Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

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