Snow Foal

‘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.

‘Want your mam too, don’t you?’ Addie said, her words ragged, thin. She covered her face with her hands and tried to control her own breathing. When she moved them away, the foal was staring at her, his wide dark eyes shimmering in the yellow light.

‘Hello,’ Addie said.

The foal stretched his neck towards her, struggled to move his body free of the blankets. Addie saw that his mane was wild with knots and caked with mud. A shrivelled leaf clung there.

She slid down on to the straw and reached towards him, her hand hovering, unsure. The foal nudged it with a velvet nose, then rested his head on her knee. It was as light as air; barely there at all. Addie kept still; hardly dared to breathe. She watched his long eyelashes flutter and close; smelled his earthy scent.

‘That’s it,’ she whispered. ‘You just sleep.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Sam told Ruth. ‘Not even Gabe could get near that foal.’

Ruth looked up from her mixing bowl, pointed towards Addie with a buttery spoon. ‘Well done, Addie,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the magic touch.’

Sunni bounced into the kitchen. A rainbow-bright bag swung from her shoulder.

‘Who has?’ she said.

Addie shrugged. ‘I just sat there,’ she told Sam.

‘Oh, her,’ Sunni said. She flung herself on to the chair opposite Addie; glared at her.

Gabe took off his jacket. He leaned over Ruth’s shoulder, stuck a finger into her mixing bowl and wandered across to Sunni. He placed a dollop of yellow cake mixture on her nose and grinned at Addie. ‘Like I said, Addie, you’re the chosen one.’

‘I wouldn’t choose her for anything,’ Sunni muttered. She shook the contents of her bag on to the table. A purple slipper and a torn magazine fell to the floor.

‘Dirty clothes in the washer, please, Sunni,’ Ruth said. ‘And let’s try to be kind, shall we?’

Sam raised his eyebrows at Sunni. She bundled her nightdress, jumper and jeans back into the bag, picked up her magazine. ‘So-rry,’ she said.

She wasn’t.

No one was ever sorry. Not the boys in Addie’s street, with their sharp, twisting finger burns on her skin. Not the girls who blew smoke in her face outside Mr Borovski’s shop, and called her mam names as she hurried past them.

Addie lifted her chin and looked away. Sunni wasn’t important. But just let her say one thing about her mam.

Sam sat down, held his hands towards the fire. ‘What Gabe means, Addie, is that it’s something special – that sort of affinity with a wild creature. That foal’s so young and scared, too. To be honest, we thought he would shut down and give up. So did the vet.’

‘Better hang around a bit after all, Addie,’ Sunni said. ‘Or he might die.’ She picked up her magazine, flicked through the pages. ‘No pressure.’

Sam glanced at Ruth. He looked back at Sunni, his mouth a firm line. ‘How much sleep did you get at Mira’s, young lady?’

Sunni shrugged.

‘Gabe, how about you give Sunni another guitar lesson?’ Ruth said. ‘She needs something to do, I think.’

‘Come on then, trouble,’ Gabe said. ‘Long as you promise not to play better than me this time.’

‘Lunch in half an hour, mind,’ Ruth called as Sunni jumped to her feet. She put a tray of muffin cases on the table. ‘Perhaps you’d like to help me with these, Addie. Then we can ice them later.’

‘I’m tired,’ said Addie. ‘No. Thanks.’

‘It’s all that pony whispering,’ said Sam. ‘Hard work.’ He stretched back in the chair, crossed his ankles and ran his hands over his shock of dark hair. Addie watched him. He seemed so calm and relaxed. Was he always that way?

Addie jumped as Ruth slammed the oven door closed.

‘Don’t let me forget those cakes, Addie,’ she said. ‘They’re a new recipe. I’m practising for Jude’s birthday cake.’

‘It’s his birthday?’ said Addie. ‘When? Is his mam coming?’

‘No, love, she isn’t.’ But we’ll make it really special for him, won’t we?’ She smiled at Addie. ‘Its next month. Soon be here.’

Addie put her head in her hands. Why wasn’t anybody listening? She wasn’t going to be here next month. She wasn’t going to be here for even one more day.

Sam shifted in his chair, cleared his throat. Ruth’s hand was on Addie’s shoulder.

Addie pulled away and clattered up the stairs. She threw herself on her bed, listened to the twang of Sunni’s guitar through the wall. Gabe’s voice rose and fell; Sunni giggled. Addie curled in a tight ball and thought of the foal under his blankets in the dark barn. She hoped he wouldn’t give up and fade away now that she’d left him all alone.

The snow didn’t stop the next day or the one after that. Penny didn’t come.

She rang, said that she’d be there just as soon as the snow let up a bit. She said Mam sent her love and that she was doing OK. Her voice went up at the end of the sentence, like she was making that bit it up – wishing that it was true.

The rain arrived on Saturday. And Penny was coming, too. Even though it was the weekend. Addie didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. Jude’s social worker, Tim, was giving Penny a lift in his special jeep, which was good for winter weather. Addie wondered why nobody had thought of that before.

Her stomach tightened every time she thought about what Penny might say when she got here. Might she take Addie home, after all?

Addie couldn’t swallow her toast at breakfast. She didn’t feel like talking, so she curled up on the window seat and pretended to read. Rain hit the window in fat circles, then ran to the sill in crazy rivers; stole the frost feathers from the glass. Addie kept an eye on the tall clock by the door. Its black hands never seemed to move.

Ruth brought Jude into the kitchen, fresh from the shower. His hair twisted in damp ringlets on his forehead. His wide blue eyes scanned the room and held Addie’s for a small moment.

‘Jude’s going to help make some scones, aren’t you?’ Ruth said. ‘Penny and Tim can have some with their coffee.’ She put an enormous mixing bowl on the table. ‘Want to help, Addie?’ She went to a cupboard, began piling ingredients on the bench and took milk from the fridge.

‘Dunno,’ Addie said. Social workers drank lots of coffee. She knew that. But she wasn’t sure they should get scones to go with it.

Jude sat down at the table, his face barely visible above the rim of the bowl. He stared at Addie, wooden spoon in hand.

‘OK then,’ Addie said. ‘I suppose.’

She and Jude stirred butter and sugar, piled glistening cherries into the bowl. It was hard work. Addie’s arms ached.

Jude held the sieve while she tipped in flour bit by bit. It lifted in a white cloud when he shook the sieve, dusted their wrists and hands. Addie faked a huge sneeze. Jude’s lips twitched, as if he might smile. He didn’t. Maybe he had forgotten how to do that too.

‘Goodness,’ Ruth said, laughing, ‘it’s snowing indoors now!’

She showed them how to push the sticky mixture from the spoon with one finger; how to make little piles on silver trays for the oven. Jude screamed at Ruth about a speck of mixture on his T-shirt. Ruth took him upstairs to change.

Addie thought they would be a while. That was the only T-shirt Jude had agreed to wear since Addie arrived. She went back to the window seat and peered through the blur of rain into the yard. She breathed in the warm smell of the scones as they baked. She tried to remember the last time she had baked with Mam – kneeling on a chair to reach the table, feeling the crack of eggshell under her thumb, the yellow stickiness of yolk between her fingers and running down her arm. She heard Mam’s voice. ‘Go on, never mind, Addie. Try another . . .’

She thought of the eggs in Ruth and Sam’s henhouse; of the mother hens, with their nodding heads and ugly claws, their wing feathers softly spread to protect their babies inside those fragile shells.

She tried to hear Mam’s voice again. It wouldn’t come.

Feet thundered down the stairs and the kitchen door swung wide. It banged against the wall. Sunni struggled in, laptop clutched to her chest, books and a bunch of papers tucked under her arm. She slid the laptop on to the table and thumped the books down. Pieces of paper slid to the floor.

‘Don’t help then,’ she said.

‘OK,’ Addie said. ‘I won’t.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, Ruth said you had to work in the bedroom. On your own.’ She hoped that Ruth wouldn’t be gone too long after all.

Ruth appeared a minute or two later, holding a red-faced Jude by the hand. He was still wearing his Batman T-shirt. It had a dark, wet patch right across Batman’s face. Jude was holding the damp material away from his body, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

‘Sit here, Jude,’ Ruth said, pointing to the rocking chair by the fire. ‘It’ll dry before Tim gets here, don’t worry.’

‘He won’t be here for ages,’ said Sunni. ‘The roads will be even worse now, all icy under the snow. His jeep will probably get stuck.’

Addie glared at her. Sunni flicked her hair over her shoulders and bent over her books. ‘Mira’s dad said,’ she added, as if that meant it must be true. ‘He does loads of driving.’

‘I think they’ll be fine, Sunni,’ Ruth said. She smiled at Addie and Jude. ‘Tim’s car has special tyres for the snow, hasn’t it, Jude? It’ll get icy overnight, for sure. But not yet.’ She handed Sunni a glass of milk. ‘You might be better off in your room, Sunni, love,’ she said, ‘or in the snug. You need to concentrate on that homework and get it finished.’

‘Don’t see why I have to do it anyway,’ Sunni said. ‘On a Saturday.’

‘Because you didn’t want to do it on a Friday!’ Ruth laughed, shook her head. ‘I don’t know! See how you get on at the table in here then. But no annoying the other two, or back you go.’

Sunni smirked at Addie, sat down and opened the laptop. Addie turned away; listened to the tap of Sunni’s fingers on the keys, the clatter of tins, the surge of the water, as Ruth washed the baking things in the sink. Ruth was always so busy. Addie should offer to help. She didn’t.

Jude curled up in the rocking chair, his knees under his chin. Widget jumped on his lap. He pushed him off, brushed at his trousers. Addie watched him rock back and forth; back and forth. The wooden rockers ticked off the seconds on the tiled floor.

Sunni looked up from the laptop and slammed it shut. ‘I’m too tired,’ she said. She pointed at Addie with her pen. ‘Why doesn’t she have to do school work?’ She pulled her mouth down at the edges. ‘Think you’re so lucky, Addie,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to get miles behind everyone else. Not so lucky then.’

Ruth shook her head. ‘What did I say, Sunni?’ She smiled an apology at Addie. Her eyes were kind; crinkled at the corners. ‘You’ll be fine, Addie,’ she said. ‘We’ll make sure you catch up before you go. You can join Gabe for his home-school sessions, if you like. It’ll be fun, I promise.’

‘Right,’ Sunni said. She snorted, looked away.

Ruth dried her hands on a red-spotted tea towel. ‘You’re really a kind girl, Sunni, I know. So let’s have no more of that. Come on, show me how far you’ve got.’ She sat down next to Sunni, opened the laptop and rested an arm across Sunni’s shoulders.

‘I like school work,’ Addie said. ‘I like school. If I wasn’t stuck out here, I’d be there.’ She stretched out on the window seat, folded her arms behind her head. ‘And I wouldn’t keep moaning about homework.’

She missed school. She did.

School the way it used to be.

She remembered her first classrooms: the rainbow colours, the clamour of voices, the books with their secrets and puzzles. The new words that stretched her tongue; the new ideas that made her brain fizz. She remembered the shiny corridors, the smell of polish and roast potatoes; the soft, sticky warmth of Hattie’s hand in hers as they skipped on summer grass.