Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 9

  Addie stared at Sunni. ‘Why d’you always make things up?’ She swivelled round on her chair to look at Ruth. ‘Ruth wouldn’t keep them in the kitchen if they were poisonous, would you, Ruth?’

  ‘No, love,’ Ruth said. She tousled Sunni’s hair and pulled a bloom from the jug to show Jude. ‘It’s true that the actual plants are poisonous. You wouldn’t want to eat them. But the flowers are so lovely, aren’t they? We used to collect armfuls of bluebell flowers when I was a little girl.’ She trailed her fingers through the drooped blue heads. ‘And so did lots of other people. That’s the problem. And that’s why Gabe should know better. Even if he was only trying to do something nice for his ma.’ She slipped the bluebell back into the water. ‘There aren’t too many proper British bluebells left now. They’re dying out, so we’re not supposed to pick them any more.’

  ‘Is it the law?’ Jude said.

  Sunni cupped her ear with one hand. ‘Oooh,’ she said. ‘I think I can hear police sirens . . .’

  ‘It is the law, Jude,’ Ruth said. ‘But don’t worry. Sunni’s only teasing you. The law is just to make sure that bluebells will always be around for people to look at in the future.’

  ‘So they’re endangered,’ Addie said. ‘Like the Exmoor ponies.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Ruth said.

  Sunni flopped down in the chair opposite Addie, fiddled with a coloured pencil. ‘Like the real Exmoor ponies, anyway,’ she said. ‘Not half-bloods like Addie’s precious baby.’

  Addie felt heat rise in her face. Sunni wasn’t just mean; she was stupid as well. ‘The foal’s not a half-anything,’ she hissed. ‘He’s just himself. And he’s perfect.’

  ‘Sunni, let’s wait and see what the pony experts say, shall we?’ Ruth handed Jude his colouring book and pencils, gave Addie the watercolour pencils she had brought from home. Mam’s watercolour pencils. In the box with her name on the top in black letters.

  ‘And try to be nice to each other now, please. Maybe you’d like to sketch something too, Sunni? How about one of those beautiful birds you and Mira saw?’

  ‘I was just saying.’ Sunni folded her arms across her chest. ‘Anyone can see that foal’s not a pure-blood now his winter coat’s nearly gone.’ Her eyes darted across Addie’s face and hair. ‘He’s not the right colour.’

  ‘Sunni, come with me. Now. We need a bit of a chat,’ Ruth said, her expression severe for the first time since Addie had met her. ‘And a bit of fresh air. Then you can have a think about what you need to say to Addie.’ She held open the door.

  Sunni shoved her chair back and flounced across the room. ‘I wouldn’t draw those bluebells if I were you, Addie,’ she said from the doorway. ‘They’re evidence. Gabe might get arrested if anyone sees what you’ve done.’

  Ruth ushered Sunni from the room. ‘Back in a minute,’ she said. ‘Just shout if you need me, you two.’

  Jude sidled up to Addie. ‘Sunni’s only joking,’ he said. ‘She’s just being silly.’

  Addie looked at him. Sunni was his friend. She’d given up her treehouse. For him and for Thomas. ‘Course she is,’ she said. ‘She’s hilarious.’

  It would be no good relying on Jude to keep their plans for the foal a secret from Sunni. Not for long, anyway. Addie would need to be careful about what she told him. ‘Come on, Jude,’ she said. ‘Let’s see if we’ve got the right colours and get drawing.’

  She sorted through Mam’s box until she found the perfect blue and a light apple-green. She began to draw.

  Jude leaned close to her, watched as the bell-like blooms and long green stems came to life on her paper pad. He pushed his packet of crayons in front of her. ‘Do primroses now,’ he said. ‘My primroses. Please, Addie.’

  Addie’s hand hovered above the packet of coloured pencils. ‘What, with these?’ Nobody was allowed to use Jude’s crayons. Nobody was even allowed to touch them.

  Jude nodded. ‘But don’t press hard. ’Case they break.’

  Addie sharpened a dark green crayon. She drew the wide, crinkled primrose leaves, pencilled in the dark veins, like Mam had showed her. She outlined petals in soft grey and filled them in with lemon yellow, pressing lightly on the paper to achieve their delicate shade.

  Jude watched, chin in hands. ‘Wow,’ he said, every so often. ‘Wow, Addie.’

  Addie held her drawing up to the light. ‘Finished,’ she said. ‘Now my mam will see your primroses too, Jude.’

  Jude reached for the sketch and laid it on the table. He traced the edge of a flower with one finger. ‘It’s pretty,’ he said. ‘Like a real one.’

  ‘You draw some now,’ Addie said. ‘For Thomas. Tim can tell the foster carers to put your picture over his cot, so he can see it every day.’

  Jude clutched Addie’s drawing to his chest. ‘I can’t do it right,’ he said.

  ‘You can,’ Addie said. ‘It will be right,’ she said. ‘For Thomas.’ She handed him the green crayon.

  Jude chewed at the end of it. ‘You,’ he said. ‘You do it.’

  Addie opened his sketch book. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Look. Draw them here, next to this one.’ She pointed to a picture of Jude with the foal: the first picture he had drawn of himself with a smile. The first picture he had drawn of himself with a mouth at all. ‘You can give Thomas that one as well. It’s really special.’

  Jude looked up at Addie. His eyes caught the light from the window.

  ‘Will the magic work for Thomas too?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  Jude bent his head closer. ‘The magic. From the foal. Will it make Thomas’s legs better?’

  ‘What do you mean, Jude?’

  ‘You know. How the foal made me talk again.’ He held his hand to his face and whispered behind it. ‘Does magic work in a picture?’

  Addie stared at him. The kitchen was silent except for the hum of the fridge. The wind outside suddenly stilled, as if listening for Addie’s answer.

  ‘It might, Jude,’ she said. She slotted the green crayon into the sharpener, turned it. A thin shaving of wood curled on to the table. ‘You never know.’

  Jude swept shavings into his hand, put them in his pocket. He lined up his crayons in front of him and began to draw. When Ruth and Sunni came back into the room, he bent low over the table, guarded his work with one arm curled round the page.

  Sunni had Ruth’s laptop under her arm. She slammed it down on the table next to Addie. ‘You can have my turn with this, if you want,’ she said.

  ‘And?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Sorry.’ Sunni’s eyes slid sideways towards Ruth. ‘For being mean.’

  ‘Well done, Sunni.’ Ruth handed her a bowl of fat green apples and a knife with rope twisted round the handle. ‘Now, want to help me make this apple pie? You’re the best apple peeler I know. But wash those hands first, mind; we don’t want soil with our apples.’ She smiled across at Addie.

  ‘We’ve been planting veg, Addie,’ she said. ‘Lettuce, peas and beans.’

  ‘In my own vegetable patch,’ Sunni said. ‘Just mine.’ She went to the sink, turned on the tap. ‘But you can have some of my vegetables, Jude, when they’re ready.’

  She shook water from her hands as she walked back to her seat. Small spatters appeared on Addie’s drawing, blurring the message she had written for Mam, underneath the jar of bluebells. Addie would have to start again.

  ‘We thought you could all have a patch of garden, actually,’ Ruth said. ‘You can all choose some seeds to plant and help them grow. Sunni grew some fantastic carrots last year, didn’t you, love?’

  Sunni grinned. ‘Better than yours,’ she said. ‘And I’m going to beat you with my peas this time too.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Ruth laughed. ‘You have green fingers there.’

  Jude looked across at Sunni, stared at her hands. ‘Flowers,’ he said. ‘I want to grow flowers.’

  Sunni twirled an apple in her hand, pointed the peeler at Addie. ‘You did know vegetables come out of the ground?’ she
said. She dug the edge of her knife into the apple. A droplet of clear juice appeared and ran down the shiny green skin. ‘Not just out of tins?’

  ‘Very funny,’ Addie said. She turned her chair away from Sunni and pulled her drawing pad on to her lap. She thought of her tiny garden at home: the grey gravel and dry, dusty, soil. Nothing grew there any more. Not even weeds. It might be nice to plant some seeds here on the farm; to see new shoots push through the dark earth, new leaves stretching towards the sun. To feel proud, like Jude with his meadow flowers.

  But there’d be no time for that.

  Addie would ask Ruth for some seeds that would grow indoors in a pot. Then she and Mam would watch them grow together.

  Jude’s primroses had flame-red leaves and orange flowers.

  ‘Best primroses ever,’ Addie said. ‘Look, Ruth.’

  ‘Lovely, Jude,’ Ruth said. ‘Sunshine flowers.’

  Jude glanced at Addie’s drawing again. ‘It’s rubbish,’ he said. ‘I did the colours wrong.’ He scrunched his picture into a ball and shoved it into his pocket. Pencil shavings fell to the floor.

  ‘No, that’s brilliant, Jude. It’s proper art.’ Addie pulled the laptop towards her. ‘Look, I’ll show you.’

  Sunni looked up from crimping the edge of Ruth’s apple pie with a fork.

  ‘In the snug,’ Addie said. She scooped up the laptop and her drawings. ‘Come on, Jude.’

  Widget curled up beside Addie and Jude on the baggy sofa in the corner of the snug. Ruth brought milk and biscuits and settled herself in an armchair with some of her papers. Widget purred.

  Addie showed Jude some of the things Mam had shown her: Van Gogh’s giant, wavy sunflowers; Monet’s lilies floating on blue-green rivers and ponds; Picasso’s wild scribbles and sliding faces.

  ‘See, Jude,’ Addie said. ‘You can draw things how you want; colour them how you want.’

  Jude gazed at the images on the screen. Their colours danced in his eyes. ‘Let’s do more art,’ he said. He jumped up and hurried from the room. The smell of baking apples and sweet pastry drifted in through the open door.

  Ruth smiled. ‘Well done, Addie,’ she whispered.

  Addie went back to the kitchen, sat at the table with Jude, listened to the excited scratch of his pencil and crayons, and smiled at him each time he looked up. But she didn’t feel like doing any more drawing.

  Art belonged to her and Mam. Had she given it away?

  She put Mam’s watercolour pencils back in their case and closed the zip. Tight.

  The café was quiet, as Penny had said it would be. Addie chose a table outside, by the river, so she could see Mam walking towards her. Penny went inside to order a milkshake that Addie knew she wouldn’t be able to drink.

  Addie took her bluebell picture from the back pocket of her jeans. She brushed the surface of the table with her hand, put the picture down and tried to smooth out the lines where it had been folded. She stood a silver salt cellar on top of it so that it wouldn’t be blown on to the floor among the dust and crumbs.

  A woman was feeding a baby at the next table, a shawl draped across her chest. The baby’s small hand gripped one of her fingers. The woman smiled at Addie, then looked back down at her baby and stroked its cheek. The sky was almost-summer blue.

  Addie chewed at her thumb. She looked up and down the riverside walkway, scanned the stone bridge and the paved path beyond. Which way would Mam come?

  ‘Here we are, Addie,’ Penny said, handing her the milkshake. ‘I got you a strawberry one. And I thought we might need something to keep us all going.’ She slid a plate of chocolate brownies in front of her. ‘Your favourite, right?’

  ‘What time is it?’ Addie said. She couldn’t even look at the chocolate brownies. She felt sick.

  Penny took her phone from her bag. Sunlight flashed on its silver casing. ‘Just a sec, Addie.’ She scrolled at her phone with her thumb.

  Addie stared out across the river. A duck dipped its head under the water, surfaced, swam back behind its babies and ushered them forward in a line through the dark green water.

  ‘Ah,’ Penny said. She put a hand on Addie’s arm. ‘Addie, there’s a text from Lois – my colleague who was collecting your mum . . .’

  Addie dragged her eyes to Penny’s face. The sound of river water rushed in her ears.

  ‘Your mum’s not there, Addie. Lois has waited, but she’s got to go in a minute, Addie. She’s got another appointment.’ Penny leaned closer, tucked a strand of Addie’s wild hair behind her ear. Like Mam used to do. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think your mum’s going to make it today.’

  Addie batted Penny’s hand away. ‘She’s coming,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t . . . She . . . she’s coming by herself and she’s just late. Mam’s always late. For everything.’ She stared into Penny’s eyes; willed her to understand. ‘She probably just got the time wrong. She gets muddled up. You know she does. I’m waiting till she gets here.’ Addie crossed her arms, pressed her fingernails into her palms. ‘You can go if you want.’

  Penny smiled. The straight, sad smile: the one that said that she was right and Addie was wrong. ‘Maybe this just isn’t the right time, Addie,’ she said. ‘Maybe your mum’s not ready after all.’

  Addie’s throat felt cold and tight. It ached, as if she’d eaten too much ice cream much too quickly. She covered her face with her hands; wished she could bury her head in the foal’s warm neck and hear his heartbeat, strong and sure in her ears.

  She pictured Mam walking across the bridge towards the café. Her red-gold hair lifted as she moved, spread around her face like sunshine; her blue velvet bag swung from one shoulder – the bag Addie had made for her birthday. Mam was smiling her old smile; holding out her arms to Addie. She smelled of paint and clay and apple shampoo.

  Addie had dreamed it a hundred times.

  She sat up straight, stared Penny in the eye. ‘She’s coming,’ she said. She climbed up on her chair, scanned the street, the bridge, the riverbank. ‘Which way is the bus station?’

  ‘Addie, sit down, sweetheart. Please,’ Penny said. ‘Have your drink, then we’ll go and find somewhere quieter to have a talk about things.’ She slid Addie’s milkshake across the table towards her.

  Bubbles drifted across the top of the glass. Addie watched them burst against the side. She saw another glass: the tilt of dark wine inside it. She saw the wine disappear and slither, ruby red, across Mam’s eyes. Saw it steal her away.

  Today it was supposed to give her back.

  Addie’s head felt tighter and tighter inside, like it might burst, too.

  ‘I’m waiting here,’ she said. She threw herself back down in her chair and shoved the glass of milkshake towards Penny. It toppled and fell, rolled to the floor.

  Penny jumped backwards, stood up and brushed at the spatters on her white shirt.

  A slow pink river spread across the table; drip, drip, dripped from the edge on to the chair meant for Addie’s mam.

  Addie snatched the bluebell picture on to her lap. She looked down at the growing puddle of milk by her feet. Pieces of glass protruded from it: large and jagged; small and sharp. Treacherous islands in a pink sea.

  A waitress hurried over with a dustpan and brush. ‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back with a mop.’ She bent to sweep up the glass.

  Penny dabbed at the table with paper napkins. She said sorry to the waitress three times. She didn’t say sorry to Addie.

  Addie pointed at Penny. ‘It was her fault,’ she said to the waitress. ‘Let her do it.’

  A purple-haired girl on the next table stood up to leave. She grinned at Addie. ‘Go, girl,’ she mouthed, and lobbed a fat chip into the river. Two ducks slid under the water, emerged, spread their wings and reared up in challenge. She threw another.

  A seagull sailed low above Addie’s head, screeched, and landed on the nearby metal sign. It stared across at Addie with half-closed eyes, then swooped in and snatched a c
hunk of her untouched chocolate brownie with its hooked beak. Its great white wings beat the air as it took off with its prize. Crumbs skittered in the draught, landed in Addie’s lap. The mother at the next table called to the waitress for her bill and drew the shawl closely round her sleeping baby.

  ‘Ugh! Horrible, vicious things, seagulls,’ Penny said, pulling the plate with the remains of the brownie quickly away from Addie. ‘Nasty sharp beaks and claws.’ She looked around, looked upwards; scanned the sky with one hand held over her eyes.

  ‘He was just hungry, that’s all,’ Addie said. ‘And he’s gone now, anyway.’

  Penny grabbed her purse from her bag and put two pound coins on the table for the waitress. ‘Let’s move over there.’ She pointed to the riverbank. ‘Come on, Addie. Quickly. We can sit on the grass and feed the rest of this cake to the ducks, instead of those greedy gulls. And you can still see the café while we talk. OK?’

  They waited for an hour. People clattered over the bridge, wandered up and down the street, took seats in the café. Waitresses wiped tables. Penny threw cake for the ducks. They didn’t seem to want it.

  Addie held on tightly to her bluebell picture.

  The sun faded. The surface of the river shivered. Mothers and fathers pulled jackets from bags, tried to coax children into wearing them. Penny kept talking, explaining, wondering how Addie was doing. Addie heard her questions from the end of a long tunnel. She was floating there. It was lonely and cold.

  Mam hadn’t come.

  Mam wasn’t going to come.

  ‘Addie? Addie, sweetheart!’

  Fingers brushed Addie’s cheek.

  Penny. What was she saying? Addie tried to focus on her face. It was blurry at the edges.

  ‘We really are going to have to make our way home now, Addie,’ Penny said, ‘so I’m not too late for my meeting. But then I’ll go straight to Riverfields and see what I can find out about your mum. I promise. My guess is that she felt scared, when it came to it.’ Penny leaned in closer. ‘Your mum feels guilty, Addie. And that’s because she loves you very much.’ She sat back again, held out her hand, palm upwards. ‘I think it’s going to rain. Let’s make our way home now, love.’