Milo the kitten had been glimpsed on a morning walk, but Miss Nancy Hart organized a game of DuckDuck and he never managed to get any closer. The kitten was ginger, just like Milo, though it was unclear whether his whiskered lashes were also a shade of orange. Milos mother had said the sun had kissed him. She had kissed Milo too, and then she passed away. Since then no one had kissed him. Father was always busy, and for some reason Grandma Margaret never seemed to adore Milo.
If the sun had kissed him, did that make him a son of the sunshine? Did the ginger kitten also receive a sunkiss? And do kittens even have lashes? Those questions fluttered through Milos mind during quiet time.
Thompson, why arent you asleep? Miss Hart tucked his blanket tighter. Close your eyes, lad. He obeyed, but sleep slipped away. He lay listening as, in the staff room, Miss Hart whispered to someone: How long can this go on? One assistant for two groups with this many children its madness. Who would take such a wage? Good thing Anna left, replied a voice. She was terrible with the kids; wed be better off without a nanny. Impossible, Miss Hart snapped back, but well never solve it. The conversation faded.
Liam, the boy, was terrified of the departed nanny Anna Whittaker, and not just him. She often scolded the youngsters, and if they refused the nursery porridge with lumps she could shove a spoon down their throats until their tongues ached. Once she slammed the spoon onto Liams tongue, and he vomited all over the table. Her shriek terrified him, and Miss Hart washed him, changed his clothes, and warned Anna never to do that again. Soon someone complained, and Anna never returned to the nursery.
During an evening stroll, Liam tried again to spot Milo, but only a flash of a ginger tail rustled behind the garden bench. Then his father appeared. Since his mothers death, his father barely spoke to Liam and hardly noticed him. He would drop Liam off from the nursery and send him to play in his room. One day his father overheard Grandma Margaret snapping at him: David, Ive told you a hundred times youre raising someone who isnt yours. He doesnt look like you, do you see that? Mum, he looks like Emily, Liams father muttered. He barely resembles her. Why not do a test? Its simpler than fiddling with another mans child. Yes, but Ive been looking after him for four years, almost five now. Then youve had a pretend family, a wife who hung some unknown child around her neck, and now shes gone! You need to build your own life, have your own children. If you think Ill keep babysitting this boy, youre dead wrong. I dont want that! Liam could not comprehend. Grandmas angry, dissatisfied tone had become background noise to him.
A new nursery assistant arrived one morning, very unlike the previous one. Liam sensed it at once. She did not shout or scold; she whispered gently to the children, and they ate. Curious, Liam set his spoon down and stared. The new assistant smiled: Hello! Whats your name? Liam? Im Iris Whitaker. Why arent you eating, Liam? I dont like porridge with lumps. Liam, Ill let you in on a secret I dont like those lumps either, and I never force children to chew them. You can leave them on your plate if they appear. Later well see who has the most. Intrigued, Liam began hunting for lumps in his bowl. To his surprise there were hardly any; in the meantime he had unknowingly swallowed the rest of the porridge. Iris praised him, calling him a great boy. No one had praised Liam in ages, and his heart swelled with joy.
From then on the nursery felt even brighter. Iris helped the head teacher wherever she could, and the children quickly grew attached to her. One day Miss Hart asked Iris to stay with the children during quiet time while she slipped into the headmistresss office. The children sniffed contentedly, and only Liam could not drift to sleep. Little Liam, why arent you sleeping? Iris stroked his head. Do you know my mother is in the sky? he whispered. Iriss throat caught. She had instantly taken a liking to this quiet, orangehaired boy. She had noticed that his everrushing father and irritable old woman probably Grandma whisked him away, but his mother never did. No, I didnt know, she said gently. The sun also kissed me once. I noticed that, she smiled. Do kittens have lashes? Perhaps, she replied. Why do you ask? Liam murmured the whole tale in a hushed voice: the ginger kitten hidden in the bushes, perhaps also kissed by the sun, maybe his brother. He longed for a brother, even a kitten, because no one kissed him any more without his mother.
Do kittens kiss children? Iris asked, fighting tears, and brushed his shaggy crown once more. Yes, little Liam, kittens can kiss children. Their tongues are a bit rough. Now close your eyes, alright? Rough? Liam blinked in wonder, then drifted toward sleep.
Later, the head teacher explained to Iris: His mother was from a childrens home and died recently. His stepgrandmother never accepted his stepmother. She kept telling his father he wasnt his son. I dont know whats happening now. The boy is tidy, wellkept, but hes stopped smiling. He used to shine like the sun, all about his mother.
One winter, Liam didnt show up at the nursery. He fell ill, perhaps, as a fierce virus roamed the town despite the approaching summer. He missed a week, then two. He wont return, Miss Hart told Iris. His father filed paperwork to place him in a childrens home. The headmistress arrived with documents. A childrens home? With a living father and grandmother? Iris gasped. Yes, came the reply, because his father turned out not to be his biological parent. They did a DNA test with Grandma Margaret. Hed been raised for five years, then placed in care. What kind of people are we dealing with?
Iris walked home through a fog, the image of the trusting orange boy floating before her: Do kittens have lashes? Suddenly, a bright bundle rolled out from beneath the nursery fence, right at her feet. Disoriented, she scooped it up and realized a kitten. Ginger, likely the one Liam had spoken of. Poor child, how could he bear all this?
She cradled the tiny creature in her flat, examined it closely. It was not a newborn but a teenageaged, brightorange, dirty kitten still washable. And indeed, kittens have no lashes. Late that night, Liams father, Tom, returned from work, and the clean, wellfed kitten darted toward him. Weve got a new family member! Iris, will it wreck the furniture? he asked, seeing his wifes worried face. I dont mind, she replied. People say cats are mischievous, but thats just folklore. Tom whats happened? With your mother? At work? they talked until dawn. Finally Tom asked, Iris, are you sure this kitten isnt a stray? She answered honestly: she had taken the job at the nursery because she had no children of her own, so at least she could care for others kids. Tom tried to reassure her, but the doctors warned that Liam could not stay in a care home he deserved a family, just like the stray kitten.
Endless forms, certificates, adoption agency visits, psychologists, and the like followed. Thankfully the flat was spacious and Toms salary was decent. He even begrudgingly let Iris keep her job, joking that hed figure out how to feed everyone. The headmistress helped through her contacts. Liams grandparents called from the north, shouting into the phone that they wanted their grandson to visit immediately.
When Liam was finally allowed to return, he smiled faintly, still unsure how to trust that patience would bring him home with Iris. At their house, the ginger kitten waited, ready for daily trips to the nursery together.
Look, everyone, Liams back! the staff announced. Hello, Liam! Miss Hart giggled. Did you know kittens dont have lashes? Their tongues are indeed rough! Two years later, Milo would start Year 1. He would be escorted by his mothers memory, his father, two grandmothers, his grandfather, and his little sister, all gathered to send him off.
