Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

shook. Addie knew that he was trying to push something back down deep inside. Into the hollow place where the tears stay.

      She got down from the table. She couldn’t look at him any more.

       As Addie reached her house, the first few drops of icy rain landed in her hair.

       There was no sound from behind the front door. Addie rummaged in her coat pocket for her key. It had slipped through the hole and into the lining. Again. She needed to remember about that hole. Her tummy rumbled as she pinned her bread and milk under one arm, and wriggled the key free from the coat lining. Her cold fingers were clumsy, slow. The carton of milk slid from her grasp, bounced on the broken edge of the step and exploded like a white bomb on the gravel path. Milk splashed the air, trickled between the tiny stones. Addie watched it disappear.

       So much for breakfast.

       No more milk. No more money.

       She’d really done it now.

       She scooped up the empty carton and hurried inside before anyone could see. She sat down at the bottom of the stairs, stared up at the clay figures on the bookshelf beside her. She remembered the softness of the clay in her hands, the warmth of Mam’s fingers on her own as they pushed and pulled the figures in to life. The clay people stared past her with their empty eyes.

       Hail rattled on the window, doors slammed, children called, cars stuttered into life.

       The letterbox lifted; fell.

       Mam slept on.

       Then the siren, coloured lights splitting the frost on the window: spinning across the floor; spinning over Addie.

       Heavy boots on the gravel, the ring, ring, ring of the doorbell, the thump of fists on the door.

       Who had told? Darren’s mam? Mrs Crabtree?

       It didn’t matter. It was too late now anyway.

      Addie opened the blue-handled drawers and gathered up her neatly folded clothes. She stuffed them into her bag.

      ‘You’ll only have to put it all back,’ Sunni said. She pulled a navy sweatshirt over her head. ‘You’ll see.’

      Addie ignored her. She didn’t know anything.

      ‘And don’t ever put stuff on my shelf again. All right?’

      Something flew past Addie’s ear as she bent over her bag. Jude’s green cup. It hit the wall, fell on to Addie’s bed. She reached for it, felt the weight of it in her hand. She could throw it right back at Sunni. She wouldn’t miss.

      ‘All right?’ Sunni poked her finger hard into Addie’s back.

      Addie glared at her over one shoulder, squeezed the cup hard. ‘I’m going home. I told you.’ She clenched her teeth so tightly that a pain shot up her cheek.

      ‘Whatever. Hang your bag up behind the door. I like my room tidy.’ Sunni stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

      Addie stared at Sunni’s stupid shelf, with its stupid family of stupid elephants. She pushed the biggest one with her finger. It fell, taking three others with it. They slid into a heap of legs, trunks, and shiny, black bead eyes. A small china horse slid with them and fell to the floor. Addie pushed at the broken pieces with the toe of her trainer, hid them under Sunni’s bed. Served her right.

      She went to the bathroom. She rinsed and dried Jude’s cup and put it back exactly where she’d found it. She splashed water on her face, caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink – saw the usual smudges under her eyes, the usual wild frizz of hair. She dried herself on someone’s pink towel and tugged her fingers through her tightly knotted curls. Her dad’s curls. She hated the reminder of him. Hated him. Why couldn’t she have had Mam’s hair?

      She went downstairs, treading softly. She hoped Sunni had left for school. She never wanted to see her again. Ever.

      Her coat was hanging on a peg in the hall. It was dry now. She pushed her arms into it and turned up the collar. She would wait outside for her lift home with Penny.

      The front door was unlocked, but old and stiff. Addie tugged it open as quietly as she could. Icy air swept across her ankles. She shivered in her thin coat, pulled the zip right up to the top and felt in the pocket for her gloves. They weren’t there. She peered out into the yard to see if anyone was about.

      Sunni rushed up behind her. She was muffled in a purple padded coat, her dark hair hidden under a furry hood. Her boots clattered across the floor: short, shiny black boots with buckles. Just like the ones Mam had promised Addie for her last birthday.

      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.