cats are little troublemakers.
They talked long into the night, about the loss of my mother, about work, about the future. Stephen eventually asked, Are you sure this kitten isnt a stray?
She wasnt sure about much, but she knew one thing: Leo could not end up in a childrens home, just as the kitten would not be left to fend for itself on the streets.
The endless paperwork beganapplications, adoption forms, psychologist reports. Thankfully the nursery headmistress helped through her contacts, and Stephens decent salary made things easier. Their parents from the north called, eager to have a grandchild visiting.
When the adoption was finally approved, Leo smiled shyly, still unable to believe that a little patience would bring him back to a home with Irene and Stephen, and a ginger kitten waiting for him.
Two years later, Leo will be heading off to Year1. Hell be walked to school by Mum, Dad, both grandparents, his grandfather, and his little sister, all gathered to send him off.
Leo.
