Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

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