Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 2

‘Course she did,’ Addie said.

  ‘Right, Sunni,’ Ruth said, bustling back into the room. ‘Time to let Addie get some sleep.’ She gave Addie a purple hot-water bottle with a furry cover.

  ‘Do you think you can settle off to sleep, Addie?’ asked Ruth. ‘Or would you like to read for a bit?’

  Addie shook her head. At home she liked to read in bed; liked to disappear for a while among the pages. Sometimes, she became small again, curled next to Mam, following her finger across the strange black shapes that held the stories. Sometimes, she became someone brave and strong. Someone who knew how to fix things.

  Sometimes, reading helped.

  It wouldn’t help tonight. Nothing would.

  Addie just wanted Ruth to go away.

  By the time Addie had undressed and cleaned her teeth in the bathroom, Sunni was in bed. She didn’t look up from her book when Addie came into the room. Addie was glad. She crawled under her duvet, pulling it right up over her head. It smelled of home. She pressed her eyes shut and pretended she was back there in her own bed. She was small. Really small. The door was open and Mam was asleep in the next room.

  The dream woke Addie, as it always did.

  For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Her heart hammered in her ears; her hair was sticky on her forehead. She felt sick.

  She took a deep breath, like her mam had told her. It only helped a bit.

  The bedroom was so dark. The deepest dark Addie had ever seen. It was full of silence. Full of nothing.

  At home there was a streetlamp outside Addie’s bedroom window. It shone through her curtains like a small yellow sun. It kept her company when she couldn’t sleep. At home, it was never quiet. Even at night. There was always the hum of traffic, the slamming of doors, the call of cats.

  At home, there was always Mam.

  Mam didn’t like the night. She wandered around the house until morning. She needed her loud music and her drinks to get her through the dark space in between. She needed Addie.

  Who was looking after Mam tonight?

  Addie curled up under her duvet, wrapped her arms tightly round herself. She tried to make out Sunni’s bed on the opposite side of the room. She listened for her breathing, could just make out its soft rhythm; the occasional gentle snore.

  Her eyes became heavy as she lay listening. If she went to sleep again, she wouldn’t have the bad feeling in her stomach. But the dream might come again. She needed to stay awake.

  An owl hooted. Once. Twice. Something screeched. Something near the house. Addie shivered in her duvet nest. She lay very still.

  Everything was quiet again.

  She was thirsty now. Could she get a drink from the bathroom? She might wake Sunni if she got up. Or Ruth. Or Sam. She didn’t think Ruth would mind, but what about Sam? He’d been out working until late, Ruth said. He’d be very tired. People got angry when they were tired.

  Addie would have to wait.

  She stared at the window. How long was it until morning?

  Addie crawled to the end of her bed and pulled one of the curtains aside. She leaned a hand against the windowpane, tried to see outside. It left its shape there when she moved, a ghost hand among stars of frost on the cold glass.

  It wasn’t really morning yet. Just fingers of pale light in the yard below. But Addie could see that more snow had fallen overnight. Much more. Not the sleety mess that fell in the town, slippery and slimy in the streets, grey and dirty in the gutters. Proper snow. Snow you could build things with. Perfect snow, glistening silvery white as far as Addie could see: like the snow in the paintings Mam did. Before.

  Would the snow stop Penny coming back for her? Ruth had said something about the difficult roads near the farm. Addie closed the curtain again and got down from her bed. Pretty as it was, it had better stop falling soon.

  She found yesterday’s jeans and jumper on the chair by her bed, and put them on over her pyjamas. She tiptoed past Sunni’s bed, the wooden floor smooth and cold under her bare feet.

  One of the floorboards near the door creaked as Addie stepped on it. Sunni stirred, flung one arm out of her covers and over the edge of the bed. There was a gentle clinking sound. Addie stood still. She held her breath. She waited. Watched. Something sparkled on Sunni’s wrist: she was still wearing her bracelets.

  Sunni didn’t move again, so Addie edged out of the room and along the dim landing in the direction she remembered the bathroom to be. Her heart pounded as she passed two closed doors on her right-hand side. Which was Ruth and Sam’s room? Addie couldn’t remember.

  Would they mind that she was up?

  The door next to the bathroom was partly open, blue light spilling from inside on to the floor in front of Addie. The bathroom was on the other side of it, so Addie would have to go past to get a drink. She glanced inside the room as she did so, fingers crossed behind her back. A small child was sitting bolt upright in bed, pale hair gleaming like a halo in the watery blue light. He or she, Addie couldn’t tell, was staring straight at her.

  Addie stared back as she passed, willing whoever it was to keep quiet. They did.

  There was a stack of coloured plastic cups by the bathroom sink. Addie filled a green one with water from the tap. It tasted different from the water at home. Cleaner. Nicer. She drained the cup, filled it again. She could take it back to her room.

  When she passed the open door again, the child was huddled under the bedclothes. Addie heard soft, thin sounds, like a kitten crying for its mother.

  Sunni had switched on the light and was sitting up in bed, brushing her hair. She gave Addie a small, quick smile. Perhaps she didn’t mind that Addie had woken her. Addie tried to smile back, but her mouth felt stiff. Should she tell Sunni about the child? Would whoever it was want anyone to know they were upset? Maybe not. She drank her water, wondered what to do next.

  A door slammed downstairs. Somebody whistled in the yard outside the window. Someone else was up then.

  ‘That’s Gabe,’ Sunni said, straightening her bed covers. ‘And Flo. They’re off to see to the cows.’

  Addie stared at her. ‘In the dark?’

  Sunni rolled her eyes, as if Addie had said something really stupid.

  ‘Who’s Gabe?’ Addie said quickly.

  ‘Ruth and Sam’s son. He’s fourteen. He’s got a guitar and he lets me play it.’ She looked at Addie, stared into her eyes. ‘I’m the only one that’s allowed.’

  Addie turned away. She peeped out through the curtains again. She couldn’t see anyone. She still couldn’t see much at all, except the snow, and patches of orange light from two downstairs windows.

  ‘Is Flo Gabe’s sister, then?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s a sheepdog,’ said Sunni, shoving her feet into fleecy slippers. ‘She goes everywhere with Gabe. She’s a bit bonkers. Like him.’ She pulled a scarlet dressing gown round her shoulders. She looked Addie up and down. ‘We don’t get dressed for breakfast,’ she said. ‘We go down in our nightclothes.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Addie. ‘Except at home.’

  ‘Well, this is a foster home. It’s the same.’

  Addie shook her head. ‘It isn’t. And anyway, my social worker’s coming back this morning. Early. So I’m ready. And I’m not having breakfast.’

  ‘She’s not taking you home, if that’s what you think,’ Sunni said. ‘And you have to have breakfast. That’s the rule. Come on . . . before Jude eats all the toast.’ Sunni flounced to the door, her dressing gown floating behind her like a cape. ‘Oh, and that’s Jude’s cup you’ve got there,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘He’ll go nuts.’

  Was Jude the child in the other bedroom? Addie didn’t like the sound of him. She put the green cup down on Sunni’s shelf, among her collection of elephants. ‘Wait a minute,’ she shouted, ‘I’ve got bare feet.’

  But Sunni was gone.

  Addie’s feet were freezing. She looked around for the bag Penny had made her pack. Her favourite socks were in there. The rainbow o
nes Mam chose.

  The bag was at the foot of the bed. It was empty. Where were her things?

  ‘Addie, sweetheart. Good morning! I wondered if it was you I heard up and about just now.’ Ruth was in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. Addie turned away, pretended to search in the front pocket of her bag.

  Ruth perched on the end of Sunni’s bed. ‘I put your clean things in the drawers for you, love. The ones with the blue handles. Breakfast’s ready, so pop something on your feet and we’ll go down together, shall we?’

  Addie’s fists tightened. ‘I like my things in my bag,’ she said.

  ‘That’s OK, Addie. Put them back for now then. I understand.’

  It wasn’t OK. Nothing was. And Ruth didn’t understand anything. Addie pulled on her trainers. She would do without socks.

  And she would do without Ruth’s breakfast. Whatever the stupid rule was.

  The fire was burning in the kitchen again. The room smelled of wood smoke and toast. The table had a red and white checked cloth on it this morning. In the middle was a basket of eggs, a plate piled high with toast and some boxes of cereal. Addie had never seen so much food.

  Sunni was eating a bowl of Addie’s favourite Cocoa Puffs. She waved her spoon at Addie. This time she didn’t smile.

  ‘Sit yourself down, Addie,’ Ruth said. ‘Do you like eggs?’ She pointed to the basket. The eggs inside were brown and speckled. Not at all like the ones from Mr Borovski’s shop, or the supermarket in the precinct. There was a tiny brown feather stuck to one of them.

  ‘Freshly laid,’ Ruth said. She smiled. ‘I’ve got two of the biggest nearly ready, especially for you.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ Addie said. She didn’t like this kitchen that pretended to be a happy place. And she didn’t like Ruth pretending to be her mam.

  ‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate then, shall I? You might feel hungrier in a bit.’ Ruth lifted a huge yellow jug from the table and took it to the stove

  ‘That’s goat’s milk in that jug,’ Sunni said. ‘Bet you’ve never had that before.’

  Addie hadn’t, but she didn’t say so. She pulled back a chair.

  ‘Not there,’ Sunni said. ‘That’s next to Jude’s seat.’

  ‘So?’ said Addie.

  ‘He doesn’t let anyone sit next to him.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Addie. Jude sounded horrible.

  ‘Just doesn’t,’ said Sunni, shrugging. She reached for a carton of orange juice and poured some for herself.

  Ruth came across to the table and pulled out the chair next to Sunni. It had a blue cushion on it. A fat ginger cat was sleeping there.

  ‘Sit here, Addie, love,’ Ruth said. ‘Widget, off.’

  Widget opened one green eye. Then the other. He jumped down and stared at Addie, his tail twitching from side to side. Then he curled himself round Addie’s legs and walked slowly away.

  ‘He likes you,’ Ruth said. ‘He usually ignores new people at first.’

  Addie sat down. Widget had left his warm smell behind him on her chair. She wished he would come back.

  A small boy came into the kitchen. His wrists and ankles poked out from Superman pyjamas, thin as winter twigs. He stopped, peered at Addie from underneath pale curls, stared down at his feet.

  The child with the blue light.

  Addie watched him, noticed how he twisted his hands together; saw the shadows under his eyes.

  ‘That’s Jude,’ Sunni said. ‘He’s six but he can’t talk.’

  Ruth handed Addie a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Jude can talk, Sunni. Remember? He just doesn’t feel like talking to us right now.’

  She gave Jude a reassuring nod, brought him over to his chair. He knelt up on it and grabbed three slices of toast. Then he reached for Sunni’s cereal packet.

  ‘He eats loads,’ said Sunni.

  ‘Maybe we could save the cereal for later, Jude?’ Ruth said, taking the box from him. ‘We can keep it out on the side here, for when you need it.’ She held out her hand. Jude clutched the box for a moment, then let go. He looked up at Addie. His eyes were huge, deep blue, and still as a lake. Addie smiled at him, but he looked away.

  Ruth took the tops off two eggs for him and one for Addie. ‘Just in case.’

  Jude shoved spoonfuls of egg and huge chunks of toast into his mouth, all at the same time. He made slurping sounds as he ate. Addie tried not to look at him. She could tell he wouldn’t want her to. She sipped her hot chocolate. It was warm and creamy, nicer than the one she’d tried the night before. But not as nice as the cocoa Mam made. When she remembered to buy milk.

  Sunni kept talking non-stop, telling Ruth about her best friend from school, Mira, and her amazing house. Addie was glad. She didn’t want to speak to either of them.

  Ruth’s phone rang.

  ‘I need to take this,’ Ruth said. I’ll just be in the lounge. Won’t be long.’ As she passed Jude’s chair, she rested her hand on his head for a moment; smiled over her shoulder at Addie.

  As soon as she was gone, Jude got down from the table and took the cereal packet again.

  ‘No, Jude,’ Sunni said. ‘Ruth wants you to leave it till later.’

  Jude stuffed his hand inside the box. Sunni got down from the table and snatched it from him. Pieces of chocolate rice flew into the air and skidded across the floor. Jude’s face turned bright red. He screamed: a thin, wild scream. Like the creature in the night. It made Addie’s heart hurt.

  Ruth came running in. She sent Sunni off to get ready for school. Then she sat down on the floor next to Jude, among the pieces of cereal.

  ‘Jude’s OK, Addie,’ she said, even though he wasn’t.

  Ruth rested one hand on Jude’s ankle. Addie saw him take a big breath in and hold it. His shoulders shook. Addie knew that he was trying to push something back down deep inside. Into the hollow place where the tears stay.

  She got down from the table. She couldn’t look at him any more.

  As Addie reached her house, the first few drops of icy rain landed in her hair.

  There was no sound from behind the front door. Addie rummaged in her coat pocket for her key. It had slipped through the hole and into the lining. Again. She needed to remember about that hole. Her tummy rumbled as she pinned her bread and milk under one arm, and wriggled the key free from the coat lining. Her cold fingers were clumsy, slow. The carton of milk slid from her grasp, bounced on the broken edge of the step and exploded like a white bomb on the gravel path. Milk splashed the air, trickled between the tiny stones. Addie watched it disappear.

  So much for breakfast.

  No more milk. No more money.

  She’d really done it now.

  She scooped up the empty carton and hurried inside before anyone could see. She sat down at the bottom of the stairs, stared up at the clay figures on the bookshelf beside her. She remembered the softness of the clay in her hands, the warmth of Mam’s fingers on her own as they pushed and pulled the figures in to life. The clay people stared past her with their empty eyes.

  Hail rattled on the window, doors slammed, children called, cars stuttered into life.

  The letterbox lifted; fell.

  Mam slept on.

  Then the siren, coloured lights splitting the frost on the window: spinning across the floor; spinning over Addie.

  Heavy boots on the gravel, the ring, ring, ring of the doorbell, the thump of fists on the door.

  Who had told? Darren’s mam? Mrs Crabtree?

  It didn’t matter. It was too late now anyway.

  Addie opened the blue-handled drawers and gathered up her neatly folded clothes. She stuffed them into her bag.

  ‘You’ll only have to put it all back,’ Sunni said. She pulled a navy sweatshirt over her head. ‘You’ll see.’

  Addie ignored her. She didn’t know anything.

  ‘And don’t ever put stuff on my shelf again. All right?’

  Something flew past Addie’s ear as she bent over her bag. Jude’s green cup. It
hit the wall, fell on to Addie’s bed. She reached for it, felt the weight of it in her hand. She could throw it right back at Sunni. She wouldn’t miss.

  ‘All right?’ Sunni poked her finger hard into Addie’s back.

  Addie glared at her over one shoulder, squeezed the cup hard. ‘I’m going home. I told you.’ She clenched her teeth so tightly that a pain shot up her cheek.

  ‘Whatever. Hang your bag up behind the door. I like my room tidy.’ Sunni stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Addie stared at Sunni’s stupid shelf, with its stupid family of stupid elephants. She pushed the biggest one with her finger. It fell, taking three others with it. They slid into a heap of legs, trunks, and shiny, black bead eyes. A small china horse slid with them and fell to the floor. Addie pushed at the broken pieces with the toe of her trainer, hid them under Sunni’s bed. Served her right.

  She went to the bathroom. She rinsed and dried Jude’s cup and put it back exactly where she’d found it. She splashed water on her face, caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink – saw the usual smudges under her eyes, the usual wild frizz of hair. She dried herself on someone’s pink towel and tugged her fingers through her tightly knotted curls. Her dad’s curls. She hated the reminder of him. Hated him. Why couldn’t she have had Mam’s hair?

  She went downstairs, treading softly. She hoped Sunni had left for school. She never wanted to see her again. Ever.

  Her coat was hanging on a peg in the hall. It was dry now. She pushed her arms into it and turned up the collar. She would wait outside for her lift home with Penny.

  The front door was unlocked, but old and stiff. Addie tugged it open as quietly as she could. Icy air swept across her ankles. She shivered in her thin coat, pulled the zip right up to the top and felt in the pocket for her gloves. They weren’t there. She peered out into the yard to see if anyone was about.

  Sunni rushed up behind her. She was muffled in a purple padded coat, her dark hair hidden under a furry hood. Her boots clattered across the floor: short, shiny black boots with buckles. Just like the ones Mam had promised Addie for her last birthday.