Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 18

  ‘Before you go, there’s something for you, Addie. It came yesterday.’ Ruth fished inside the back pocket of her jeans. She brought out a blue envelope. Addie’s name was on the front.

  In Mam’s lovely, looped writing.

  ‘She promised she’d write,’ Ruth said. ‘Didn’t she?’

  Addie stared at the envelope. It was open.

  ‘Someone’s read it,’ she said.

  Ruth nodded. ‘I did,’ she said. And so did Penny. She sent it on for you from her office.’ Her eyes were soft. ‘It’s your letter, I know, sweetheart. But Penny and I need to know what your mum’s saying. Until she’s fully on the mend.’

  There was a single sheet of paper inside the envelope. Addie pulled it free. It fluttered in the breeze, like the wings of a blue butterfly. Like it might float away at any moment. Addie held on to it with both hands. She looked down at the cobbles, scuffed at them with the toe of her trainer.

  ‘Do you think she will be one day? Mended? Back to how she was before?’

  ‘I don’t know, Addie. But I hope so,’ Ruth said. ‘In time. She seems to be doing much better now. You’ll see, in your letter.’ She smoothed Addie’s hair. ‘Would you like me to stay with you while you read it?’

  Addie shook her head. ‘It’s OK. I’ll read it later.’

  ‘Well, I’m here if you need me then.’ Ruth brushed a stray curl from Addie’s face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘And Sam will be around, remember? Just let Mrs Johnson know if you need him. If you need anything at all.’

  Addie folded the letter; folded it again, so that it fitted inside her palm. ‘Ruth,’ she said, ‘if I wanted to, could I stay here until Mam’s really better? Even if that takes quite a long time?’ She chewed at her bottom lip. ‘And then I could see her sometimes. You know, like Sunni does.’

  Ruth put down her basket. She closed her hands round Addie’s; round Mam’s thin blue letter. ‘You can stay here as long as it takes, Addie. Penny and I have agreed that with David. You remember David, from our last meeting?’

  Addie nodded. The owl man. She had liked his singsong voice.

  ‘And whatever happens, Addie,’ Ruth said, ‘you’re part of this family now, for as long as you want to be. So when you do go home to that brown brick house of yours, you can still come and see us. You can come and stay for weekends, or holidays, if your mum agrees. It’ll give her a bit of time to herself. Mums need that sometimes.’

  Addie studied Ruth’s face. She nodded. ‘I’ll have to come back a lot,’ she said. ‘Or the foal will miss me too much.’

  ‘Good!’ Ruth said. ‘I’m glad. Now, young lady, if you hang on just a minute, Sam will drop you over at the Johnsons’ place.’

  Right on cue, Sam’s blue truck rumbled into the yard. Sam waved through the window. ‘Taxi for Miss Jones,’ he called.

  As Addie climbed in beside him. He handed her a package wrapped in brown paper.

  ‘Bacon sandwich,’ he said. ‘Compliments of the chef.’

  The foal was watching for her over his stable door. Addie put her arms round his neck, hugged him close. ‘Breakfast first,’ she said, ‘then a bit later, you’re going out to play.’

  The foal nuzzled her face, snorted softly. She ran her hands over his smooth back and felt for the faint silver scar on his flank. It was barely there at all now. ‘Looking good,’ she said. ‘Beautiful boy.’

  She checked he had water and filled his feed bucket, put it down under his nose.

  ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Don’t eat it too quickly, though.’

  She slid down on to the straw and unfolded the blue letter. ‘It’s from my mam,’ she told the foal.

  He lifted his head from the bucket. His ears twitched; swivelled from side to side.

  He was listening. Like he always did.

  Addie squinted at Mam’s beautiful looped words. ‘She’s coming to see me,’ she said. ‘After I start back at school. Penny’s bringing her.’ She looked into the foal’s face. ‘She says she’s painting me a picture.’

  The foal’s eyes glistened. He blinked twice, went back to the last of his meal.

  Addie wiped at her own eyes, folded the letter; smoothed the creases to make it flat. She put it in her back pocket. She stroked the foal’s nose. ‘When Mam comes,’ she said, ‘I’ll ask her to paint a picture of you too.’

  The foal whinnied softly. He lowered himself on to the straw. Addie rested her head on his neck, felt the beat of blood through his veins: strong now; steady. She curled her body into his.

  Morning sunshine crept into the stable, warm and kind. It wrapped itself round Addie and the foal. They dozed, fell into a sound sleep. Neither stirred when Mrs Johnson came to check on them. Neither heard Sam put a picnic basket on the straw beside them and tiptoe away in his heavy boots.

  It was Sunni who woke them: her quick feet on the stone floor, the impatient jangle of her bracelets; her high, excited voice.

  Addie yawned and stretched. She felt as if she had slept for years.

  Sunni thrust her hand under Addie’s nose. Her skin smelled of salt.

  ‘Brought you something from the beach,’ she said.

  Addie blinked. Focused.

  It was a curled shell: pink and white and perfect.

  ‘It’s still got the sea inside it.’ Sunni folded her arms. ‘I checked.’

  Addie lifted the shell to her ear. She smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Sunni,’ she said. ‘That’s brilliant. I’ll keep it to give to Mam.’

  She kissed the foal’s forehead. ‘Up you get, sleepyhead,’ she said. ‘Time to go and see your new friends again.’ She brushed straw from her jeans and looped the picnic basket over one arm. ‘Come on, Sunni,’ she said. ‘If you like, we can share.’

  The colts, Ziggy and Stardust, stood grazing in the far corner of the paddock. They lifted their dark heads and called to the foal. He whinnied in reply; kicked out his hind legs, skipped and skittered towards them across the dew-soaked grass. Addie and Sunni laughed as they watched him dance.

  If only Jude could see him now, Addie thought. Very soon, he would.

  A burnt-orange leaf drifted past her face. She looked up at the new September sky. A flock of birds flew overhead, on their way to warmer climes. But any day now, Flo’s autumn babies would arrive.

  Before long, it would be winter again at Oaktree Farm.

  Addie hoped there would be snow. Deep, glistening Exmoor snow.

  Snow for building things.

  Goodness, where do I begin? So many people have helped clear a way through the wilderness for Addie and her snow foal; helped them to find their home.

  First mention goes to the children and families in whose real stories I played a small part, just for a moment, as a social worker. It was an immense privilege. Thank you for all that you taught me.

  My special thanks to my ‘super-agent’, Emily Talbot, for her professional energy, her commitment and warm support whenever needed; to my lovely editor, Lindsey Heaven, for listening to Addie, Jude, Sunni, and Gabe; for understanding what they were trying to say. For listening to me, then helping me to hear what was best for this book. To everyone else at Egmont UK, notably Ali Dougal, Lucy Courtenay, and the Design team for their enthusiasm and sympathetic handling of my work. Illustrator Keith Robinson must have particular mention for the stunning cover. It is perfection.

  My gratitude and respect to the wonderful staff of Bath Spa University, including Paul Meyer, who believed in me and inspired me from the start, the creative force that is Joanna Nadin, and my wonderful tutors on the MA Writing for Young People: David Almond, Julia Green, Steve Voake and Janine Amos. Thank you for your wise guidance and expertise; for the challenges, the opportunities, and the support. And as for my fabulous MA peers, especially the ‘Aubergines’ – what can I say? Only that I couldn’t have done it without you . . .

  Thank you to those true friends who offered me a listening ear, or helped keep a roof over my head and the Exmoor Beast from my doo
r, among them: Fi and Giles Williams, Lucy Cuthew, ‘the two Nicks’, Chris Milford and Richard Taylor. There are others. I will never forget any of you.

  Above all else, heartfelt thanks to my family. To my late mother, Jean Hutchinson, for everything she was and all that she gave me. Her creativity and gentle spirit glitter from these pages. To my astonishing children, Ali, Joe, Josh, Emma and Oli; their very special partners Kristen, Emily, Lyndy, Ash and Phoebe, and my beautiful grandsons, Luca and Jules: thank you for the inspiration and encouragement, the technical advice, the ridiculous gifs, the laughter and the love. You are everywhere in this book and everything that matters most in my world. My endless summer-blue sky.

  • Childline: www.childline.org.uk 0800 1111

  • Nacoa: The National Association for Children of Alcoholics: www.nacoa.org.uk/children.html 0800 358 3456

  • NSPCC: www.nspcc.org.uk

  • CoramBAAF Fostering and Adoption Agency: www.coramvoice.org.uk/contact-us (The ‘Always Heard’ helpline for young people: www.coram. org.uk/how-we-do-it/coram-voice-getting-young-voices-heard 0808 800 5792)

  • Farms for City Children (Michael Morpurgo): www.farmsforcitychildren.org

  For interest/education/conservation support:

  • The Exmoor Pony Centre: www.moorlandmousietrust.org.uk

  • The Exmoor Pony Society: www.exmoorponysociety.org.uk