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

  It was a dazzling day; the sky a vivid blue banner over the farm.

  ‘A special day for a special boy,’ Ruth said, as she finished drying Jude’s green cup. She put it in his backpack, along with the last of his things. She smiled at Jude, at Addie. Her hand rested on Addie’s shoulder, feather soft and warm through Addie’s T-shirt.

  ‘They’re here,’ Sunni called from the kitchen window seat. She knocked on the glass. Waved. ‘I’ll tell them you’re coming.’ She jumped down, swung past Addie, and out into the hall. Anyone would think it was Sunni’s day; Sunni’s new dads arriving to take her to her forever home.

  Addie looked across at Jude. His eyes were bright with tears; his cheeks flushed an excited pink. Like he couldn’t decide whether he was happy or sad. He had hardly said a word since he got up.

  Addie bent down, fiddled with the laces of her trainers and tried to stop the quiver in her chin. She liked Jude’s new parents, Paul and Rob. They seemed to love Jude already. They’d visited often. They’d taken Jude to buy seeds to plant behind the farmhouse: seeds that would grow into bright flowers every year, so that something of Jude would always be here on the farm.

  They’d shown Addie their book of photographs. Pictures of their house, of Jude’s room all decorated in green and yellow: primrose colours. Pictures of Jude’s new silver-haired grandparents and of their funny, flat-faced dog called Fred. A picture of the treehouse Rob had built in the garden, especially for Jude. It had a proper roof, a red door and a strong ladder with rails to hold on to when you climbed up. Paul had said Addie could come and try it; could come for tea once Jude was settled. He had promised.

  Ruth had promised too.

  How long did settling take?

  Addie wanted Paul and Rob to come in and eat Ruth’s warm scones at the kitchen table. She wanted to push back the hands on the big kitchen clock, so that it would never be time for Jude to leave.

  But Ruth had said that a long drawn-out goodbye would be hardest for Jude. Today, Paul and Rob would just pop him in the car. And leave.

  Addie pushed her mouth into a smile and stood up. ‘Quick, Jude,’ she said. ‘Before Sunni goes and hides in the boot. She’s dying to see your new house!’

  Jude threw his arms round Ruth, who bent forward, held his face in her hands and smiled her gentle smile. ‘Didn’t you say something about a surprise for Addie and Sunni in your new car?’ she asked.

  Jude straightened up. His eyes widened. He nodded; sniffed. He heaved his backpack over one shoulder and pulled on Addie’s sleeve.

  ‘Come see,’ he said.

  They walked out into the courtyard together.

  Paul was talking to Sam beside the car. Rob was leaning into the open boot. Sunni was trying to shoo a speckled hen out of the yard. It strutted around in circles, legs lifted high like a dancer. Its head flicked from side to side, back and forth. Sunni followed it, her arms spread wide.

  ‘Hi there.’ Paul waved, beamed at them both. ‘Hi there, Jude! Hello, Addie.’

  ‘Ah, Jude! Surprise time!’ Rob lifted a square plastic box from the boot, steadied it against his chest. He slammed the boot shut. The hen squawked, flapped her short wings and scurried past him, out through the gate and on to the track. Addie watched her hurry on towards the safety of the henhouse.

  ‘Sorry, hen,’ Rob called after her. He bowed in apology. He smiled his wide smile. It made Addie smile too. Just for a moment.

  Jude ran over to him. ‘Show them,’ he said. ‘Show Addie and Sunni.’ His smile was wide now, too: bright and real. Like Rob’s.

  Inside the box was a huge cake. A chocolate cake, with thick frosting on the top and sides. Jude’s favourite.

  ‘I helped make it, didn’t I – Dad?’ Jude turned to Paul, who had come over to stand beside him.

  Paul nodded. His eyes glimmered in the sunlight: blue eyes, still as a lake. Like Jude’s. Addie hadn’t noticed that until now. She hadn’t heard Jude call Paul ‘Dad’ before either. It made her feel funny inside: a mixture of happy and sad.

  ‘You did help, Jude,’ Paul said. ‘You did most of the work! Best baker in town, I’d say.’

  Jude puffed out his chest. An’ I did the message all by myself,’ he said. He pointed to the top of the cake, to words spelled out in loops of brightly coloured sweets.

  I love you

  From

  JUDE.

  He looked at Addie, at Sunni, across at Ruth and at Sam. Addie saw his small shoulders sink.

  Paul saw it too. He darted forward and took Jude’s hand. ‘Lunch in your new treehouse today,’ he said.

  ‘Ooh, yes. And we’ve got some of Ruth’s cookies for dessert,’ Rob said. He rubbed his stomach. ‘And Ruth’s given us the recipe. So we can make some more whenever you want, Jude. How about that?’

  Jude nodded. They walked together across the yard.

  Addie watched Jude climb into the car. The shiny silver car that was taking him to his shiny forever life. His face appeared in the back window, golden behind the tinted glass.

  Gabe whistled at him, held his ears forward and stuck out his tongue. Jude copied him. His mouth opened in a silent laugh; closed again. He pressed a palm against the glass, turned and slid down out of sight.

  All Addie could see of Jude was a tuft of pale curled hair above the parcel shelf.

  Flo appeared. She ran up to the car, her body held low. Gabe whistled for her to come away, but she sat down beside it. Her tail swept slowly from side to side, whisking dust into the air. Sunni rushed forward and took hold of her collar.

  ‘Come on, Flo,’ she said. ‘Out of the way then.’ She stroked her head and led her over to stand beside Addie.

  Addie couldn’t watch Jude leave. She knelt down next to Flo. The dog panted; her breath hot on Addie’s cheek. Her eyes searched Addie’s.

  ‘I know, girl,’ Addie whispered. ‘I know. You’ll see Jude again soon.’

  She really hoped that was true.

  Flo licked Addie’s neck; lifted one paw for her to hold.

  ‘Bye,’ Ruth called out. ‘Bye, Jude.’ She waved and blew a kiss.

  The car engine leapt into life.

  ‘Bye, lad,’ Sam shouted. ‘Bye for now.’

  The purr of the engine. A toot of the horn.

  The crunch and swish of tyres on dry cobbles.

  And Jude was gone.

  Widget appeared from nowhere, hurried across to where Addie was standing with Sam, Ruth, Gabe and Sunni. He weaved his warm body in and out of their legs, his tail held high and quivering. For once, he wasn’t purring. He wandered back into the hallway.

  ‘Right,’ Gabe said, ‘first one into the kitchen gets the biggest piece of cake.’ He reached his arms towards Ruth. ‘I’ll carry it in for you, Ma.’

  Sunni stepped in front of him. ‘No way! I’ll do it!’ She took the box from Ruth, held it out in front of her, arms outstretched, and walked slowly, carefully, towards the house. Addie saw that she was trying not to cry.

  Sam put an arm across Ruth’s shoulders. He beckoned to Addie. ‘Better get inside, Addie. Before it’s too late. Jude will want to know what you thought of that cake.’

  Addie nodded.

  ‘School tomorrow,’ Ruth said, as they walked into the hall, ‘but then we’ll have a special day out, all together, on Saturday. Lyme Regis. Where we went for Sunni’s birthday, remember, Addie? Sam’s arranged for the Jenkins boys to cover the farm. How does that sound, love?’

  Addie glared at Ruth. A sharp, new pain jostled for space in her battered heart. It couldn’t be soothed by sandcastles, fossils and seaside rock. Missing Jude couldn’t be washed away, pulled out on the tide like the empty Coke cans and discarded feathers on the shoreline.

  She turned away and strode into the kitchen.

  Sunni was sitting at the table. On the chair with the green cushion.

  ‘Get off,’ Addie shouted. ‘Get off Jude’s chair!’ She banged her fist down on the table next to Sunni. A pile of cake forks jumped into
the air; clattered down again.

  Sunni’s bracelets clinked together. She burst into tears, covered her face with her hands. Addie’s cheeks burned. Her head fizzed. It felt as if it might explode.

  Ruth’s arms folded round her, and round Sunni too; drew the girls close. She smelled like the lavender in the meadow. ‘I know, girls,’ she said. ‘I know.’ She ushered them forward. ‘Gabe,’ she said, ‘three really big pieces of cake and some glasses of milk. In the snug, please. Soon as you can.’

  She turned back just before they reached the door. ‘And, remember: don’t you give Flo any of that chocolate frosting no matter how sad she looks!’

  Addie threw her schoolbag over the meadow gate and jumped down next to it. Birds chattered and sang all around her. Their pure, happy voices cut across other voices: school voices that buzzed around inside her head like wasps in a jar.

  ‘How come you live with Sunni now?’

  ‘Where’s your mum, then?’

  ‘Where’s your dad?’

  ‘Are your parents in prison? What did they do?’

  ‘Are you an orphan?’

  ‘Can’t you talk?’

  ‘Be like that then. Who cares?’

  Addie’s new school sat on a wide green, among white cottages, instead of graffiti-strewn concrete and kebab shops. But it was just the same as her old one.

  No. It was worse.

  At Gas Street School, back home, Addie was always alone. At Greenbank School, she wished she could be.

  Why couldn’t everyone just leave her be? She wasn’t going to tell them anything. They wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t want to be her friends.

  And even if they did, Addie didn’t care.

  She was better off without any friends. They’d just dump her like Hattie had done.

  She brushed at her eyes.

  Jude had been her friend, though. Her real friend.

  And somewhere, out on the moor, was her best friend of all. No one at Greenbank School would ever have a friend like him.

  She squinted in the sunlight; trailed her hand in the grass as she walked. The blades had grown thick and long in the last few days of hot weather. But dandelions were taking over: a yellow and green invading army, blotting out the remains of Jude’s spring garden.

  Blotting out Jude.

  A cluster of wispy dandelion clocks stood guard outside the entrance to his treehouse. Addie kicked at them, sending a cloud of tiny parachute troops into the air.

  Why did things always have to change?

  She crawled over the beheaded stalks; felt sap, wet and sticky, on her hands and knees. Jude would be cross with her, she knew. He loved all flowers, even weeds.

  She pushed her head and shoulders in through the entrance to the treehouse. Dry, dusty air filled her nostrils. She caught sight of Jude’s wobbly, hopeful words, picked out by a thin finger of sunlight.

  Jude

  and

  thomas

  Their place.

  Thomas. Jude was going to see Thomas next month, Ruth said. Maybe his brother would come to live with him; would share the treehouse with the ladder and the red door.

  Jude wouldn’t need Addie for a friend if he got Thomas back.

  Maybe the foal had a brother. Or a new friend.

  A better friend than Addie.

  Tears crawled down Addie’s cheeks. She brushed them away.

  She could visit Jude in the holidays. His new dads had promised. And they seemed like proper dads. The sort that kept promises.

  The foal was back with his mam. Back home. Where he should be.

  Addie sat back on her heels. She wiped her sleeve across her face. She tried to feel happy for all of them.

  It didn’t work.

  The tears kept coming; kept coming. Addie felt as if everything that made her brave was trickling out of her. As if she was dissolving; becoming part of the swirling dust, part of the emptiness of Jude’s treehouse.

  As if she was disappearing.

  She crawled back out into the meadow. She sat down on a gnarled root, her wet chin in her hands, and waited for the tears to stop.

  The sun slid low across the grass, as if reaching out for Addie. It was getting late. She’d been in the meadow longer than she thought. She should go indoors: Ruth would be wondering where she was.

  But she couldn’t go now. She felt paper-thin; as transparent as a wind-blown leaf. Everyone would be able to see right inside her.

  A curled grey feather lifted in the breeze, drifted against Addie’s leg: a soft, fledgling feather, no longer needed. Addie stared up into the waving branches above her head, saw the now abandoned nests just visible among the bright summer leaves. The young birds would return to the oak in spring, Gabe said. They would come home to build new families there, where their own lives had begun.

  If only she was free like the half-grown birds. Free to soar above the moorland; to see the foal, safely at his mother’s side. Free to fly to her brown brick house.

  Free to fly home to Mam.

  She turned, ran her hands over the trunk of the oak. It was warm, welcoming. She reached higher, tucked her fingers inside craters in the ancient bark, and wedged the toe of her right shoe inside another. She lifted her body from the ground. It felt light as air, as if her bones were hollow. As if she were a bird.

  She glanced down, looked up, climbed on.

  The leaves whispered to one another; stilled suddenly as Addie reached for a low branch. It wavered. It was too thin to take her weight. Her left foot twisted, dislodged some loose bark. Addie looked down again. She had climbed further from the ground than she had realised. She thought of the baby bird Jude had found under the tree, frail and broken, dislodged too soon from the safety of its nest.

  What would happen if she was to fall?

  She looked up again, saw thick branches spreading like strong arms to hold her. To hide her. She could do this. She tightened her grip and felt for another foothole.

  Addie pressed herself tightly into the crook of a sturdy branch, her back against the trunk of the oak. Curtains of vivid leaves enclosed her, shielded her from view. She let her legs dangle among them.

  To her left, the tops of the farmhouse chimneys were visible. Ruth would be in the kitchen now, preparing tea. Addie hoped she wouldn’t start to worry; that she wouldn’t come looking for her just yet.

  She twisted round a little, looked over her right shoulder through the quivering leaves. She caught glimpses of other trees, pointed conifers, pushing into the sky beyond the meadow. If she climbed higher, might she be able to see the start of the moorland – might she see any of the ponies?

  She swung one leg over the branch, straddled it for better balance, and searched for another strong branch. The next suitable one was perhaps four feet above her. Could she reach it? She wasn’t sure. She shuffled back towards the trunk, felt for further places to get a grip. As she did so she remembered another tree.

  Penny’s tree. Printed in thick black lines on smooth white paper. A trickster-tree, waiting for Addie to spill her secrets in its bare branches . . .

  ‘Imagine yourself sitting high in this tree,’ Penny said. ‘Who would you want with you in your tree? Where would they sit? Who would sit closest to you? Can you draw those people for me?’

  Addie chose blue, brown and yellow pens. She drew herself and Mam on the topmost branch, pressed together: not a sliver of white sky-space between them. Mam was wearing her big blue hat. The one they chose together at a jumble sale in town.

  Penny nodded; smiled. ‘You love your mum,’ she said. ‘I wonder, now. Is there someone else? Someone on another branch? Someone on the ground, perhaps. Someone to catch you if you fall?’

  Addie picked up a thick red pen. She wrote in careful letters underneath Penny’s tree:

  Mam would NEVER let me fall

  Addie pressed her face against the rough surface of the tree trunk. She wrapped both arms round it, suddenly uncertain of her balance.

  Her red pen
told lies.

  Addie squinted down through the foliage. The dandelions below blurred together like splashes of sunshine on the grass. It had been easy to climb this high. She hoped it would be as easy to get down when she wanted to.

  Barking. Flo’s bark.

  The faint clunk of the meadow gate.

  A whistle. Gabe’s whistle.

  ‘Addie?’

  ‘Addie – you in the treehouse?’

  His voice grew closer; louder. Addie heard Flo’s rough, panting breaths. She glimpsed a flash of white-tipped tail.

  ‘Addie? Don’t make me send in the dogs . . . well, dog. I give you fair warning, she’s been taught to lick her finds to death.’

  Gabe’s last few words were was muffled, as if he had stuck his head inside the tree.

  Flo whined and yelped. Her feet scratched and scrabbled. Addie caught sight of her black and white head as she leapt at the tree trunk.

  ‘Ah! Up there is she, Flo. Well done. Good girl. Now, wait!’

  A pause. More scrabbling. Heavy breaths.

  Gabe’s wild red curls – beanie-free for once – appeared through the leaves beneath Addie’s feet.

  He grinned up at her and swung his way towards her, as easily as a squirrel.

  ‘Shuffle along a bit then,’ he said. ‘Make room. Or are you not in the mood for visitors today?’

  ‘I’m not shuffling anywhere,’ Addie said. She wasn’t moving further down the branch. It might not take Gabe’s weight as well as hers.

  ‘Like that is it?’ Gabe twisted, stretched a leg to the side and disappeared round the back of the tree. Addie heard mutterings that Ruth would not have approved of; a heavy intake of breath. Gabe’s legs swung down from above her head. His feet bicycled in the air, searching for a landing place.

  ‘Now might be a good time to help,’ Gabe said. ‘If – it’s – not – too much trouble.’

  Addie grabbed one of his ankles and placed his foot next to her on the branch. The other foot joined it. Gabe slithered to sit beside her, trailing one arm over her shoulder, a hand against the trunk for balance.