Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

      ‘No, she’s not! And don’t touch my things either.’ Addie snatched her pyjama jacket back from Sunni.

      ‘I don’t like pyjamas,’ Sunni said. ‘I like nightdresses. This is my favourite.’ She twirled round twice to show if off. It was blue and green, like peacock feathers.

      ‘Mam and me like pyjamas,’ Addie said. ‘We don’t wear dresses.’

      Sunni pulled a face and flung herself down on her bed. ‘Where’s your dad, then?’ she said.

      ‘Haven’t got one.’

      ‘Everyone’s got one. Didn’t your mum tell you who yours is?’

      ‘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