Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

she said.

      ‘Your mam needs some special help just now, Addie.’ Ruth smiled that smile again. ‘I think you know that, don’t you? Better than anyone.’

      Addie shook her head. ‘You can’t keep me here,’ she shouted. She kicked the green chair, making it skid towards the fire. A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks into the air, like tiny yellow flares. Ruth’s phone rang again.

      Jude gave another of his thin, wild wails. He threw his box of crayons. Splinters of colour flew through the air, spread across the floor. He stared up at Addie as she strode past the table, his eyes empty, like the sheet of paper in front of him. Empty like Addie.

      Addie was going home today, whatever Ruth and Penny said. She edged round the front door, stepped outside and looked around.

      Old stone buildings surrounded the courtyard, skeletal trees beyond. Someone had cleared a pathway through the snow near the door. Under Addie’s feet were grey cobbles, dusted white – the sparkle of ice where light from the farmhouse touched them. Above her, a wide grey sky: smoky, like dirty paintbrush water. It seemed to go on forever.

      A single, soft flake drifted past Addie’s cheek, a tiny white star against the gloom. She reached out; felt it light as air in the palm of her hand. Then it was gone.

      Was more snow coming? Addie hoped not. She blew on her hands, wrapped her arms round herself and took a deep breath in. Which way was home?

      She trudged in the direction Sunni had gone to be picked up, snow spilling over the tops of her trainers. She peered round the side of the old stone barn. A huge gate swung open. Beyond it, a rough road, lined with spiky hedges and the leafless trees, dark and harsh against the white landscape.

      Addie glanced behind her. No one was coming. Yet.

      She set off down the track.

      Addie had only been walking a few minutes when it started to snow again. No gentle flakes this time, just sudden gusts of ice and sleet. They whirled through the bony trees, stole the last colour from the world around Addie. Bitter air stung her chest as she breathed in; nipped at her fingers like terrible teeth. Her feet burned with cold.

      Mam hadn’t told the truth in her soft sketches. Snow was sharp. Snow was cruel.

      She thought about last night’s long drive with Penny, remembered the misty moorland and shadowy forests. Ruth and Sam’s farm was in the middle of nowhere. What was she doing out here?

      She stood still, looked back, half hoping to see Ruth coming down the track to find her. But there was no one. Just her own footprints, quickly filling with snow. No sound except the drum of her heart in her ears and the moan of an animal, carried on the wind. A cow, Addie told herself. But dark, nameless shapes slipped across her mind.

      A huge black bird lifted from the ground ahead. It perched on a branch above Addie, yellow eyes glaring down through the thick, white air; daring her to steal a half-finished meal abandoned on the snow. Addie stepped round the pink muddle of blood and fur, glared back at the hunched bird.

      ‘Horrible creature! Devil bird!’ she shouted.

      She hated this winter world and everything in it.

      But she couldn’t go back to the warm farmhouse. Mam needed her. There had to be a bus stop somewhere near the farm, didn’t there?

      Addie bent her head against the weather, pinned her hands under her armpits for warmth and set off again.

      The track forked in front of her. Nothing but moorland and trees in both directions. Which way should she go?

      She went right. A few minutes later, the track divided into two again, one narrow limb disappearing among a glade of snow-laden pines. Now what?

      Then she saw them, weaving between the trees. A tall boy, hands in the pockets of a heavy jacket, dark beanie hat crusted with snow. A black and white dog, its nose to the ground as it moved in quick circles through the snow-covered undergrowth.

      The dog looked up, spotted Addie. It darted towards her, jumped up, and almost knocked her flying.

      ‘Flo! Here!’ The boy whistled, patted his leg.

      The dog raced to his side, trotted next to him as he plodded along the track towards Addie. This must be Ruth’s son then. What was his name? Addie couldn’t remember. Was he out here looking for her ?

      And if he was, what would he do now that he’d found her?

      He stopped; grinned.

      It was him. She’d seen that face – a younger version, smiling through gappy teeth on the fridge door in Ruth’s kitchen.

      ‘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