Читать книгу Snow Foal - Susanna Bailey - Страница 15

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.’