Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 12

  ‘When?’ she said. ‘When will the sanctuary woman have to take him?’

  ‘She can hold the sanctuary place for a fortnight. But she’d rather take him in the next day or two.’ Sam painted a bright smile on his face. It didn’t fit properly.

  Addie knew that he was sorry to make her sad.

  ‘Once the lambing’s done,’ Sam said, ‘I can drive you and Jude over for a visit. How would that be?’

  His face blurred; swam against the window glass. Addie wiped her eyes.

  ‘What’s the name of the sanctuary place?’ she said. ‘Can I borrow the laptop and look it up?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Of course, sweetheart.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Bring it in here, though, OK? You can show me what you find.’

  Addie fetched the laptop from the snug. No one else was about. Gabe had taken Sunni off with Flo for more of her precious shepherding practice. Ruth was working upstairs, to keep Jude company. His dry cough and thin wails drifted down as Addie passed the foot of the stairs. She would go and see how he was later. And tell him the news. He would be worrying.

  When she went back into the kitchen, Sam had nodded off in his chair. His head hung forward on to his chest. Addie thought of his long night in the lambing shed; his patient kindness towards the anxious ewes and their tiny lambs. His kindness to her. She felt a stab of guilt. Her plans for tonight would terrify him, even anger him, perhaps.

  But Addie wouldn’t think about that now. The foal needed her.

  She opened the laptop, looked back at Sam. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady. While he dozed, unaware, she’d look up Winsford Hill and Withypool Common, where the nearest Exmoor herds could be found. She’d try to find directions from the farm. She could draw herself a map for later. And if she had the chance before Sam woke, she’d sneak some supplies from the kitchen for her night-time trip and hide them away.

  She took a deep breath, pushed out the quiver of unease in her chest.

  Who knew when Margaret’s daughter might turn up to take the foal away? Sam had said she’d wait a bit. But Addie knew what happened when ‘experts’ had decided what was best. They made it happen.

  Now, even more than ever, Addie needed to act tonight.

  Jude was allowed downstairs to watch television while Ruth made dinner. He lay on the sofa in the snug, wrapped in a blanket. His pale face was strewn with red spots; his huge eyes smaller and pink round the edges. He wriggled and scratched, but told Addie he was feeling much better now – he really was. Addie felt his determination in the air; his silent insistence that he should still be part of things.

  How much should she say about her plans for later? She didn’t want to leave him out. But he was tired and sick, more anxious than ever. He might give her away.

  ‘Everything’s sorted, Jude,’ she said. ‘For later. And don’t worry. I’ll be OK on my own –’

  Sunni burst into the room, full of stories of her amazing dog-handling skills. Her excited voice rose above the hum of cartoon voices and crazy tunes. There was no chance to say any more to Jude.

  Jude brushed the back of his hand across his eyes and stared past Addie at the flickering images on the television screen. His shoulders sank.

  Addie felt heavy and small.

  Why did she always make people sad when she didn’t mean to?

  Ruth brought Jude some soup and ice cream. She sent Addie to have her dinner in the kitchen with the others, while she ate hers from a tray with Jude.

  Addie was too nervous to be hungry, but she ate two helpings of beef stew. She needed energy for what lay ahead. Her stomach felt tight as she helped Gabe clear away the dishes and stack the dishwasher.

  As Addie headed back to the snug, Sam came into the hall with Jude in his arms. Jude’s damp head lolled against Sam’s shoulder. His thin feet protruded from his blanket. There was an angry red spot on one of his white toes.

  ‘Pretty much fell asleep in his ice cream,’ Sam whispered. ‘Poor little chap. But that’s him for the night hopefully. A good sleep will work wonders.’ He headed for the stairs.

  Addie peered inside the snug. It was empty now. The television was still on. Pink elephants danced across the screen in frilled skirts, their trunks intertwined. Addie pulled the plug from the wall. The smiling elephants disappeared.

  Jude wouldn’t be coming with her. When he woke in the morning, the foal would be gone. Just like Thomas.

  Jude wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye this time either.

  She hoped he would understand.

  Addie told Ruth that she wanted an early night. She dragged her bag of supplies from underneath her bed and checked the contents: a map, a bottle of water, a hunk of bread, cheese, apples and four of Ruth’s chocolate cookies wrapped in foil. So far, Ruth hadn’t noticed that anything was missing. She was probably exhausted after her difficult day with Jude.

  Addie bundled everything back inside her bag, along with her warmest jumper and Mam’s lucky shell. She pushed the bag under her duvet, wriggled it down to the bottom of the bed. She would collect Sam’s torch from the shelf by the front door before she left.

  She pulled on her pyjamas over her T-shirt and jeans, took the thick fleece that Ruth had bought her from her drawer and climbed into bed. She hugged the fleece against her chest, rested her toes against the bulging bag. She could doze until Sunni came to bed. After that, she would need to make sure she stayed awake until everyone else was lost in sleep.

  Addie stood in the moonlit yard. She waited, watched for light to appear in the windows of the dark house behind her; listened for footfalls and anxious voices behind the softly closed door. She hardly dared to breathe.

  There was nothing. Just the hoot of a nearby owl and the faint, answering call of another from the trees behind the barn. It had been easier than Addie had expected to escape the sleeping house. Guilt prickled again: Ruth and Sam had come to trust her. She was breaking that trust.

  She had to if the foal was ever to see his mam again.

  Gabe had been right about the full moon. It stared down at Addie from high above the house, lit the edges of buildings and trees as if to encourage Addie on her way, threw black shapes across the yard to hide her. Addie crept towards the barn, grateful for the protective shadows.

  The foal was sleepy, docile in the darkness. He lifted his head from his straw bed and sniffed at the piece of carrot Addie offered him. He looked at Addie, his head on one side. His eyes glimmered in the beam of Sam’s torch.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Addie said. ‘I know it’s not morning. But we’ve got somewhere to go . . .’

  The foal stumbled to his feet, took the carrot from Addie’s hand. His lips were warm and soft against her skin. His jaw slid from side to side, his crunching too loud in the silent barn. Addie fastened his head collar and led him into the night.

  She couldn’t use the quickest route on to the road she needed. She didn’t dare risk the clatter of the foal’s hooves near the farmhouse. She would cut behind the lambing shed and across the fields beyond Jude’s treehouse. She felt for the makeshift map in the pocket of her jeans, switched Sam’s torch to its lowest beam and studied the notes she had made from the laptop.

  Winsford Moor first, then down the hill to Withypool Common – unless the foal had already found his mam among the Winsford ponies. She had to be among one of those herds. According to Gabe, they were the only herds anywhere near the spot where the little guy had been found, all alone in the snow.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered to him. ‘This way. After Jude’s meadow, we just have to follow the bridleway signs: the blue ones, not the yellow ones, otherwise it won’t be easy ground for you to manage.’

  Blue. Mam’s favourite colour. Addie felt the brush of her presence beside her in the lonely night. What would she say if she knew where Addie was right now?

  There was an eerie stillness in the meadow without the daytime hum of insects and the song of the birds that nested i
n the oaks and evergreens. The mother birds would be there, though, Addie knew, huddled down low in their homes of feather and twig, protecting their young from the chill night air.

  Jude’s tree stood silhouetted against the moon, which seemed to hang lower in the sky here. Addie stopped, stared up at the moon’s bright face. Perhaps, wherever Mam was, she was looking at it too. And thinking of Addie. Missing her.

  The foal nudged her arm.

  ‘Yes,’ Addie said. ‘Sorry. Let’s go and find your mam.’

  She looked back over her shoulder. No one was following. She adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder, rested her arm across the foal’s warm neck and urged him forward towards the gate at the far end of the meadow.

  It wouldn’t open. Wild grass, grown high in the last few days of rain, was entwined around the hinges. Great clumps of it had sprouted round it, preventing it from swinging free. Why did everything have to be so difficult?

  Addie tugged at the tough blades of grass, freed some of the strong roots from the muddy ground. Her hands stung. She should have worn her gloves as well as her new boots. She wiped her palms on her coat.

  She managed to move the gate forward a little, but had to give the foal more carrot and a mint from her bag to persuade him through the narrow gap she had created.

  Once through the gate, progress was still slow. The central track across the field was lined with dense gorse. It snatched at Addie’s clothes and seemed to be an irresistible delicacy for the foal. He wandered along; stopped frequently to nibble at the prickly branches, tore at the yellow flowers clustered along them.

  ‘How come you can eat that stuff ?’ Addie said. She freed her coat sleeve from the clutches of a particularly vicious branch and clicked her tongue to urge the foal onwards. At this rate, it would be morning before they were anywhere near either of the herds.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to go much quicker if you want to find your mam before someone finds us. You can’t be hungry any more!’

  The first of the blue signs was hidden among gorse and bramble bushes at a fork in the track. Addie almost missed it. If her hand-drawn map was right, the right fork would lead them through a wooden gate and take them on to a proper road for a while.

  It did. The foal picked up speed on the tarmac surface. His hooves echoed loudly. But there was no one to hear other than a small, quick creature that darted in front of Addie, and the owls that continued to call, perhaps reporting on the new visitors to their dark world.

  The road seemed longer than it had looked on the website map, with more twists and turns. Addie wondered if it was the wrong one after all, or if they had missed the next blue sign along the way.

  She was thirsty. She stopped and drank from her water bottle. She poured a little into her cupped hand for the foal. He nosed at it, began to drink.

  He threw back his head, startled by a snap of twigs and rustle of leaves nearby. The bottle flew from Addie’s hand, rolled to the side of the road, disappeared into the deep, dark ditch that ran alongside it.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Addie said. ‘No more water now. Better hope we find your mam soon.’

  The rustle came again, closer this time, louder.

  Addie flicked on the torch. She swung the beam in the direction of the sound. Bright eyes gleamed red from the hedgerow. There was a flash of white tooth and claw. Addie glimpsed shadowy, striped fur. She backed away, let the beam fall away from the staring eyes. What kind of creature was this? An image of Sunni’s fearsome cat flitted through her mind. But that was just a story. This was most likely a badger, she thought, out hunting for food. Gabe said badgers were pretty fierce, especially at this time of year, when they were rearing their cubs. Should she keep still, or move further away? Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. Surely the creature could hear it, too?

  The foal whinnied, pulled away from the hedge. The rustle became a frantic scuffle, another flash of white, a splinter of branches.

  Addie swung the torch beam in a wide loop. She let out a long breath. ‘I think it’s gone,’ she whispered to the foal. ‘Whatever it was, you frightened it away.’

  They walked on. Addie kept the torch on, swept the beam from side to side as they moved, checking for eyes and teeth, anxious to find the missing blue sign. The road narrowed, became steeper. Addie felt clammy in her thick coat despite a new chill in the air.

  Round the next bend, staggered rooftops loomed grey above the trees: a farm – Highcroft, or something. Addie remembered it from the map. It stood on the edge of Winsford Moor. And there, to the left, was the blue sign, fixed to a low metal gate. She hadn’t missed it after all.

  This gate opened easily, on silent hinges. This time, the foal hurried through, head held high. His pale nostrils flared.

  Addie pointed ahead. ‘Winsford Moor,’ she said. ‘Just over there.’ She pressed her face against the foal’s face. His lashes brushed her cheek. ‘Is that your home?’

  The foal’s ears twitched, stiffened. Addie pulled away, looked into his eyes. ‘What can you hear?’ she asked. ‘Is it them? Is it the herd?’

  The foal scraped at the ground; sniffed the air.

  Addie swallowed past the lump in her throat. Was she about to say goodbye to him? She ran her hand down his velvet nose; felt his weight shift towards her for a moment, then move away. His neck stretched forward.

  ‘Right,’ Addie said. ‘Let’s go and see.’

  The moorland heather was grey in the moonlight; stiff and scratchy against Addie’s jeans. She stumbled as she tried to keep pace with the foal. He seemed to have no problem with the tangle of undergrowth, or the rise and fall of the ground on this part of the moor.

  The air was cooler now. It draped damp fingers across Addie’s skin. The moon had dimmed, its face hazy in a deep grey sky. Addie shivered. She squinted, scanned the fading landscape. Where exactly were they? If they were crossing the moor in the right direction – towards Tarr Steps – they should be going downhill by now. She’d made a mistake somehow. There was no sign of the Winsford Hill herd, with their brown, dun or bay coats; no sign of any wild ponies at all.

  She needed to catch her breath, get her bearings again. She stopped and slung her bag down among the heather-strewn bracken. The foal strained against the leading rein. He stared at Addie, then threw his head from side to side. His eyes flashed under their pale lids.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’re getting excited now. You want to get to your mam.’ The foal nodded, blew through his nostrils. ‘But just wait a minute.’ She slid her fingers under his head collar. His fur was damp, his breath warm on her skin. ‘I need to work out what to do next.’

  Addie took her crumpled map from her pocket, tried to make sense of her drawing in the wavering beam of the torch while hanging on to the foal. She couldn’t match it to the landscape any more; couldn’t make it fit with the sweep of grey moorland that stretched in every direction, rising and falling to reveal dark hills beyond.

  She wasn’t very good at drawing maps. It was useless now, anyway. She scrunched it into a ball and threw it down among the heather. They were lost.

  The foal was straining to move on. Perhaps he had more idea of where they were going than Addie did. She picked up her bag and let him lead her forward.

  The ground became gradually steeper, slowing their progress. The foal stopped every few yards now. He tossed his head. He froze for several moments before walking on. The hair on his back bristled under Addie’s hand. What had he sensed? Was it the herd – or something else?

  Something Addie didn’t want to find.

  The air was thick now, almost opaque: as if the rising ground had taken Addie and the foal into the sky; into a cloud. Addie could barely see where to put her feet. The torch was next to useless, its beam nothing more than a pale, spreading halo around her hand.

  Mist.

  A moorland mist.

  Addie had heard about those: the sudden white blankets that stilled and silenced the great moor for hours a
t a time, stole the land and the sky. Stole people. Her neck prickled inside the collar of her coat. What if Sunni’s Big Cat Beast was real after all, lurking out there, waiting for the mist to thicken? Waiting to pounce.

  She thought of the skinny cats at home scurrying across the dark streets, slipping between the houses, their eyes like tiny lamps in the night. Sunni’s Big Cat would have no trouble spotting Addie and the foal, even in this mist. But by the time they saw him, it would be too late . . .

  ‘Stop it!’ she told herself. There was no Big Cat; no Beast of Exmoor. It was just Sunni and her nonsense; just a story. She reached for the foal, wriggled her fingers through his wiry mane. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she whispered. ‘You and me together. This mist can’t last long. It must be nearly morning. We’ll stay here and keep each other warm.’

  Addie’s body ached and her eyes stung with tiredness. She longed to sit down. Dare she try to rest among the springy heather? Images of the vivid snakes she had seen on Ruth’s laptop came to mind. She imagined their dry bodies squirming unseen around her in the mist, winding over her as she slept.

  There would be other creatures, too . . . She would have to stay on her feet.

  She leaned close to the foal’s warm flank and forced herself to eat some bread and cheese from her bag. She offered the foal some apple and a sugar lump for energy. He wouldn’t take either. He shifted from one foot to the other. The hair on his back stood in stiff clumps now. He swung his head away; swung it back. The muscles in his neck moved like strong ropes under Addie’s hands as she tried to soothe him.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she whispered. ‘Everything’s OK.’

  But someone – something – was coming. The foal sensed it. And so did Addie.

  She felt it in the ground at first: a rhythmic rumble, pulsing through her from beneath her feet. Her heartbeat joined the rhythm, fast and hard. What was happening?