Katie was the downstairs neighbours daughter and a proper nuisance to fifteen-year-old Jamie. That scrawny, dark-eyed girl was often foisted upon them in the evenings.
Auntie Helen was raising her alone, barely scraping by on her shifts as a care assistant, darting between pensioners homes to give injections, clutching at any chance to earn extra cash. Shed tried settling down with someoneno luck. One decent bloke turned out to be married.
Shed appear unannounced at the doorstep, avoiding eye contact, whispering urgently, “Victoria, just for an hour or two, I owe you oneits so late, how can I leave her alone?” Katie would stand there, sulking, head bowed sadly.
Mum would sigh but always relent, taking the girl in so she wouldnt sit in the dark, empty flat. Dad would grumble about it later, of course.
Jamie bore the brunt of Mums kindness, stuck babysitting the uninvited guest while she watched “whatever cartoons were on.” Katie would huddle in the corner of the sofa, silently enduring whatever violent action film was playing, hands clamped on her kneesinfuriatingly meek.
Once a week, Auntie Helen would press crumpled five-pound notes into Jamies palm, begging him to at least walk the new Year One pupil to the cornerits not like they werent headed to the same school anyway.
That day, Katie beamed like a polished teapot, even managing a few words on the way: today was their class assembly, and shed be reciting *Snowflakes*. Jamie smirkedin that ridiculous bobble hat, the silly twit looked more like a spaceborne germ.
After first period, kids flocked to the canteen for breakfast. Jamie, out of habit, reached for his cheese sandwich. Then, for some daft reason, he glanced back.
The little ones were in a right state at their usual table. A crowd had gathered around Katie in her fancy dress. Some were laughing, pointing; others offered tissues. Jamie edged closer. It was a disasterher whole outfit was drenched in strawberry yoghurt.
She stood frozen, trembling, silent tears streaming down her face.
Out of nowhere, an excitable Tommy barged into him. “Jamie, hurry! Lauras sorting the partyshe *actually* asked for you!” His voice sounded miles away. “Come on, mate, or youll miss out!”
Laura. Just chatting with her was any lads dream. And now she wanted him there? He took a step toward the door. Not his problem, really. Let them call Auntie Helen, scrub the dress, whatever.
Deep down, Jamie knew no one would bother with Katie. Shed be shoved into a corner, forgottenalready used to fading into the background.
He sighed, just like Mum, and turned back.
“Miss Thompson, whens the assembly?”
“Oh, Jamie, its in an hour and a half! Poor thing, she was so excitedlook at the state of her!”
Katie stood rigid, shaking, smeared and pale as if she might be sick. Jamie pried the empty cup from her grip.
“Ill take her home, maybe she can change.”
“Bless you, Jamiehurry back, Ill sort it with Mrs. Carter.”
Turns out, there *was* no spare dress. Jamie muttered every swear he knew as he scrubbed the stains, blasted the damp patches with a hairdryer, ironed out the frilly pink folds. Skinny Katie, in just a T-shirt and tights, fluttered nervously nearby. They sprinted back, her mittened hand tight in his.
He never did chat with Laura that day. He even skipped lessonswent to the Year One assembly instead.
Katie rattled off her poem like a pro. As her class filed past, she suddenly broke ranks, flung herself at him, and blurted:
“Jamie, if it werent for you, Id have died today. Properly died.”
Silly twit.
