Snow Foal. Susanna Bailey

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      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.

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