Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Read online

  Guilty tears pushed at Addie’s eyes. What had happened to her? Where had she gone? Another Addie had taken her place. This one was no better than Darren Oates.

  She grabbed hold of Sunni’s hand.

  ‘What did you mean?’ she asked. ‘About Ruth and Sam – what’s going to happen to them?’

  ‘Not just them. All of us.’ Sunni glared at Addie, her eyes darker than the river water. ‘You think the Social will still let them be foster parents when they’ve lost you – twice?’ She tore her arm free from Addie’s hand. Her eyes filled, overflowed. ‘You want to get home. Good for you. Go on then. I hope your precious mam remembers you’re there this time. But what about Jude? What about me? What about all the other kids who need to come here . . .?’ She wiped her arm across her face, made dark streaks on her purple sleeve. ‘You’re so sorry for yourself, Addie; you think you’re so special – like you’re the only one in the world who had bad stuff happen to them.’ She drew in a broken breath, let it out again. She pushed back her shoulders. ‘Oaktree Farm – with Ruth and Sam and Gabe: it’s where I live now. It’s my home. And it was going to be to be forever.’ Her voice rose loud and high; landed in the centre of Addie like a punch. ‘And now you’re taking it away from me.’

  Sunni turned away, stalked back among the trees with Flo at her heels.

  Even the dog didn’t like Addie any more.

  A chorus of birdsong broke out above, panicked and shrill. Addie looked up into the thick canopy of leaves overhead. She could barely see the sky.

  Her legs felt as if they were made of rubber.

  What had she done? She hadn’t meant to ruin things for anyone at the farm. She’d just wanted to make things right for the foal.

  Well, he was happy now. He was home. All because of her.

  But if Sunni and Jude lost their home, that would be because of her too.

  She sank to her knees. Beside her, honeysuckle twisted strong and green round a tree trunk, waited for the summer sunshine to unfurl its flowers. Pink, purple and white starflowers. Like the ones in Mam’s last painting.

  Addie covered her face with her hands; longed for the warm presence of the foal beside her. Everything was worse than ever.

  Was it too late to put some of it right?

  She struggled to her feet. She had to hurry, had to catch up with Sunni.

  She would not miss that early bus back to the farm . . .

  Jude shuffled back against the wall of the treehouse. Sunlight winked in the mirrored fabric above his head and picked out the pink spots on his cheeks and hands. He pulled his knees up under his chin. ‘What does she look like, the foal’s mum?’

  ‘I told you,’ Addie said, ‘there were loads of ponies. A whole herd, probably. I didn’t see his actual mam.’

  ‘But the foal saw her, though?’

  ‘Maybe. Or else he knew the others would take him to her.’

  ‘His brothers and everything?’

  Addie nodded. She picked up a shrivelled leaf from the floor. It was paper-thin, its skeleton of life-giving veins still visible. She held it high; let it drop. It drifted for a second in the draught from the entrance and was still.

  Jude screwed up his eyes, as if trying to picture everything Addie had told him. ‘Wish I saw the herd too,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ Addie said. ‘But our foal’s happy now, isn’t he? That’s the main thing.’

  Jude brushed dust from his shoe. ‘Sunni says you’re in trouble and Penny’s got to take you away,’ he said. He looked up at her, his brow wrinkled. ‘She says you got Ruth and Sam in trouble too.’

  Tears prickled behind Addie’s eyes. She willed them not to fall. ‘Sunni doesn’t know anything,’ she said, shaking her head. And anyway, she made things a million times worse all by herself. She should have guessed Gabe would go all grown up and tell, when he found her stupid note in his hat. If it wasn’t for that, we’d have been safely back from the moor before Ruth and Sam discovered we were missing. They wouldn’t have had to call the Social in a panic and Addie would be the only one in trouble.

  Jude leaned forward towards her. ‘I telled my social worker that it was my plan too,’ he said. ‘About the foal. I said he’s got to take me away as well. With you. Cos that’s fair.’ He gave a quick nod of his head. His hair fell across his eyes.

  Addie thought of Ruth sitting beside Jude on the kitchen floor that first morning, knowing what to do; knowing what not to do to help him. She thought of Jude nestled among his primroses, his face full of wonder and pride. She gazed around the hollow tree space that Sunni had made special for him.

  The space where he still had a brother.

  She shook her head. ‘No, Jude,’ she said. ‘You’re staying here. On the farm. OK? It’s a good place. For you. Until you get back with Thomas.’

  Jude rubbed at his eyes, pushed loose curls away from them. He traced circles in the dusty floor with his fingers. He looked up at Addie, one finger still moving.

  ‘I got to go away, Addie.’ His voice was a thin whisper. ‘Tim said. And then I won’t never see you or Ruth or Sunni again.’

  Addie shuffled across the space between them, drew her knees up alongside Jude’s. She tilted her head and rested it on his shoulder. He didn’t move away.

  ‘What? No, Jude,’ she said. ‘I’m the one that’s in trouble and I’m the only one that might get sent away.’

  They were all there now, in the kitchen – Penny, Ruth Sam and some man with a round face and a briefcase even bigger than Penny’s – discussing things, deciding things. Like always.

  ‘But if I do go somewhere else, Jude, you can ring me. OK? And you can send me drawings of your flowers – Ruth will help you . . .’

  Jude shook his head, pulled away. He stared into Addie’s eyes. ‘It’s not cos of you,’ he said. ‘Tim’s found a f ’rever family that wants me now. They choosed me.’ His eyes swam and overflowed. ‘But I want here to be my forever place,’ he said, his voice almost too quiet for Addie to hear.

  Addie stared back at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  Jude’s shoulders lifted, fell. ‘I’m getting adopted. Tim said.’

  ‘When? What else did Tim say?’

  Jude sniffed. ‘He said . . . he said it’s a f ’rever family with two dads and a dog.’

  Jude’s eyes searched Addie’s own. Addie hoped he couldn’t see through them to the inside of her – to her spinning heart. So, she was going to lose Jude now too. Even if she got to stay at the farm.

  She searched for a smile and found a small one. For Jude.

  ‘You’ll like having a dog of your own. It’ll be fun. Liam Bell at my old school, his dads brought their dog to my last sports day. It ran down the track after Liam in the hundred-metre race. And it came second!’

  Addie remembered other things about that day. Mam arriving too late to see her win first place in the hurdles; Mam hurrying towards her with someone else’s smile sliding across her face; the clink and rattle of glass in her too-heavy handbag.

  ‘Did your mum come as well?’ Jude asked. ‘To the sports day?’

  Addie shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She forgot.’

  ‘Like my mum and dad forgetted about me and Thomas?’ Jude said. Some of the old darkness crept across his eyes.

  Addie swallowed hard. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Ruth doesn’t forget about us, does she?’

  ‘No,’ Addie said, ‘she doesn’t.’

  Jude’s face crumpled ‘What if my new dads do, though?’ Tears wobbled in the corners of his eyes.

  Addie rummaged in her pocket for a tissue. She didn’t have one. Just Mam’s shell, nestled at the bottom. It was warm, as if there might still be something living, breathing, inside it. She closed her palm gently round it.

  ‘They won’t forget you, Jude,’ she said. ‘They chose you specially, didn’t they? And anyway, Tim and Ruth wouldn’t let them take you if they might do that.’

  ‘Promise?’
/>   ‘Promise.’

  Jude wiped his sleeve across his face. ‘Tim said my new dads have got a comfy house with a room specially for me. And a big garden.’ A flicker of light danced across his eyes. ‘With lots and lots of flowers in it.  And a treehouse. A high-up one.’

  Dust caught in Addie’s throat; tried to steal her voice.

  Mam. The Foal. Now Jude.

  A door slammed shut in her chest.

  What was the point in loving people when they always had to leave?

  She tightened her fingers round Mam’s shell. Something sharp snatched at her skin. She pulled the shell from her pocket. A tiny piece had come loose, leaving a sharp, ragged edge. A bright bubble of blood appeared on Addie’s thumb. It widened and trickled down, deep inside the pink hollow that had once been someone’s home.

  Addie wiped her thumb on her jeans, pushed the broken shell back into her pocket. ‘I’ve got to go, Jude. Penny’s waiting for me,’ she said. She scrambled out of the treehouse and ran across the meadow towards the farm.

  She might as well find out where Penny was going to send her right now.

  It didn’t really matter any more.

  They were still sitting round the table – Penny, Ruth and the round-faced man – papers and pens strewn among coffee mugs in front of them. There was a plate of Ruth’s scones. It didn’t look as if anyone had eaten one.

  Penny was smiling. But that didn’t mean anything good. Social workers always smiled. They did it to make themselves feel better about doing things that upset people. A wave of ice ran across Addie’s skin in the warmth of the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Addie, come on in and sit down, sweetheart.’ Ruth patted the seat next to her. ‘I was just about to come and get you.’

  Addie didn’t move.

  The man turned his chair towards Addie. He was smiling too. ‘That’s OK. You stay there if you’d rather, Addie.’

  Addie put her hands in her pockets. She lifted her chin and looked into the man’s face. She couldn’t remember his name. He tilted his head to one side like one of the owls that roosted in the barns. His smile became wider; soft at the edges. Addie saw it flash in his eyes behind his large glasses.

  ‘Addie,’ he said, ‘Penny and I have thought very hard about what you told us, and we’ve had a good chat with Ruth. So, now we –’

  ‘If you think I care about getting sent somewhere else, I don’t! OK? Take me anywhere you want.’ Addie pushed back her shoulders, tried to steady the tremble in her hands. ‘But Ruth and Sam haven’t done anything wrong. It was all me. You’ve got to let them keep Jude and Sunni, and let other children come here. And if you don’t, I’ll just keep running away. Wherever you put me. I’ll be the worst trouble you’ve ever had to deal with.’

  The owl man’s smile slid away. His eyes crinkled at the edges. His forehead creased. He nodded slowly.

  ‘It’s OK, Addie,’ he said. ‘I understand. We all do. And there’s no need to be scared. His voice rose and fell like a song. ‘First of all, Ruth and Sam aren’t in any trouble. Nobody is being taken anywhere at the moment. OK? We do need to talk about things here; ensure you stay safe here in future, but just so you stop worrying –’

  Addie glanced at Ruth, who nodded, offered her a reassuring smile.

  Addie sank on to the nearest chair. ‘Good,’ she said, her voice suddenly small. She would say sorry to Ruth and Sam. Later. She might even say sorry to Sunni. But only for worrying them all. Not for stealing the foal away; for getting him home. She wasn’t sorry for that.

  She pulled her shoulders back, sat up tall in her chair. ‘I wasn’t scared,’ she told the owl man. ‘And I’m still worried. About my mam.’ She shot an angry look in Penny’s direction. ‘No one ever understands about that. When am I seeing her?’

  ‘What we all want for you,’ the owl man said, ‘is to get you and your mum back together as soon as possible. That’s what you want too, I know –’

  ‘We should be together now,’ she said. ‘I keep telling her.’ She pointed at Penny. ‘Mam needs me. She can’t get better without me.’ Hot tears pressed behind her eyes again. She blinked them back.

  Penny stood up, pulled her own chair across the floor towards Addie. Its legs screeched on the tiles. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘there is some good news about your mum, Addie.’

  The kitchen seemed brighter. Too bright. Addie blinked again, looked at Penny, at Ruth. At the owl man. The clock ticked more loudly than usual

  ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What then? Is Mam OK now? When can I go home?’

  ‘Not just yet, Addie, I’m afraid,’ Penny said. ‘But your mum is doing much better, sweetheart. There’s been a big change in her recently.’

  Addie stared at Penny. ‘So she is better, then?’

  ‘Better than she was, yes, Addie. But not better enough for you to go home yet.’

  Addie’s nails dug into her palms. Her breath was loud in her ears. There wasn’t any good news. There never was.

  Penny took hold of Addie’s fists. Her fingers were cool and gentle. Like Mam’s used to be. Addie wanted to pull her hands away. She didn’t.

  ‘Addie, getting better – better enough to be your mum again – well, that’s really, really hard. Remember what I told you?’

  Addie looked at Penny out of the corners of her eyes; moved a little further inside herself.

  Penny shuffled on to the edge of her chair. ‘It’s been so difficult for your mum, Addie, trying to manage without drinking. She thought the drink was her friend; that it helped her when she was worried, or lonely. But it didn’t. It made her unwell. And it stopped her being herself, didn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not her fault,’ Addie said.

  ‘No. But what happened made you very sad, I know. And it made your mum sad too.’

  Penny’s hands grew warmer round Addie’s. The owl man cleared his throat. Addie heard the kettle being filled by Ruth.

  ‘Your mum’s very brave. Like you are, Addie,’ Penny said. ‘And she loves you very much. But getting well is a long fight for her. And she can’t win every battle. Sometimes, she loses. That’s what happened the day you were going to meet up at the café. But she’s been winning for a while now. And the good news is that the team think she’ll be ready to go home in another month. And –’

  ‘Why can’t I see her then? You said I’d see her ages ago!’

  The owl man leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘Addie, your mum wants to see you, too. Very badly. And Penny has tried to arrange something with her. But your mum wants to be sure that she’s ready. She knows that she let you down and she doesn’t want that to happen again. She wants to see how she gets on at home by herself for a bit first. With some help from us. And she’s right. It’s important that she does that. None of us want things go back to how they were, do we?’

  Addie looked at his kind face. She thought of the bottles under the table and under Mam’s bed. Remembered the empty fridge. The ache of her empty stomach when she tried to sleep at night.

  She remembered Mam’s empty eyes.

  Addie didn’t like those things about home.

  She turned away. The owl man wasn’t going to see her cry.

  The fridge children grinned at her from the corner of the room.

  As if they knew her.

  As if she was just like them.

  Their faces blurred. Addie squeezed her eyes shut. She searched for the crawl space inside herself where none of this was happening. She slid to the floor, her head heavy on her knees.

  She sensed movement and felt someone settle close by.

  A soft voice crept into the crawl space alongside her.

  Ruth. ‘Let’s take a break, David,’ she said. ‘I think Addie needs some quiet time just now.’

  Addie curled up on the window seat. She clutched the mug of chocolate that Ruth had made for her. She watched Penny and Ruth talking to the owl man – David, or whatever his name was – in the yard. Their voices lifted and fell like chattering chicken
s. What were they saying now?

  Ruth turned towards the window, spotted Addie, smiled and waved. ‘Back in a mo,’ she mouthed.

  Addie wanted to smile back but her mouth stayed stiff and still.

  She wasn’t going to a children’s home. Ruth and Sam weren’t in trouble because of her. She hadn’t ruined things for Sunni and Jude, or for anyone.

  Mam was getting better.

  Addie was glad. About all of it. But her body didn’t seem to know that.

  And now she didn’t even have the foal to help her through.

  On top of everything, she would have to start school here. In two weeks! Penny said it would be good for her. Ruth said it would be fine and ‘the best thing’. But the best thing would be going back to Mam; back to the old Mam; back to Addie’s old school. She wanted to know when that would happen.

  What if Mam wasn’t well enough for her birthday in August?

  How could she have her birthday without Mam?

  The door opened. Flo appeared, panting. She made a dive for her water bowl and lapped noisily; thumped down at Addie’s feet. Her gentle eyes sought Addie’s face. Her feathered tail flicked up and down, just once, as if she knew that something was not quite right. Addie reached down and stroked her head. Flo nudged at her hand, wanting more. Just like the foal used to do.

  Addie felt the foal beside her for a moment; felt his solid warmth and steady breath. His always being the same. His listening.

  He was her best friend in the whole world. And she would never see him again. She might never see Jude again when he got adopted.

  What if it was the same with Mam?

  What if she never felt better enough for Addie to go home?

  What then?

  Addie wriggled Mam’s shell from her pocket. It was cold now. She held it to her ear.

  No more sea. No more lucky shell to take with her to the stupid new school. Just a stupid, broken, empty nothing.

  She threw the shell to the floor: saw it fracture; fall apart. She wrapped her arms tightly round herself and tried to hold her splintered heart together.

  Summer was nearly here, but Addie was cold to the bone.