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
