Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 10

  Addie blinked. Heat pulsed through her, dragged her back into the café with its empty tables, back into the empty day. She heard her own voice: loud. Angry.

  ‘Home? It’s not home. It’s a stupid farm for kids with stupid parents who don’t want them any more. Well, my mam does want me. She just got sick, OK? So, if you’d all stop making her feel bad, and stop getting her all muddled up, she’ll be better and we can go back to our proper home. Together.’

  Addie scrambled to her feet. She turned and ran. Her legs felt strange, not quite under her control. She had no idea where she was going.

  Penny’s purple heels clattered along the pavement behind her. Seagulls wheeled and cried overhead.

  The air was thick. Addie’s chest ached. She thought of the foal waiting in the barn, listening for her footsteps. Calling for her. Wondering if she had left him, too.

  She slowed down and let the now frantic Penny catch up with her.

  When she climbed inside the car, Addie remembered that she’d left Mam’s bluebell picture on the grass. By now, in this wind, it would be in the river, drifting with the ducks; dissolving into nothing among unwanted cake and slimy green weed.

  Penny glanced at Addie every few seconds on the drive home, as if afraid that she might open the door and escape.

  Addie wished she could escape. Escape from being Addie: Addie whose dad ran away – far away – back to the other side of the world where he was born; Addie whose mam ran away and got lost in her bottles; Addie, who made them both disappear.

  She stared out through the windscreen. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, hung above the road ahead; washed the new colour from the moor.

  Penny slowed the car as they approached a sharp bend in a wide sweep of road. Addie glimpsed the frightened eyes of a red stag, saw the flash of its white rump as it fled for cover.

  Penny gave a small, excited shriek. ‘How wonderful,’ she said.

  Addie ignored her. She hoped they hadn’t scared the stag too badly.

  Closer to the farm, sheep and young lambs stood clear of the trees; gathered in the centre of the meadows, waiting. Gabe’s storm was coming, after all.

  By the time Penny parked behind the Oaktree farmhouse, every bit of nearly-summer-blue sky was gone.

  Addie didn’t want to see Ruth. She didn’t want Ruth’s soft eyes pulling her tears from their hiding place in front of everyone; not in front of Sunni’s smug, smiling face.

  ‘I’ve got to look after my foal,’ she told Penny. ‘Tell Ruth she doesn’t need to come and find me. I’m fine.’ She slammed the car door shut and headed for the barn.

  A few dry leaves blew across the courtyard. They scuttled like frantic insects around Addie’s feet, swirled in the air; followed Addie in through the barn door.

  The foal whinnied loudly. His eyes shone as he held Addie in his gentle gaze.

  Addie threw her arms round his neck.

  ‘She didn’t come,’ she said. ‘She knew I was waiting for her, but she still didn’t come.’ She pressed her face into the foal’s wiry mane, breathed in his earthy scent.

  She cried for Mam, cried for herself, cried for the foal whose mother might be calling for him in the lonely forest.

  Calling, still calling.

  Waiting for him to come home.

  Addie had no idea how long she lay curled with the foal on his bed of straw. But when she stirred, the light was soft in the barn and the foal’s mane was wet beneath her cheeks.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  She got to her feet, took his face between her hands. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You’re going back to see your mam. It’s time. I’m taking you back to her – and no one is going to stop me.’

  Addie lay in bed, listening as the farmhouse settled into another night. Outside the window, everything was still.

  The storm had not arrived. Sam had said it might blow over. But the air felt thick and heavy with waiting, as if the world was fearful of what was to come.

  Addie’s chest was heavy too. Like when Darren Oates shoved her over in the playground. He’d stood laughing with his friends as she scrabbled to her feet, winded and desperate not to cry. Addie remembered the sharp sting of gravel in her skin. She tried to feel it again now, to blot out the ache in her stomach, the questions in her head.

  Penny had kept her promise and put Mam on the line. But Mam couldn’t explain why she had broken hers. Her voice had been too quiet, as if that was broken too.

  If she let her eyes close, Addie saw the bridge by the river: saw it sway in the wind as if it might break free and float away on the water. She saw the seagull with its cruel beak, heard its plaintive scream as it wheeled away and disappeared among the clouds. She saw Mam’s empty chair at the café table, with its gathering pink puddle and splinters of translucent glass.

  Addie pushed the picture away. She thought of the foal on his bed of straw, tried to conjure his warm presence beside her in her bed.

  How would she manage on the farm without him?

  But her mind was made up. Penny might be able to keep her away from her mam, but no one was going to keep the foal away from his. Addie would make sure of it.

  She needed to do something quickly, before Sam’s ‘experts’ stuck their noses in. Or he might be taken from the farm, sold to strangers and never get to go home.

  Never get to see his mam. Not ever, ever again.

  Addie strained to hear above a sudden whip of wind at the bedroom window. Everything inside the house was quiet. Sunni’s shadowed shape was motionless under her covers.

  Addie slid to the floor. She slipped past Sunni’s bed and crept along the landing to Jude’s room, careful to avoid any creaky boards.

  Jude’s curtains were open. He was sitting at the end of his bed, a small statue in the bright moonlight that spilled across the room. Had he sensed that she would come tonight?

  Addie held a finger to her lips. She closed the door and sat down beside him.

  ‘We’ve got to do it,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve got to get the foal home. Quickly.’

  ‘Now?’ Jude glanced at the window, looked back at Addie, his eyes wide; afraid.

  ‘Tomorrow. Night.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Those pony people are coming the next day. Sam said. They might take him away.’

  ‘It’ll be dark.’

  ‘Yes. Easiest to sneak away then, while everyone’s sleeping. But we’ve got to make a proper plan.’

  Jude chewed at his bottom lip, pulled the sleeves of his pyjama jacket down over his hands. ‘The foal’s only a baby,’ he said. ‘He’ll be scared of the dark.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Addie said. ‘And so will you. You’re the bravest boy I know.’ She smiled at him. ‘Anyway, there’s going to be a full moon tomorrow. Gabe said.’

  Jude looked down. His lashes threw long shadows on his cheeks. ‘We’ll be sad, though,’ he said. ‘When the foal goes home.’

  Addie nodded. The ache in her stomach pushed its way into her throat. She swallowed hard. ‘But the foal will be happy. We’ll be glad if he’s happy, won’t we?’

  Jude’s hands twisted in his lap. ‘Your mum said she’s taking you home too, didn’t she? When you saw her?’ He drew a shuddering breath. ‘I won’t be brave when you go.’

  Addie got up, crossed to the window and peered outside. Widget was stalking across the yard below. He stopped, hunched down low. He lifted his head and looked up towards Addie, as if suddenly aware that she was watching him. His eyes glowed red in the moonlight.

  ‘You are, aren’t you?’ Jude stood behind her. One hand hovered above Addie’s shoulder, like a pale moth afraid to land. ‘Going home?’

  Addie watched her reflection in the windowpane, saw her lips form words that had pressed at the inside of her head since that afternoon by the river.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not going home.’

  The moth hand touched down, lifted again.

  ‘Not ever?’ Jude said.

&
nbsp; Addie closed her eyes, blotted out the ghost girl in the window: the girl whose mam didn’t love her as much as the bottles in her bag.

  ‘Just, not yet,’ she said. She hoped that bit was true. Her eyes burned.

  ‘Isn’t your mam all better then?’ Jude said. ‘What did she say?’

  Addie turned to face him. ‘We’re supposed to be making a plan,’ she said. ‘Get your pencils and paper out.’

  She heard something.

  There it was again. A soft shuffling – outside the door.

  Who was there?

  Addie held her finger to her lips. ‘Quiet, Jude,’ she whispered.

  The door clicked open.

  Sunni. Her dark glass hair, the swing of her red dressing gown in the doorway. How long had she been out there? How much had she heard?

  She stepped into the room. ‘What are you two up to then?’

  ‘None of your business,’ Addie said. ‘Go back to bed.’

  Sunni eased the door shut, pressed her back against it. ‘Well, it is my business because you woke me up in the middle of the night.’ She slid her bracelets up her arm, watched them clatter back together at her wrist. ‘And anyway,’ she said, her chin in the air, ‘I already know. You weren’t exactly whispering.’

  ‘You can’t tell,’ Jude said.

  ‘Shut up, Jude,’ Addie said. She glared at Sunni, crossed the room and eased the door closed.

  ‘If you must know,’ Addie said, ‘Jude had one of his dreams.’ She looked over at him; stared hard into his wide eyes. ‘And he was telling me things about it – private things, weren’t you, Jude?’

  Jude nodded. His eyes darted from side to side.

  Sunni threw herself on to Jude’s bed. ‘You’re useless at lying, Jude,’ she said. ‘And I thought you were my friend. Why are you taking her side?’

  ‘I am your friend,’ Jude said. He put his hands on his hips. ‘But I’m Addie’s friend too. Don’t be mean to her. She’s really sad.’

  ‘Jude! Shut up,’ Addie said.

  Sunni tipped her head on one side, pulled a strand of hair through her lips.

  ‘What happened then?’ she said, as if Addie wasn’t even in the room. ‘Last I heard, she was off back to Wonder-Mam.’

  ‘Tell her, Addie,’ Jude said.

  ‘Yes, tell me, Addie,’ Sunni said. ‘Or I’ll tell Ruth you’re making another one of your crazy plans and she’ll tell your social worker.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Then see what happens . . .’

  Jude stood tall, folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘No, Sunni, don’t. Cos if you do, I’ll tell about your secret . . .’

  Sunni sprang to her feet. She grabbed Jude’s arms. ‘You dare! You promised!’

  Jude froze.

  ‘Leave him, Sunni,’ Addie said. ‘He doesn’t like it.’

  Sunni slumped back down on the bed. ‘Sorry, Jude,’ she said.

  Jude positioned himself between Addie and Sunni ‘You two got to make friends,’ he announced. He sat down next to Sunni. ‘Because you both got sad things. And you both got ’portant secrets.’ He nodded, as if he had no doubt at all that he was right.

  Addie heard Ruth’s softness in his words. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, then it was gone. She held up her hand. ‘Shush. Listen,’ she whispered.

  The floorboards creaked. The landing light clicked on. Yellow light shone under Jude’s door.

  Ruth appeared, rubbing at her eyes.

  ‘Jude had a bad dream,’ Sunni said. ‘Didn’t you, Jude?’

  Jude nodded. ‘Awful-terrible.’

  ‘Oh dear, Jude,’ Ruth said. ‘How about I read you a story then, sweetheart? You choose a book.’ She pulled back Jude’s covers and plumped his pillows.

  She smiled at Addie and Sunni – the same smile she gave Gabe when he said he hadn’t eaten the last of the chocolate fingers. ‘Thank you, girls,’ she said. ‘But off you go now. Back to bed. Sam says you’re both helping with the new lambs in the morning – bright and early. So you’d better get some sleep. She yawned. ‘Addie, let me know if you can’t settle, OK?’ She smiled her warm smile and opened the book that Jude had given her.

  Jude lay back against his pillows and pulled his duvet up under his chin. ‘I need two stories, Ruth,’ he said. ‘My dream was special scary this time.’

  ‘Ruth didn’t believe us, you know,’ Sunni said. ‘About Jude’s dream. She always knows when people aren’t telling the truth. She always knows everything. That’s why you need my help . . .’

  ‘No thanks,’ Addie said. She sat up, flicked on her bedside lamp. ‘I wouldn’t tell you anything. And anyway, there isn’t any plan, OK?’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Sunni said. ‘I know all about it, anyway, like I said.’

  ‘Well, you don’t,’ Addie said. ‘Because there’s nothing to know.’

  She switched off the light and stared into the darkness. What exactly had Sunni heard? Perhaps it was just bits and pieces. Maybe she thought Addie was planning another attempt at getting home. Well, good – if she did – because Sunni wouldn’t spill the beans on that plan. She’d be more than happy to see Addie run away – and stay away.

  So would Addie. But until Mam was home, there was nowhere for her to run to.

  No one.

  Her chest tightened. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t think about Mam just now. She had to focus on the foal: make her plan.

  ‘Just so you know,’ Sunni said, ‘there’s no way you’re taking Jude on one of your stupid escape missions.’ She yawned. ‘He’s much too nice to be supper for the Beast of Exmoor.’

  Addie sighed, pulled her duvet over her head.

  ‘And in case you’re wondering,’ Sunni said, ‘the Beast of Exmoor is a giant cat that stalks the moor looking for food. Especially at lambing time. Which is when people go missing too.’

  Addie heard the clink of bracelets, the creak of bedsprings. Sunni’s voice became a whisper. ‘And no one ever finds them . . .’

  Jude didn’t want his breakfast the next morning. His cheeks were scarlet.

  Ruth laid a hand on his forehead. ‘Hot,’ she said. ‘Burning. Back to bed for you, young man.’ She took Jude by the hand. ‘Let’s get you tucked up with a nice cold drink.’

  ‘I’ll need to stay in with Jude today,’ Ruth said. I’ll not be able to help out with the lambing now.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Gabe, can you pop over and tell your dad for me, love? If there’s still a lot happening, he might want to ring over to Jackson’s farm and see if one of their lads can help. He’s been out there for hours. He’ll be exhausted.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ Sunni said. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, pushed back her chair. ‘But he won’t need extra help. He’s got Gabe and me. And Addie, I suppose,’ she added, ‘if she’s not too busy.’ She stared meaningfully at Addie.

  Addie ignored her. She’d already promised to help Sam and had fed the foal extra early so that she could. Helping out would make the day pass quickly; calm her nerves about the night-time adventure to come. And it might stop Sunni being too suspicious. She couldn’t risk her saying something to Ruth.

  But Addie felt more anxious than ever now that Jude was sick. Was she brave enough to do this all by herself ?

  It was lucky that Ruth and Sam were going to be so busy. Otherwise, they’d notice that Addie seemed jittery and preoccupied. They’d ask questions. Because Sunni was right: Ruth had this way of ‘knowing things’ about you. And as for Sam, he didn’t miss a thing.

  ‘OK, Sunni,’ Ruth said, gathering a wilting Jude closer to her, ‘thank you.’ She pointed to a tartan flask by the kettle. ‘Take him that, would you, love? He’ll be needing a hot drink.’

  Sunni grabbed the flask and was gone.

  ‘Get yourself over to the shed as quickly as you can, Gabe,’ Ruth said. ‘Your dad must be exhausted. There were some tricky births overnight and a problem with a couple of the new mums.’

  Gabe looked up
from his breakfast – his second that morning – an enormous plate of bacon and eggs. ‘Don’t worry, Ma,’ he said. He waved his fork at Addie, took a bite of toast. ‘Cavalry’s on its way.’

  Addie swallowed a mouthful of porridge, pushed her bowl away. She wasn’t hungry.

  ‘Oh, and Addie,’ Ruth called from the doorway, ‘no need to take the foal to the meadow this morning; he can have a run this afternoon, when the pony folk are here. They’ll want to get a look at him on the move before they decide anything, I expect.’

  ‘Today?’ Addie said, trying to hide her panic. ‘Sam said they were coming tomorrow.’

  ‘He’ll have got his days confused, Addie. We’ve been so busy with the lambing and everything.’ Ruth tilted her head on one side. A long strand of hair slipped free from her untidy bun and hung across her face. ‘I know the foal’s your special friend, sweetheart. Let’s just see what they say today, OK?’

  Jude leaned against her; his face redder than ever. ‘The foal doesn’t like them,’ he said, his voice cracked and dry. ‘He only likes us.’

  Ruth stroked his head. She smiled at Addie. ‘That foal’s not going anywhere yet. Not today, whatever happens. Sam said to tell you that’s a promise. OK?’

  Addie listened to her quick steps on the stairs, the soothing murmur of her voice when Jude began to cough.

  Ruth and Sam were being kind in trying to understand about the foal. But they didn’t.

  Addie felt heavy inside.

  It was no use pretending. Sunni was right. Now that the foal was growing up, he wasn’t like the Exmoor ponies Addie had seen on moorland drives with Sam and Ruth. He didn’t resemble the foals in the pictures she’d found on the internet. He had the same dark mane and tail. The same pale muzzle and forelegs. But while those Exmoor ponies all had dark brown or red coats, his was paler, more grey than brown. Beneath his flanks, he was mottled like the wings of the doves nesting in the rafters of the barn.

  And then there was the new mark on his forehead: white and feathered; a small snowflake between his almond eyes.

  White marks were against the rules.