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

  Addie was glad she didn’t get them now.

  ‘Mind out,’ Sunni said. She pushed past Addie in the doorway, making the door bang against the wall. ‘Mira’s dad’s picking me up,’ she said, looking back over her shoulder. ‘We’re having a sleepover after school.’

  ‘Like I care,’ Addie said, as she watched Sunni run across the courtyard. She slipped twice, almost fell over. Addie wished she had fallen. How come she even had any friends?

  Before Addie could step outside, the kitchen door swung open. Ruth.

  ‘Addie, sweetheart, it’s not really the weather for being outside.’

  ‘I’m looking out for Penny’s car. I’m fine.’

  Ruth shut the door. ‘Penny just rang, Addie.’

  ‘What time’s she getting here?’

  Ruth smiled. That smile adults used when they were about to say something Addie wouldn’t like. The icy air was inside Addie’s clothes now, curling round her heart.

  ‘Come on into the kitchen, love,’ Ruth said. ‘We need a bit of a chat.’ She ushered Addie through the kitchen door, like she was one of her chickens.

  Jude was still there. He was sitting up at the table with crayons and paper, but he wasn’t drawing anything. Addie thought of Mam, in front of her easel, creating sequins of light on a bright blue sea. She thought of the light in Mam’s eyes: how it wasn’t there any more.

  Ruth sat down on a rocking chair by the fireplace. She patted her hand on a green chair next to her.

  Addie didn’t sit down. ‘What did Penny say?’ she said. ‘Is she on her way?’

  She already knew the answer.

  ‘Penny can’t make it today, Addie. She’s got an emergency to deal with. And the roads are dreadful.’ She reached over, put her hand on Addie’s arm.

  Addie shrugged it away.

  ‘She’s very sorry, Addie, but she’ll be here as soon as she can with the rest of your things.’

  ‘I don’t need any things! I’m going home. Today.’

  ‘Penny will explain everything, Addie, and answer all your questions. Tomorrow, hopefully,’ Ruth said. She glanced towards the window. ‘If the snow doesn’t get any worse. It’s stopped for now, but Sam says it’s pretty thick out on the moorland roads. He and Gabe are out there on a rescue mission this morning . . .’

  Ruth’s words came from far away, muffled, like she was speaking underwater.

  Who was going to rescue Addie ?

  ‘Mam won’t be OK without me,’ she said.

  ‘Your mam needs some special help just now, Addie.’ Ruth smiled that smile again. ‘I think you know that, don’t you? Better than anyone.’

  Addie shook her head. ‘You can’t keep me here,’ she shouted. She kicked the green chair, making it skid towards the fire. A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks into the air, like tiny yellow flares. Ruth’s phone rang again.

  Jude gave another of his thin, wild wails. He threw his box of crayons. Splinters of colour flew through the air, spread across the floor. He stared up at Addie as she strode past the table, his eyes empty, like the sheet of paper in front of him. Empty like Addie.

  Addie was going home today, whatever Ruth and Penny said. She edged round the front door, stepped outside and looked around.

  Old stone buildings surrounded the courtyard, skeletal trees beyond. Someone had cleared a pathway through the snow near the door. Under Addie’s feet were grey cobbles, dusted white – the sparkle of ice where light from the farmhouse touched them. Above her, a wide grey sky: smoky, like dirty paintbrush water. It seemed to go on forever.

  A single, soft flake drifted past Addie’s cheek, a tiny white star against the gloom. She reached out; felt it light as air in the palm of her hand. Then it was gone.

  Was more snow coming? Addie hoped not. She blew on her hands, wrapped her arms round herself and took a deep breath in. Which way was home?

  She trudged in the direction Sunni had gone to be picked up, snow spilling over the tops of her trainers. She peered round the side of the old stone barn. A huge gate swung open. Beyond it, a rough road, lined with spiky hedges and the leafless trees, dark and harsh against the white landscape.

  Addie glanced behind her. No one was coming. Yet.

  She set off down the track.

  Addie had only been walking a few minutes when it started to snow again. No gentle flakes this time, just sudden gusts of ice and sleet. They whirled through the bony trees, stole the last colour from the world around Addie. Bitter air stung her chest as she breathed in; nipped at her fingers like terrible teeth. Her feet burned with cold.

  Mam hadn’t told the truth in her soft sketches. Snow was sharp. Snow was cruel.

  She thought about last night’s long drive with Penny, remembered the misty moorland and shadowy forests. Ruth and Sam’s farm was in the middle of nowhere. What was she doing out here?

  She stood still, looked back, half hoping to see Ruth coming down the track to find her. But there was no one. Just her own footprints, quickly filling with snow. No sound except the drum of her heart in her ears and the moan of an animal, carried on the wind. A cow, Addie told herself. But dark, nameless shapes slipped across her mind.

  A huge black bird lifted from the ground ahead. It perched on a branch above Addie, yellow eyes glaring down through the thick, white air; daring her to steal a half-finished meal abandoned on the snow. Addie stepped round the pink muddle of blood and fur, glared back at the hunched bird.

  ‘Horrible creature! Devil bird!’ she shouted.

  She hated this winter world and everything in it.

  But she couldn’t go back to the warm farmhouse. Mam needed her. There had to be a bus stop somewhere near the farm, didn’t there?

  Addie bent her head against the weather, pinned her hands under her armpits for warmth and set off again.

  The track forked in front of her. Nothing but moorland and trees in both directions. Which way should she go?

  She went right. A few minutes later, the track divided into two again, one narrow limb disappearing among a glade of snow-laden pines. Now what?

  Then she saw them, weaving between the trees. A tall boy, hands in the pockets of a heavy jacket, dark beanie hat crusted with snow. A black and white dog, its nose to the ground as it moved in quick circles through the snow-covered undergrowth.

  The dog looked up, spotted Addie. It darted towards her, jumped up, and almost knocked her flying.

  ‘Flo! Here!’ The boy whistled, patted his leg.

  The dog raced to his side, trotted next to him as he plodded along the track towards Addie. This must be Ruth’s son then. What was his name? Addie couldn’t remember. Was he out here looking for her ?

  And if he was, what would he do now that he’d found her?

  He stopped; grinned.

  It was him. She’d seen that face – a younger version, smiling through gappy teeth on the fridge door in Ruth’s kitchen.

  ‘Adelaide, by any chance?’ he said. He held out a gloved hand, made a silly bow. ‘Gabe,’ he said. ‘Ruth and Sam’s son.’

  Addie ignored him, looked down at Flo. The dog stared up at her with amber eyes and wagged her tail, sending a shower of snow crystals into the air

  ‘And this is Flo,’ Gabe said.

  Addie reached down and stroked the dog’s silky head. She looked up at Gabe.

  ‘C’mon then,’ Gabe said, indicating with his head that Addie should move. ‘Ma’s about to get the Search and Rescue guys out.’

  Addie shrugged; folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m getting a bus,’ she said.

  ‘OK. Right.’ Gabe nodded. ‘Two miles that way then.’ He pointed through the pine trees. ‘Should be one along in about . . . let me think –’ he scratched his chin – ‘twenty-four hours.’ He gazed up at the laden sky. ‘Weather permitting.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Addie pressed her lips together to still the quiver she felt there. She turned away.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Gabe took off a glove, brought a
phone out of his pocket, held it out and moved it around him. ‘No signal. Damn. Oh, well . . .’

  He whistled for Flo again and set off in the direction Addie had walked. ‘Shame, though,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I was counting on your help . . .’

  Addie wasn’t falling for that one. Did he think she was stupid?

  ‘Tiny wild foal,’ he shouted. ‘Found him first thing, stuck in the snow. Frozen, he was. Scared half to death.’ He lifted his arms, let them drop. ‘Back at the farm now, but dunno if he’ll make it.’ He turned, walked backwards, yelling against the wind.

  ‘Lucky Flo found him at all. He was even more lost than you are . . .’

  Addie stared at Gabe’s back as he trudged away, bent against the snow that was now slicing sideways though the air. He was actually leaving her there. Well, that was fine. He had probably lied about the bus just to scare her into going back with him. People still needed buses, even in the middle of nowhere. Especially in the middle of nowhere. And buses were big enough to get through a bit of snow. Anyway, she wasn’t lost. Not really. She could go back the way she’d come any time she wanted.

  She set off towards the glade of pines. A thick cluster of snow slid from the branches of the first tree as she approached; thumped to the ground just in front of her. She stopped.

  What if Gabe was telling the truth? She wouldn’t survive a night out here. And then what would happen to Mam? She’d better go back. Just for now. She would make a better plan.

  ‘Hold on a minute! Gabe!’ she called. But her words were whisked away on the wind. Even Flo wouldn’t hear her in this weather. She shielded her eyes with her hand; spat snow from her lips. She could barely see a few feet ahead. Gabe wouldn’t have got far. She set off, following his tracks as best she could.

  He was leaning against a great fir tree round the first bend, ankles crossed, head bent over his phone. Flo stood at his feet, ears pricked high. She ran towards Addie, swerved behind her and nosed at her leg until she was face to face with Gabe.

  ‘Couldn’t get her to move,’ Gabe said, without looking up. ‘Must’ve known you were coming.’ He stuffed his phone in his pocket, scratched Flo’s head. ‘Happy now, girl?’

  Flo stared up at Gabe, looked back at Addie, her red tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Addie could have sworn she was smiling.

  Ruth hurried Addie into the hall. She fussed and flapped, held Addie at arm’s-length, inspected her for damage.

  Gabe stamped snow from his boots and stepped inside. ‘She’s good, Ma. No probs.’ He pulled off his hat, shook it into the yard behind him. He looked younger without it, Addie thought, his flame-red hair a mess of wild waves. He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Just having a look round, weren’t you, Adelaide?’ he said. ‘Lost your bearings a bit.’

  Addie glared at him. ‘It’s Addie. I told you,’ she said, and turned away. She didn’t need him to make excuses for her. She could stick up for herself.

  ‘I was checking for bus stops,’ she told Ruth, her chin in the air. ‘In case Penny can’t get here in her car.’

  Addie saw Ruth’s eyes slide towards Gabe, saw them meet with his. ‘And I’m fine,’ she said. She stared down at her sodden trainers, at the pools of water collecting around them on the tiled floor. She tried to take off her coat, but her arms felt stiff, useless. Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t make them stop

  Ruth kneeled down in front of her. ‘Let’s just get you warm, shall we? A nice bath, that’s what’s needed.’ She eased Addie’s coat from her shoulders. ‘Then some soup.’ She reached for Gabe’s hand. ‘Both of you, I think.’

  ‘Resistance is futile,’ said Gabe. He grinned at Addie. ‘Trust me. I know.’ He whistled for Flo.

  ‘No you don’t, Flo,’ said Ruth. She laughed. ‘She’d be in the shower with him, if I let her, Addie.’ She threw a towel over Flo, began to rub her dry.

  ‘Saves water, Ma,’ said Gabe. ‘Like you did in the war.’

  Ruth flicked the towel at him. He skipped out of her reach and into the hall.

  ‘Nice thick towels on your bed, Addie,’ Ruth called, as Addie left the room. And you’re OK to use the main bathroom. Gabe has his own shower.’

  Gabe took the stairs two at a time and disappeared before Addie had hauled herself up the first two steps. As she waited for her bath to fill, she heard him clatter back down again. He was singing. A silly, jumbled song, loud and out of tune.

  Addie saw herself – a tiny girl, whirling across the living-room floor in front of Mam. She caught the click-clack of her new red tap shoes, the silver glint of Christmas tinsel in Mam’s hair; heard her own small voice lifting on the air in tuneless song – just like Gabe’s. She remembered the joy of it; remembered Mam’s smile – bright, beautiful: the centre of the world. She slipped down lower into the bath, let the water slide across her face and tried to hold that smile behind her tightly closed eyes.

  Gabe stood in the kitchen doorway, grubby Wellington boots in one hand.

  ‘You coming to help this morning, or what?’

  Addie shook her head. She shuffled further into the window seat, tucked her knees up under her chin.

  ‘It’s still snowing,’ she said.

  ‘Yep,’ Gabe said. ‘So we’re busier than ever.’

  ‘When’s it going to stop?’

  Gabe dropped the boots, stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and pulled out the linings. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Lost it again.’

  Addie stared at him.

  ‘My crystal ball.’

  Addie shut her eyes. Why didn’t he leave her alone?

  ‘OK. You just sit there in your PJs. You’ll feel so much better.’

  ‘What would you know?’

  ‘Not much. Obviously.’ Gabe scratched his head, made his hair stand on end. ‘Really need you today, that’s all. Dad’s been on the phone to Jo. She can’t get through either, with the snow. But she says that foal’s got to take some feed today, or . . .’

  Addie looked up. ‘Jo?’

  ‘Vet. Someone’s got to sit with him, Addie. Get him used to human company.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You’re the chosen one. Everyone else is busy.’

  Addie turned away, stared at the frost ferns on the window. She should be sitting with Mam. Helping Mam.

  ‘No good him getting used to me,’ she said. ‘I’m going once the snow clears a bit.’

  ‘Yeah. You said.’ Gabe sighed. ‘I’ll have to wait for Sunni then, I suppose.’

  ‘Sunni’s back? Already?’

  Gabe took his beanie hat from the back pocket of his jeans, pulled it on. ‘Will be. Dad’s gone for her in the jeep.’

  Great, Addie thought. As if her day wasn’t bad enough already. She stood up. ‘All right. I’ll come,’ she said. ‘Just this once. It won’t like me, though, that foal.’

  It was dark inside the barn after the brilliance of the white world outside.

  ‘Stand still for a bit,’ Gabe said, his voice low. ‘Let your eyes adjust. And move slowly.’

  Addie squinted, looked around. Daylight crept through cracked walls, criss-crossed the barn. Dust whirled in the needles of light. There was a sweet, musty smell. Addie could make out mounds of straw draped in heavy cloth and some wooden stalls at the back of the building.

  Gabe tugged at her sleeve, held his finger to his lips and walked slowly towards a stall on the left-hand side. A lamp, fixed at one side, shed soft yellow light on the walls, lit great cobwebs that hung like dirty rags from the rafters above.

  The foal was curled under a pile of blankets in a corner of the pen, his dark, shaggy head just visible. He shifted as Addie and Gabe came close and pushed his pale muzzle into the corner. The blankets rose and fell with his panicked breaths.

  ‘He’s really scared,’ Addie whispered. ‘He doesn’t like us being here.’

  ‘No. But he needs us,’ Gabe said. ‘If he’s gonna make it.’ He glanced around, disappeared for a moment inside the next stall;
reappeared with his arms full of straw. ‘Help me get some more,’ he said. ‘Extra warmth.’

  The straw was scratchy against Addie’s skin. Her nose itched as she carried armfuls, spread it around the foal like Gabe showed her. She pinched her nostrils to stifle a sneeze.

  Gabe gathered some of the clean straw into a small heap close to where the foal lay. He spread an empty sack on top of it. ‘There you go,’ he said, gesturing for her to sit down. ‘Fit for a queen. I’ve got to go and mix up his feed. Won’t be long.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Talk to him.’

  ‘And say what?’

  Gabe shook his head, blew through his teeth. ‘Anything. Reassure him. You’ll figure it out.’ He brushed dust and straw from his jacket. ‘Oh, and I’ll have to find Dad, get the antibiotics the vet left us when she knew the snow was forecast.’ He crept away, stopped halfway across the barn; came back. ‘Don’t tell Ma I left you on your own, or I’m done for.’ He held two fingers to his head, pretended to shoot.

  He was bonkers. Sunni was right about that, at least.

  The foal stiffened as Addie sat down. His breath came in short rasps.

  ‘You’re all right,’ Addie said. ‘I’ll move away a bit.’ She shuffled backwards and rested her back against the wall of the pen. The foal quivered and squirmed. Addie was making him worse. She didn’t know anything about animals, especially wild ones.

  ‘Gabe will be back in a minute,’ she said. ‘With your food.’

  The foal pressed himself further into the corner.

  ‘Not hungry, are you? Me neither.’ She picked up two blades of straw, twisted them together. ‘You’ve got to eat, though. Just a bit, OK?’

  Addie chewed at the ends of the straw. They tasted bitter. She spat saliva on to the floor. The foal jumped, quivered even more.

  How long was Gabe going to be? She couldn’t stay long, anyway. Penny said she might ring again after she’d had her meeting. Was she there now? What was she saying about Mam? Addie rested her chin on her knees, felt it tremble. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve; sniffed. The foal lifted its head a little, rested it back down again.