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

  Addie turned her back on Penny. It was only February. Easter was ages away. ‘Tell Sunni’s school I won’t need a place,’ she said to Ruth. ‘Mam’ll be better ages before Easter.’

  Penny picked up her bag and snapped it shut. ‘Just let lovely Ruth and Sam take care of you for a bit, Addie. And no more running off by yourself,’ she said. ‘Promise me, now.’

  Addie stared out from somewhere behind her eyes. She might have nodded. She wasn’t sure. If she did, she was lying.

  Addie locked the bathroom door. She sat on the floor, pulled her knees up under her chin, tucked her head low and tried to disappear.

  Voices drifted up the stairs – Ruth, Penny, Sam. Deep, sing-song tones that must belong to Tim. Jude screamed. Flo barked. Something clattered to the floor.

  The front door opened and closed, opened and closed. Addie’s chest pounded in strange jumps. Perhaps her heart was broken, and she was going to die, right there in the bathroom. Like Luke’s nan, who went to be with her husband because she didn’t know how to stay in the world without him.

  Ruth tapped on the door. She called Addie’s name; asked if it was all right to come in. It wasn’t. Addie pushed her kneecaps into her eyes – hard, so that it hurt.

  Ruth knocked again. Twice. She told Addie it was OK to come down whenever she was ready. She said she was right there if Addie needed her. Her voice was warm and soft and kind. Her footsteps moved away from the door. Stopped. Started again. She was gone.

  Addie put her hands over her ears and squeezed away the fire behind her eyes. She didn’t need Ruth. She would never need Ruth. She needed Mam. When would she see her again?

  She couldn’t stay at the farm for weeks and weeks; couldn’t start at Sunni’s stupid school where everyone would hate her anyway. She wouldn’t be the same Addie any more: the Addie from the brown house in the brown street with Mr Borovski’s shop on the corner.

  Mam would think she didn’t love her any more.

  She kept forgetting how to breathe. Her breath felt muddled up in her chest and she had to start counting: in, out, in, out, like they did on the hospital programme she used to watch with Mam. Before the telly got taken away.

  She didn’t want to be by herself in the cold bathroom any more. She turned the big silver key and opened the door.

  Flo was lying outside, her black nose resting on her white paws. Her tail thumped on the floor as Addie came out on to the landing. She jumped up and ran to the top of the stairs, her amber eyes turned towards Addie like spotlights.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Addie said. ‘I’m coming.’

  She followed Flo down the stairs. Addie’s whole body hurt, as if she’d been crushed under the old tractor out in the yard.

  Flo nudged open the door to the kitchen and ran in. Addie hovered in the doorway.

  There was only Gabe, bent over his phone in the chair by the fire. Flo settled down beside him, rested her head on his foot.

  The kitchen was warm but Addie felt frozen. She went inside.

  Clay animals were lined up on the table. Most of them were ponies, Addie could tell. Others were probably pigs. Or sheep. One was definitely an elephant. She picked it up. Its trunk fell off.

  Gabe looked up from his phone. ‘You’re in for it now,’ he said. He drew a finger across his neck. ‘Sunni made that one.’

  Addie shrugged.

  Gabe got up from the rocking chair and slammed his phone down on the table. ‘Don’t know why I’ve got this thing. Never any signal out here,’ he said. He picked up the elephant, pressed the trunk back into place, and held it out for inspection. ‘More like a rhinoceros now. Oh well, I tried to save you.’

  Addie turned away and flopped on to the window seat. Widget curled round her legs. She pulled him on to her lap, hugged him to her chest. She must have squeezed him too hard, because he yowled and jumped down again. ‘Sorry, Widget,’ she said. She patted her knee. ‘Please come back. I’ll be gentle.’

  Widget glanced over his shoulder at Addie, gave one flick of his tail, and climbed into his basket by the stove.

  Addie sighed. She wanted to feel his sleepy warmth, hear his reassuring purr.

  ‘You OK?’ Gabe asked. ‘If you need Ma, she’s just nipped out to the barn. She won’t be long.’

  Addie inspected the skin on her thumb. It was red and sore round the edge of the nail. She chewed at it. ‘Where’s Jude?’ she said.

  ‘Sunni’s taken him for a bit of fresh air. He was pretty upset. Something Tim said.’

  ‘Like Sunni’s going to cheer him up.’

  Gabe smiled. ‘She’s a good kid, Addie. She just gets scared sometimes.’

  ‘She’s not scared. She’s just spiteful. And rude.’

  ‘She’s scared. Of you, Addie: worried you’re gonna steal her spotlight.’ Gabe went to the fridge and peered inside. ‘Like I was when she came.’ He brought a slab of cheese to the table and hacked at it with a knife.

  ‘When, Gabe?’ she said. ‘When did you come here?’

  ‘When I was two.’ Gabe shook his head. ‘Man, you should see the photos! You think that foal’s cute!’ He shoved a huge chunk of cheese into his mouth. His cheeks bulged as he chewed.

  ‘But why don’t you live with your real parents?’ Addie said.

  Gabe swallowed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I do, Addie,’ he said. ‘And they’re the best.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Definitely room in here for another of those excellent scones. Any idea where Ma’s hidden them?’ He jumped from his chair and disappeared inside the pantry, humming another of his crazy tunes.

  Addie chewed at her bottom lip. She tried to make sense of what Gabe had said. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk about his real parents.

  Or maybe he’d forgotten them.

  Well, she could never, ever forget about Mam.

  She went across to the table, sat down. She separated the clay ponies from the other animals that Sunni had made. She stood the two smallest ones together, grouped the big ones around them in a tight circle. ‘There you go,’ she whispered. ‘You’re all together again now. A proper family.’

  Gabe reappeared with a packet of chocolate finger biscuits. ‘Either Ma’s got clever with her hiding places, or I was right about Tim,’ he said. ‘Not a scone in sight.’ He sat down next to Addie; grinned.

  ‘When is the foal going back to his family?’ Addie said.

  Gabe chewed; swallowed. ‘Difficult one,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, for a start, we don’t know where he’s from yet. Which herd.’

  Addie looked at the group of clay ponies, nose to tail on the table. ‘He knows,’ Addie said. ‘He could find them; find his mam. If you took him to the moor.’

  Gabe shook his head. ‘Not that simple,’ he said. ‘He belongs to someone. All the wild ponies do. Only he’s a late-born, so he got missed in the autumn round-ups. Must’ve wandered off.’

  ‘Round-ups?’

  ‘Yeah. Each year’s foals are rounded up before the winter sets in. Your little guy shouldn’t have been out there by himself. Not in all this.’ He waved his arm towards the window. ‘It’s not done him much good.’

  ‘He’s getting stronger already,’ Addie said. ‘So, when he’s better . . .’

  ‘There are rules, Addie. Whoever owns the herd he’s from gets to say where he goes. It’s weird, though, cos Sam’s already phoned round a bit and, so far, none of the owners has a mare missing, or a mare without her foal. But they’ll have a better idea once they’ve seen our little guy. Then they’ll decide what to do.’

  ‘When? When will they come?

  ‘When he’s a bit older. Couple of months on, when his proper coat starts to show. But, most likely, they won’t put him back out on the moor, anyway.’

  Addie stared at Gabe. A gust of hail hit the window.

  Gabe held his biscuit in mid-air. ‘Sam did tell you that, didn’t he?’

  Addie shook her head. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘That’s j
ust cruel.’

  ‘It’s complicated, Addie.’ Gabe looked up into the air, as if he was searching for his words there. ‘It’s to do with making sure that only the right babies get born. Only the pure-bloods. We don’t know if this foal is one of those.’

  ‘What does “pure-blood” mean?’ Addie asked. And how could it matter, anyway? she thought.

  ‘It means that both his parents have to be proper Exmoor ponies,’ Gabe explained. ‘Then he’ll be one, too, and not –’

  ‘He was born on the moor,’ Addie said, interrupting him. ‘So of course he’s an Exmoor pony.’

  Gabe took a bite of biscuit, chewed it slowly; swallowed. He shook his head. ‘No, not necessarily,’ he said. ‘Every now and again a Dartmoor pony finds its way on to Exmoor – I can show you where that is on Dad’s map, if you like. It’s quite a way for them, but they manage it sometimes.’

  Addie shook her head. She didn’t care about Dartmoor. Didn’t care where the foal’s parents came from.

  ‘So, one of his parents might be a stray Dartmoor,’ Gabe went on. ‘The experts can do a blood test to check, if they’re not sure, when the foal gets to about six months old. But even if he turns out to be a “pure-blood” Exmoor, he might get sold anyway. Boy foals often do, Dad says. Some for showing, if they look the way they should, but most get bought as riding ponies, or go to a sort of rescue centre, I think.’

  ‘Well, our foal has to go back where he came from,’ Addie said. ‘He needs to.’ The clay models wavered in front of her; their colours blurred and swam together. She stood up. Her chair scraped on the tiled floor. Flo sprang to her feet, eyes alert.

  ‘You can’t keep him away from his family just because of some stupid people and their stupid rules!’

  ‘Whoa.’ Gabe held up his hands. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ His eyes caught Addie’s. ‘Not good news today then? About your mum?’

  Addie opened her mouth; closed it. She flicked crumbs from the table.

  She felt Gabe’s eyes move away.

  ‘Anyway, like I said, it’s complicated with the foal.’ Gabe swept his fingers through his hair. ‘Best ask Dad,’ he said. ‘But those “stupid rules” – they’re there for the best. To do with conservation of the species and everything.’

  ‘For the best?’ Addie snatched the biscuit from Gabe’s hand and threw it on to the floor. Flo dived to collect it. ‘How can it be “for the best” to stop the foal from going home?’

  Addie clenched her fists, dug her nails into the soft skin of her palms. She jumped to her feet. ‘You’re just like Penny,’ she shouted. ‘Deciding things. Thinking you know best. Well, you don’t. You’re all just mean, mean, mean. And horrible.’ She glared at Gabe. ‘All of you.’

  Ruth’s best blue plates rattled on the dresser as Addie yanked the door open and charged into the hall. Fire fizzed in her arms and legs. She wanted to kick out like the foal. To run.

  Jude was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, still wearing one of his green frog wellies. His usually pale cheeks were red and blotchy. His shoulders shook. He glanced up at her, his eyes wide; afraid.

  What had happened with Tim?

  Where was Sunni?

  Addie took a deep breath. She sat down beside Jude and tried to be still.

  ‘Ruth’s coming,’ she said. ‘She won’t be long.’

  ‘Maybe your foal would like to meet Jude this morning,’ Ruth said. ‘What do you think, Addie?’ She cleared Addie and Jude’s untouched porridge bowls on to the worktop and sat down at the table next to Jude. His chair screeched on the tiles as he wriggled it away from her.

  Addie looked at Ruth. There was a small line between her eyebrows. Like an exclamation mark. Addie hadn’t noticed it before.

  ‘Don’t know,’ she said. She glanced at Jude. ‘The foal’s still really scared.’

  Jude lifted his head, turned to Addie. His face was paler than ever, the shadows beneath his eyes deeper; darker. He hadn’t slept either, then.

  Addie had heard him whimpering through the night. She had pulled her pillow over her ears to stop Jude’s sadness from creeping into her head next to her own. There wasn’t any room left.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I suppose. If he wants to.’

  ‘He does,’ Sunni said.

  Jude got down from his seat; stood next to it, stiff and still.

  ‘Told you,’ Sunni said. She scraped her spoon around her bowl. ‘Me too,’ she said, through her last mouthful of porridge. ‘Only later. I’m helping Gabe, learning to work Flo.’ She stuck her chin in the air. ‘Gabe says I’m born to be a shepherd.’

  Addie thought of Sunni’s delicate dresses; her silver bangles and polished hair. Her sharp voice and bossy ways. She couldn’t see her having anything to do with cold fields or the nervous, runaway sheep that Gabe talked about.

  And the foal wouldn’t like her, anyway.

  ‘Come on, Jude,’ Addie said. ‘The foal’s waiting for his breakfast.’

  ‘Hats, coats and scarves,’ Ruth said. She smiled at Addie, mouthed a thank-you. ‘Both of you, now.’

  Jude pushed his arms into the sleeves of his duffel coat, very slowly, as if there might be something inside that would bite him. He swung away from Addie when she tried to help him with the stiff toggles. He refused to put on his boots until Addie opened the door, then he stood on the outside mat and pushed his feet into them. His toes pointed in opposite directions. He took the boots off, inspected them; put them back on the right way round.

  Addie stifled a sigh. He was taking forever. She leaned against the wall. Waited.

  The air smelled clean. Icicles hung like silver swords from the edges of the porch. Addie reached towards one of them. A shiver of crystal water ran down her wrist and under the sleeve of her coat.

  A small brown bird hopped across the yard in the direction of the barn. It left a trail of tiny forked footprints in the snow.

  ‘Look, Jude,’ Addie said. ‘Let’s follow the bird. Come on.’

  Jude stuffed both hands into his pockets and shuffled after Addie. The bird hopped ahead of them, then flew on to a stone mounting block by the barn, its breast a tiny red flag to mark the spot. A robin. It stared at her, tilted its head to one side. It looked friendly. Nothing like the scrawny sparrows that picked over chip papers and Coke cans on the common behind Addie’s house.

  The robin spread its wings and took off as Addie and Jude came close. It perched on Sam’s old tractor for a moment and was gone.

  ‘Follow me inside, Jude,’ Addie said. ‘Slowly, OK?’ The warning wasn’t really needed, she thought. Jude did everything slowly. Except eating.

  She pressed her shoulder against the barn door, eased it open a little. She heard the scrape of the foal’s hooves as he got to his feet inside his pen.

  Jude shook his head.

  Addie reached a hand towards him. ‘It’s all right. Come on.’

  Jude pointed away from the barn, towards the fields beyond the stone wall that edged the yard.

  ‘What is it, Jude? We have to feed the foal. He’s waiting for us.’

  Jude pointed again. He jabbed furiously into the air, in the direction of the fields beyond the barn. His eyes widened, pressed into Addie’s as if to tell her something important.

  ‘What, Jude? What?’

  Jude turned and ran behind the barn. Addie stared after him.

  Jude. Running. She hadn’t seen that before.

  ‘Jude!’ she shouted.

  Where was he going? He wasn’t allowed to go off on his own. Addie looked back at the barn door; listened. The foal would wonder why she hadn’t come to him. But she had to go and see what Jude was up to.

  He was waiting by a narrow gate that led from the yard into fields and meadows beyond. He opened it, slid through to the other side, and beckoned for Addie to follow him.

  He flapped his arms, hopped from one foot to the other. What was he trying to say?

  He took off across the field.

  The ground was
rutted and slippery with partly melted snow and ice. Addie struggled to keep her balance as she hurried after Jude. How come he was managing to move so quickly for once? She caught up with him as he climbed over a small stile. He lost his footing and slid to the ground on his bottom among a green-brown sludge of muddy snow.

  Addie jumped down next to him. ‘What’re you doing?’ she said. ‘You can’t just run off.’

  Jude inspected his hands, brushed them together. His nose wrinkled. Red spots appeared on both his cheeks. He rubbed at the stains on his jeans. His mouth opened wide; closed again. His breath escaped in ragged white puffs.

  ‘You’re all right,’ Addie said. What would she do if he had one of his meltdowns out here? She shouldn’t have agreed to take him to see the foal; she should have asked Ruth to bring him herself.

  Jude took a deep breath in. Then another. He got to his feet. He pointed ahead with a mud-stained finger. Addie followed his gaze.

  In one corner of the field, a great oak tree dwarfed everything around it. The trunk was divided, riven almost in two for several feet upwards, so that the tree seemed to straddle the ground with giant legs. Bare branches clutched at the sky like the claws of some long-dead creature. Jude slowed down and walked towards it. He kept checking back to see that Addie was following. He picked his way over great roots that poked through the snow, steadying himself with one hand against the vast trunk.

  Addie stumbled, looked down to see where to tread safely. When she looked up, Jude was nowhere to be seen.

  Her feet slipped and twisted between the roots. She trailed a hand against the tree for balance, as Jude had done. The bark was rough and cold, pitted with knots and craters.

  She peered into the dark belly of the ruined oak. Jude’s face loomed from the musty blackness, pale as the moon. His white hands lifted and fell like wings.

  A yellow beam blinded Addie. She stepped back. The beam of light waved up and down, then flicked off. On. Off again.

  Torchlight. Jude had a torch.

  ‘Where’d that come from?’ Addie said.

  Jude emerged and stood beside Addie. He directed the torch beam inside the hollow. It split and danced in the darkness. Specks of light flitted like a thousand fireflies in the black space. Addie was blinded by their frantic spin.