For my precious mum, Jean,

who really could paint light

on water.

First published in Great Britain in 2019

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2020 Susanna Bailey

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 94935

Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 94942

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

CONTENTS

Cover

Dedication

Title Page

Copyright

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

HELP AND SUPPORT FOR CHILDREN AFFECTED BY ANY OF THE ISSUES FEATURED IN THIS BOOK

Everything around him was changed: white, shifting, silent. The wind had form now: it swirled around him, like feathers from the forest floor, hiding the sky. Hiding his mother.

The foal sniffed the ground. That had changed, too. It clung to his muzzle. It stung.

He smelled the air, seeking his mother’s warm, milky scent. He called. Listened. Called again. He thought he heard his mother’s voice lifting through the trees.

His mother was gone.

Driven by hunger, the foal left the shelter of the old oaks, and drifted across the open moor. He nuzzled the newly white earth, seeking green blades of grass, or the prickly yellow gorse he had been learning to eat alongside his mother’s milk.

He moved slowly, his body tensed for flight. He listened out for the black monster, with its glaring eyes and thunderous roar.

And for the humans who had forced his mother into its terrible jaws.

As darkness fell, and the moon spilled silver light across the moorland, instinct pulled the foal towards the protection of the hedgerow. He pushed his soft muzzle beneath frozen branches, twisted his tongue around the bitter, brittle leaves that nestled beneath. He shook snow from his nostrils and stretched forward, searching for more food.

Then he was sliding, falling: thin legs flailing amidst a tangle of sharp twigs. Snow slid with him, pressing him into the ditch behind the hedge.

When he opened his eyes, the foal could no longer find the moon.

Addie couldn’t see much at all now that they’d left the town, with its pale streetlamps, and vivid neon signs. Just glimpses of flat fields and shadowy forests; of spiked hedges and trees edged with white, wavering like ghosts in the beam from the car headlights.

‘Not much further,’ Penny said. She glanced over her shoulder at Addie. ‘We should see the farmhouse soon.’ She squinted out through the windscreen again, adjusted her round glasses. ‘This weather’s slowed us up a bit. You must be so tired.’

Addie shrugged, watched the wipers whip back and forth through the sleet and snow. Penny’s car struggled on, taking her further and further away from her brown brick home.

Further away from Mam.

They hadn’t let Addie go in the ambulance with Mam. They’d made tea with too much sugar; made Addie sit down in the wrong chair in the lounge. Addie hated them. Hated their radios that crackled and hissed, their silver buttons that flashed in the light. Their eyes that swept the room and decided things.

‘Penny, can we ring Mam when we get there?’ Addie asked. ‘Tell her I’ll be back in the morning?’

‘It’s late, Addie. Your mum needs to rest, sweetheart. I’ll check on her first thing. And then I’ll come and talk to you. I promise.’ Penny slowed the car, turned it to the left. Her long nails flashed red on the steering wheel.

‘I can’t stay here tomorrow,’ Addie said. ‘Mam’ll worry.’

Penny sighed. A soft, sad sound. Was she even listening?

The car bumped along a rough track. Addie’s stomach lurched. She chewed at the skin around her thumb nail. Where were they?

A white light cut through the darkness, revealed a wooden sign on a tall pole. Penny leaned forward, slowed the car down. ‘There we are,’ she said. ‘They’ve left the gate open for us. We’re here.’

The farmhouse was huge: the biggest house Addie had ever seen. Wide windows threw yellow light on to a snow-covered courtyard. Smoke curled from tall chimneys into the night.

The door opened as Addie and Penny approached, and a small woman in Wellington boots hurried across the yard to meet them. She was holding a jacket round her shoulders. Addie saw that she was wearing pyjamas underneath

‘You made it,’ she said. ‘I was worried. The weather’s really closed in since this morning.’

‘Hi, Ruth,’ said Penny. ‘Sorry it’s got so late. These roads . . .’

‘Not to worry. You’re here now, that’s the main thing.’ Ruth smiled at Addie. ‘Let’s get you both inside.’ She hurried them through the door into a long, bright hallway full of jackets, boots and bags. ‘Come on into the kitchen. And let me have your coats,’ she said, ‘I’ll put them by the fire to dry.’

The fire in the kitchen was a real one inside a huge, brick hearth. ‘Get it going a bit more, shall we, Addie?’ Ruth said, smiling again. She pointed to a wooden rocking chair by the hearth. ‘Sit here, when you’re done, love. Warm yourself. But pop those trainers off first, I would. They look soaked.’ She bent down and poked at the fire with some kind of stick. Small red flames licked up around the logs inside.

Addie watched them for a moment. She could smell smoke. It made her throat tickle.

She stayed where she was, folded her arms across her chest.

‘When you’re ready then,’ Ruth said. ‘You take your time.’ She moved across to the table and lifted foil from a large plate ‘I’ve made some sandwiches for you both.’ She turned back to Addie, smiled again. ‘And there’s hot chocolate too. I expect you’d like some of that, Addie? Penny, how about you?’

‘Perfect,’ Penny said. She put her briefcase on the table. Addie stared at it. She knew all about that briefcase, with its files full of secrets and lies.

She looked away.

She was freezing cold, even in Ruth’s warm kitchen. Her toes felt as if something was biting them. And she was thirsty. ‘Yes,’ she said to Ruth. ‘Hot chocolate. Please.’

Ruth smiled still more broadly. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Won’t be a mo.’ She moved a shiny copper pan from the bench on to the stove and began to stir it.

Addie stared down at her feet. Snow slid from her shoes on to the tiled floor and quickly melted there. She glanced up. Had Ruth noticed?

She hadn’t. She was deep in conversation with Penny, over by the stove.

Addie pulled at her wet laces, took off her trainers. She held them up for a moment. Where was she supposed to put them? Nobody had said. She pushed them out of sight, under her chair, clutched her damp coat collar closer round her neck. She looked around.

It was the kind of kitchen you see in films, or in magazines at the doctor’s surgery. Big tiles on the floor, big wooden furniture, big dark beams across the ceiling. There was an enormous fridge covered in stickers, scribbled notes and photographs of children. Addie wondered who the children were and whether they all lived here, with Ruth and Sam.

Whatever Penny and Ruth were planning, Addie’s photo was never going on that fridge.

She strained to hear what Penny was saying to Ruth. Penny had her serious face on, which was worrying. Ruth was nodding. She glanced over at Addie, her eyes soft and watery. Like the police officer’s eyes, just before she made Addie let go of Mam’s hand.

‘Almost done, Addie,’ she said, smiling. She turned back to the stove, stirred her pan of milk, as if everything was normal. As if everything was fine.

Ruth didn’t look like a foster carer. Not like Dawn anyway. Dawn, with her pink hair and high heels, her endless phone calls, her high-pitched laugh. Dawn, who hardly spoke to Addie for the whole weekend she spent there in the summer. Dawn, who never smiled.

Ruth’s face looked as if it was used to smiling. Her brown hair was scooped into a kind of nest on the top of her head. It bobbed from side to side as she moved around the kitchen, quick as bird. And she still had her boots on. Dawn would bust a gut. It was shoes off at the door in her house.

Ruth would have rules, too, Addie thought – rules for children like her, who didn’t really belong in this house. She would tell Addie what they were when Penny had gone. Like Dawn did.

Ruth reached over Addie’s shoulder; put a tray of drinks and a plate of thick, brown sandwiches on the table. ‘Help yourself, love,’ she said. ‘Just say if you want more.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Addie said. She watched as Penny took a sandwich, bit into it, chewed. A piece of tomato dropped on to her chest and rested on her multicoloured beads.

‘What time are you coming back, Penny? In the morning?’ Addie asked.

Penny looked over at Ruth, swallowed her mouthful of food. ‘As early as I can, Addie,’ she said. ‘Once I’ve had a chance to find out what the plan is with your mum.’ She took another bite of sandwich, held the remainder in the air. There was pink lipstick on the edge of the bread.

‘She’ll be fine tomorrow,’ Addie said. She looked at Ruth. ‘She just needed more sleep, that’s all.’

‘Why don’t we let you get some sleep as well,’ said Ruth said. ‘If you’re sure you don’t need to eat. I was hoping you might be able to meet the boys before bed, but they’re still out checking the fields. This weather closed in really quickly and we have to bring the sheep in closer to the farm. There’re a few stragglers still out there. She pointed to the sandwiches, laughed again. ‘They’ll make short work of your leftovers when they do get back, Addie.’

Addie stared at her. She didn’t care about sheep and she didn’t care about Ruth’s family. All she cared about was making the morning come as quickly as possible. ‘Come and see your room then,’ Ruth said. She sat down, pulled off her boots. ‘Bring your drink if you like.’ She gave Addie another of her smiles. ‘There’s someone rather special waiting to meet you upstairs.’

‘I just want to go to sleep,’ Addie said. She gulped down her hot drink, wiped her hand across her mouth, got to her feet.

‘Best thing,’ said Penny. ‘Try not to worry, love. Your mum’s in the right place just now.’

Addie bit her lip. Why did adults always say that when they knew it wasn’t true? She turned her back on Penny and followed Ruth to the door.

‘Goodnight, Addie,’ Penny called. ‘See you very soon.’

Addie looked over her shoulder. Penny was taking papers from her bag: papers about Addie. Papers for deciding things.

Papers for keeping her away from Mam.

‘It’s all my fault,’ she said. ‘Just stupid, stupid me. Write that on your stupid papers.’

Addie peered out through splinters of frost on the hall window. Early light now. No one about except Mrs Donovan, shuffling up her drive with her bags.

Perhaps they weren’t coming, after all.

Could Addie risk going out? Was that a stupid idea?

She had to go. She was starving. And Mam would need something when she woke.

She stood on the doorstep, pulled up her hood. Her breath floated on the air for a moment, then disappeared. She counted the coins again: just enough, with the fifty pence from under the fridge. She checked up and down the grey street. Nobody at all now. Just cracked puddles and litter drifting in the gutter; the still, orange light from the corner shop.

Addie hurried past the squashed row of brown brick houses with their faded doors and broken fences. She stayed close to the kerb, kept her head down. The baby at number six was screaming again. A dog started to bark.

Addie pushed open the shop door. The bell clanged. She peered round the shelves. Please let it be Mr Borovski today, she thought. Not Mrs Crabtree, with her thin nose poking into everyone’s business. Mrs Crabtree who noticed things.

No such luck. Mrs Crabtree came out from behind the counter and folded her arms across her bony chest. She watched Addie’s every move, looked her up and down; hovered like a hungry crow.

Addie thumped the brown loaf and milk down by the till. ‘One pound, ten pence,’ she said. ‘The bread’s reduced.’ She pointed to the yellow sticker and counted the coins into Mrs Crabtree’s hand.

The shopkeeper poked at them with a thin finger, pulled a piece of dark fluff from among them. ‘I’ve not seen your mam in a while,’ she said. ‘Under the weather again, is she?’

Addie grabbed her shopping. ‘She’s busy, that’s all,’ she said. ‘With her painting.’ She turned away, felt the burn of Mrs Crabtree’s eyes as she hurried from the shop.

Sunni did look quite special. She had hair like dark glass and black lines painted around her eyes. And she was tiny. Even though Ruth said she was only a year younger than Addie.

‘Your bed’s that one,’ Sunni said, pointing to a wooden bed in the corner. Addie’s purple duvet from home was on it and her best pyjamas were laid out ready. They didn’t look right in this room. Someone had put a blue dressing gown there too. It wasn’t hers.

‘I know everything’s strange for you, sweetheart,’ Ruth said, ‘but you must be so tired after today. You and Sunni get to know one another a bit. I’ll pop down for hot-water bottles. Then we’ll get you girls settled. OK?’

It wasn’t OK. Nothing was. But Addie nodded.

‘You can put your things on the bottom shelf,’ Sunni said. ‘The top one’s mine. But don’t touch my stuff unless you ask me first, OK?’ She cocked her head to one side and Addie saw the sparkle of a gold earring under her hair.

‘I’m going home soon,’ Addie said. ‘I don’t need a shelf.’

‘Ruth and Sam only foster kids who have to stay a long time,’ Sunni said. ‘Like me.’

‘Well, I’m not staying for long. Mam won’t let me.’

Sunni shrugged her shoulders. ‘My mum wants me to come home too, only she couldn’t learn how to look after me properly, so I’m staying here.’

‘Forever?’ Addie said.

‘Expect so.’

‘Don’t you mind?’

Sunni was searching through a collection of bright ornaments on her shelf. ‘Sort of, but I like it here. They’ve got chickens and pigs and I get to feed them. It’s cool. And there’s this really grumpy goat called Jelly. He got his name cos his favourite thing in the whole world is Jelly Babies. What do you think of that?’

Addie had never known anyone who kept pigs, chickens or goats. And she’d never heard of a goat eating Jelly Babies. She thought of the night-time foxes that raided the bins in her street. She’d seen one of them devouring a bag of popcorn, warning others to keep away with a slant-eyed stare. She didn’t say so. She didn’t think Sunni would be impressed.

Sunni held up a sequinned elephant. ‘This is my mum’s. She gave me it the last time I saw her.’

‘I’ve got this,’ Addie said. She brought a curled pink and white shell from her pocket, held it in the palm of her hand. ‘Mam’s lucky shell. It’s from Whitby, near where she grew up.’

Sunni picked it up and held it up to one eye. ‘Something used to live in here,’ she said. ‘It must be dead now.’ She tossed the shell back to Addie. Like it was nothing. ‘What’s happened to your mum, then?

‘Nothing’s happened to her. She’s not feeling very well, that’s all.’

‘What kind of “not very well”?’ Sunni inspected Addie’s pyjamas. ‘Is she dying?’

‘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 turned away. She peeped out through the curtains again. She couldn’t see anyone. She still couldn’t see much at all, except the snow, and patches of orange light from two downstairs windows.

‘Is Flo Gabe’s sister, then?’ she asked.

‘She’s a sheepdog,’ said Sunni, shoving her feet into fleecy slippers. ‘She goes everywhere with Gabe. She’s a bit bonkers. Like him.’ She pulled a scarlet dressing gown round her shoulders. She looked Addie up and down. ‘We don’t get dressed for breakfast,’ she said. ‘We go down in our nightclothes.’

‘I don’t,’ said Addie. ‘Except at home.’

‘Well, this is a foster home. It’s the same.’

Addie shook her head. ‘It isn’t. And anyway, my social worker’s coming back this morning. Early. So I’m ready. And I’m not having breakfast.’

‘She’s not taking you home, if that’s what you think,’ Sunni said. ‘And you have to have breakfast. That’s the rule. Come on . . . before Jude eats all the toast.’ Sunni flounced to the door, her dressing gown floating behind her like a cape. ‘Oh, and that’s Jude’s cup you’ve got there,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘He’ll go nuts.’

Was Jude the child in the other bedroom? Addie didn’t like the sound of him. She put the green cup down on Sunni’s shelf, among her collection of elephants. ‘Wait a minute,’ she shouted, ‘I’ve got bare feet.’

But Sunni was gone.

Addie’s feet were freezing. She looked around for the bag Penny had made her pack. Her favourite socks were in there. The rainbow ones Mam chose.

The bag was at the foot of the bed. It was empty. Where were her things?

‘Addie, sweetheart. Good morning! I wondered if it was you I heard up and about just now.’ Ruth was in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. Addie turned away, pretended to search in the front pocket of her bag.

Ruth perched on the end of Sunni’s bed. ‘I put your clean things in the drawers for you, love. The ones with the blue handles. Breakfast’s ready, so pop something on your feet and we’ll go down together, shall we?’

Addie’s fists tightened. ‘I like my things in my bag,’ she said.

‘That’s OK, Addie. Put them back for now then. I understand.’

It wasn’t OK. Nothing was. And Ruth didn’t understand anything. Addie pulled on her trainers. She would do without socks.

And she would do without Ruth’s breakfast. Whatever the stupid rule was.

The fire was burning in the kitchen again. The room smelled of wood smoke and toast. The table had a red and white checked cloth on it this morning. In the middle was a basket of eggs, a plate piled high with toast and some boxes of cereal. Addie had never seen so much food.

Sunni was eating a bowl of Addie’s favourite Cocoa Puffs. She waved her spoon at Addie. This time she didn’t smile.

‘Sit yourself down, Addie,’ Ruth said. ‘Do you like eggs?’ She pointed to the basket. The eggs inside were brown and speckled. Not at all like the ones from Mr Borovski’s shop, or the supermarket in the precinct. There was a tiny brown feather stuck to one of them.

‘Freshly laid,’ Ruth said. She smiled. ‘I’ve got two of the biggest nearly ready, especially for you.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Addie said. She didn’t like this kitchen that pretended to be a happy place. And she didn’t like Ruth pretending to be her mam.

‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate then, shall I? You might feel hungrier in a bit.’ Ruth lifted a huge yellow jug from the table and took it to the stove

‘That’s goat’s milk in that jug,’ Sunni said. ‘Bet you’ve never had that before.’

Addie hadn’t, but she didn’t say so. She pulled back a chair.

‘Not there,’ Sunni said. ‘That’s next to Jude’s seat.’

‘So?’ said Addie.

‘He doesn’t let anyone sit next to him.’

‘Why not?’ said Addie. Jude sounded horrible.

‘Just doesn’t,’ said Sunni, shrugging. She reached for a carton of orange juice and poured some for herself.

Ruth came across to the table and pulled out the chair next to Sunni. It had a blue cushion on it. A fat ginger cat was sleeping there.

‘Sit here, Addie, love,’ Ruth said. ‘Widget, off.’

Widget opened one green eye. Then the other. He jumped down and stared at Addie, his tail twitching from side to side. Then he curled himself round Addie’s legs and walked slowly away.

‘He likes you,’ Ruth said. ‘He usually ignores new people at first.’

Addie sat down. Widget had left his warm smell behind him on her chair. She wished he would come back.

A small boy came into the kitchen. His wrists and ankles poked out from Superman pyjamas, thin as winter twigs. He stopped, peered at Addie from underneath pale curls, stared down at his feet.

The child with the blue light.

Addie watched him, noticed how he twisted his hands together; saw the shadows under his eyes.

‘That’s Jude,’ Sunni said. ‘He’s six but he can’t talk.’

Ruth handed Addie a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Jude can talk, Sunni. Remember? He just doesn’t feel like talking to us right now.’

She gave Jude a reassuring nod, brought him over to his chair. He knelt up on it and grabbed three slices of toast. Then he reached for Sunni’s cereal packet.

‘He eats loads,’ said Sunni.

‘Maybe we could save the cereal for later, Jude?’ Ruth said, taking the box from him. ‘We can keep it out on the side here, for when you need it.’ She held out her hand. Jude clutched the box for a moment, then let go. He looked up at Addie. His eyes were huge, deep blue, and still as a lake. Addie smiled at him, but he looked away.

Ruth took the tops off two eggs for him and one for Addie. ‘Just in case.’

Jude shoved spoonfuls of egg and huge chunks of toast into his mouth, all at the same time. He made slurping sounds as he ate. Addie tried not to look at him. She could tell he wouldn’t want her to. She sipped her hot chocolate. It was warm and creamy, nicer than the one she’d tried the night before. But not as nice as the cocoa Mam made. When she remembered to buy milk.

Sunni kept talking non-stop, telling Ruth about her best friend from school, Mira, and her amazing house. Addie was glad. She didn’t want to speak to either of them.

Ruth’s phone rang.

‘I need to take this,’ Ruth said. I’ll just be in the lounge. Won’t be long.’ As she passed Jude’s chair, she rested her hand on his head for a moment; smiled over her shoulder at Addie.

As soon as she was gone, Jude got down from the table and took the cereal packet again.

‘No, Jude,’ Sunni said. ‘Ruth wants you to leave it till later.’

Jude stuffed his hand inside the box. Sunni got down from the table and snatched it from him. Pieces of chocolate rice flew into the air and skidded across the floor. Jude’s face turned bright red. He screamed: a thin, wild scream. Like the creature in the night. It made Addie’s heart hurt.

Ruth came running in. She sent Sunni off to get ready for school. Then she sat down on the floor next to Jude, among the pieces of cereal.

‘Jude’s OK, Addie,’ she said, even though he wasn’t.

Ruth rested one hand on Jude’s ankle. Addie saw him take a big breath in and hold it. His shoulders 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.

Who was going to rescue Addie ?

‘Mam won’t be OK without me,’ 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 telling the truth? She wouldn’t survive a night out here. And then what would happen to Mam? She’d better go back. Just for now. She would make a better plan.

‘Hold on a minute! Gabe!’ she called. But her words were whisked away on the wind. Even Flo wouldn’t hear her 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 up his feed. Won’t be long.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Talk to him.’

‘And say what?’

Gabe shook 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 was coming, too. Even though it was the weekend. Addie didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. Jude’s social worker, Tim, was giving Penny a lift in his special jeep, which was good for winter weather. Addie wondered why nobody had thought of that before.

Her stomach tightened every time she thought about what Penny might say when she got here. Might she take Addie home, after all?

Addie couldn’t swallow her toast at breakfast. She didn’t feel like talking, so she curled up on the window seat and pretended to read. Rain hit the window in fat circles, then ran to the sill in crazy rivers; stole the frost feathers from the glass. Addie kept an eye on the tall clock by the door. Its black hands never seemed to move.

Ruth brought Jude into the kitchen, fresh from the shower. His hair twisted in damp ringlets on his forehead. His wide blue eyes scanned the room and held Addie’s for a small moment.

‘Jude’s going to help make some scones, aren’t you?’ Ruth said. ‘Penny and Tim can have some with their coffee.’ She put an enormous mixing bowl on the table. ‘Want to help, Addie?’ She went to a cupboard, began piling ingredients on the bench and took milk from the fridge.

‘Dunno,’ Addie said. Social workers drank lots of coffee. She knew that. But she wasn’t sure they should get scones to go with it.

Jude sat down at the table, his face barely visible above the rim of the bowl. He stared at Addie, wooden spoon in hand.

‘OK then,’ Addie said. ‘I suppose.’

She and Jude stirred butter and sugar, piled glistening cherries into the bowl. It was hard work. Addie’s arms ached.

Jude held the sieve while she tipped in flour bit by bit. It lifted in a white cloud when he shook the sieve, dusted their wrists and hands. Addie faked a huge sneeze. Jude’s lips twitched, as if he might smile. He didn’t. Maybe he had forgotten how to do that too.

‘Goodness,’ Ruth said, laughing, ‘it’s snowing indoors now!’

She showed them how to push the sticky mixture from the spoon with one finger; how to make little piles on silver trays for the oven. Jude screamed at Ruth about a speck of mixture on his T-shirt. Ruth took him upstairs to change.

Addie thought they would be a while. That was the only T-shirt Jude had agreed to wear since Addie arrived. She went back to the window seat and peered through the blur of rain into the yard. She breathed in the warm smell of the scones as they baked. She tried to remember the last time she had baked with Mam – kneeling on a chair to reach the table, feeling the crack of eggshell under her thumb, the yellow stickiness of yolk between her fingers and running down her arm. She heard Mam’s voice. ‘Go on, never mind, Addie. Try another . . .’

She thought of the eggs in Ruth and Sam’s henhouse; of the mother hens, with their nodding heads and ugly claws, their wing feathers softly spread to protect their babies inside those fragile shells.

She tried to hear Mam’s voice again. It wouldn’t come.

Feet thundered down the stairs and the kitchen door swung wide. It banged against the wall. Sunni struggled in, laptop clutched to her chest, books and a bunch of papers tucked under her arm. She slid the laptop on to the table and thumped the books down. Pieces of paper slid to the floor.

‘Don’t help then,’ she said.

‘OK,’ Addie said. ‘I won’t.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, Ruth said you had to work in the bedroom. On your own.’ She hoped that Ruth wouldn’t be gone too long after all.

Ruth appeared a minute or two later, holding a red-faced Jude by the hand. He was still wearing his Batman T-shirt. It had a dark, wet patch right across Batman’s face. Jude was holding the damp material away from his body, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

‘Sit here, Jude,’ Ruth said, pointing to the rocking chair by the fire. ‘It’ll dry before Tim gets here, don’t worry.’

‘He won’t be here for ages,’ said Sunni. ‘The roads will be even worse now, all icy under the snow. His jeep will probably get stuck.’

Addie glared at her. Sunni flicked her hair over her shoulders and bent over her books. ‘Mira’s dad said,’ she added, as if that meant it must be true. ‘He does loads of driving.’

‘I think they’ll be fine, Sunni,’ Ruth said. She smiled at Addie and Jude. ‘Tim’s car has special tyres for the snow, hasn’t it, Jude? It’ll get icy overnight, for sure. But not yet.’ She handed Sunni a glass of milk. ‘You might be better off in your room, Sunni, love,’ she said, ‘or in the snug. You need to concentrate on that homework and get it finished.’

‘Don’t see why I have to do it anyway,’ Sunni said. ‘On a Saturday.’

‘Because you didn’t want to do it on a Friday!’ Ruth laughed, shook her head. ‘I don’t know! See how you get on at the table in here then. But no annoying the other two, or back you go.’

Sunni smirked at Addie, sat down and opened the laptop. Addie turned away; listened to the tap of Sunni’s fingers on the keys, the clatter of tins, the surge of the water, as Ruth washed the baking things in the sink. Ruth was always so busy. Addie should offer to help. She didn’t.

Jude curled up in the rocking chair, his knees under his chin. Widget jumped on his lap. He pushed him off, brushed at his trousers. Addie watched him rock back and forth; back and forth. The wooden rockers ticked off the seconds on the tiled floor.

Sunni looked up from the laptop and slammed it shut. ‘I’m too tired,’ she said. She pointed at Addie with her pen. ‘Why doesn’t she have to do school work?’ She pulled her mouth down at the edges. ‘Think you’re so lucky, Addie,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to get miles behind everyone else. Not so lucky then.’

Ruth shook her head. ‘What did I say, Sunni?’ She smiled an apology at Addie. Her eyes were kind; crinkled at the corners. ‘You’ll be fine, Addie,’ she said. ‘We’ll make sure you catch up before you go. You can join Gabe for his home-school sessions, if you like. It’ll be fun, I promise.’

‘Right,’ Sunni said. She snorted, looked away.

Ruth dried her hands on a red-spotted tea towel. ‘You’re really a kind girl, Sunni, I know. So let’s have no more of that. Come on, show me how far you’ve got.’ She sat down next to Sunni, opened the laptop and rested an arm across Sunni’s shoulders.

‘I like school work,’ Addie said. ‘I like school. If I wasn’t stuck out here, I’d be there.’ She stretched out on the window seat, folded her arms behind her head. ‘And I wouldn’t keep moaning about homework.’

She missed school. She did.

School the way it used to be.

She remembered her first classrooms: the rainbow colours, the clamour of voices, the books with their secrets and puzzles. The new words that stretched her tongue; the new ideas that made her brain fizz. She remembered the shiny corridors, the smell of polish and roast potatoes; the soft, sticky warmth of Hattie’s hand in hers as they skipped on summer grass.

Hattie. Her best friend. Forever.

She saw herself standing on the playground wall next to Hattie, arms outstretched: a small tightrope walker, balanced and sure, the sun warm on her bare arms. She tried to hold the memory, to be that Addie again, there in Ruth’s kitchen.

The memory blurred; trickled away like the rivers of rain on the window. The tightrope walker was gone.

She saw herself sitting on the playground wall, swinging her legs as if everything was fine. She saw Hattie, watched her run hand in hand with Lola Smythe.

She saw Daren Oates and his stupid mates, heard their jeering calls:

‘Hey, Adelaide Forgettable Jones!’

‘Where’s your mam this time, then?’

‘Oh, wait. Everyone knows where she’ll be . . .’

The front door clicked open, wrenched Addie from the memory. Boots stamped in the hallway.

Addie felt sick. Really sick. She chewed at her nails.

The door slammed shut again.

‘No sign yet,’ Sam shouted. ‘I’ll just get out of these clothes.’

Jude sighed. Addie glanced over at him. His head was tucked down low on his chest, his eyes fixed straight ahead. He was waiting too, hunched and huddled like the cold birds on the barn roof. Addie wished she could cheer him up. She didn’t know how.

Ruth was next to her, a large cardboard box under one arm.

‘You OK, there?’ she said. ‘Miles away, eh?’

Addie nodded.

‘Have a look through these,’ Ruth said. She opened the flaps of the box. ‘Come on, Jude. You too. Best keep busy while you both wait. And your turn for the laptop too, Addie, if you like. Sunni needs to work from her books for a bit.’

‘Typical,’ Sunni said. She picked up a book, pushed it away again.

Addie got up. ‘Thanks,’ she said. Anything to make the time go quicker. Anything to annoy Sunni. She crossed to the table.

The box was crammed with craft materials: cracked lumps of clay wrapped in film, pots of modelling dough – green, pink and blue, a ball of striped string, bundles of ribbon, buttons in a jar and rolls of rough grey paper. ‘Look, Jude,’ she said. ‘Clay and stuff. Come and see.’

Jude didn’t move. Perhaps he would come if she ignored him.

Addie spread the contents of the box on the table for him to see. She opened the laptop. She typed ‘Exmoor’ into the search bar. Maybe she could find out exactly where she was. How far she was from home.

She scrolled through pages of text, complicated maps and shots of moorland: summer green, with a wide blue sky that Addie could not imagine here; red and gold autumn scenes, a haze of purple heather across sloping fields. And, of course, the ice-white winter stillness that she already knew so well.

There were grainy black and white photographs of tall stones like the ones Addie had seen in a book about Stonehenge. Crumbling buildings, shepherds with long beards and thin pipes, dogs like Flo. And ponies. Herds of brown ponies with dark tangled manes and black almond-shaped eyes. A tiny foal feeding from its red-coated mother. A group of larger foals leaping on strong black legs. Their coats were sleek and smooth: nothing like the shaggy chaos that covered the foal in the barn. ‘Exmoor youngsters in their summer coats,’ Addie read, ‘having fun together under the watchful eyes of their mothers and their herd.’

Jude was beside her. She smiled at him.

‘Exmoor ponies, Jude. Look. Like the one Flo and Gabe found in the snow.’

Jude stared at the screen. He pointed at the small foal with its mother. His thin finger trembled. The images on the screen swam. Addie closed the page and pushed the laptop away.

‘How about we make one – a pony – out of clay?’ she said. ‘And a boy, like you, for its friend?’

Jude sat down. Next to Addie. He reached for a ball of clay and rolled it towards her.

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