Waking up one February morning, Peter’s heart raced as he heard the wind howling outside. The young boy jumped out of bed, praying that today could be the day. Climbing onto a box by the window, Peter pulled back a curtain slowly and cautiously. For weeks he had looked outside and merely seen his back yard, dull and colourless with its leafless trees and bare flowerbeds. But today Peter’s wishes were answered. The sight still made him gasp. The garden, so lifeless a day before, was now blanketed with sheets of thick white snow, perfectly smooth and unspoiled by human feet. Every branch on every tree was sprinkled with fresh snowflakes. The scene resembled a Christmas card - but in reality, Christmas was inevitably grey and drizzly. February was when the true magic of winter took place; February was when Peter got to play in the snow with Tommy.
Peter ran downstairs. As the boy burst into the kitchen his father rolled his eyes, having no doubt what was coming.
“Dad! Dad! Have you seen outside?!”
“Mmhm.”
Mr Cooper carried on eating his breakfast, looking at a pink greeting card which had appeared on the kitchen table.
“You’ve got to ring the school! Please!”
Eager to return to his corn flakes, Mr Cooper obliged. Peter followed him to the telephone and listened anxiously to one side of the conversation.
“Hello there. This is Mr Cooper speaking. Will Dordale Grammar be open this morning?” He paused. “Really? Oh, right. Well, that is a shame.” Peter’s heart sank as his father looked down at him. “Okay, thank you. I’ll let him know.”
Mr Cooper put the phone down calmly before returning to his cereal. Peter stared at him impatiently.
“Well Dad, what did they say?!”
“About what, Peter?” Mr Cooper smiled.
“Is school on today or not?!”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son - but no, you won’t be going in today.”
Peter squealed with joy. Throwing on a woolly jumper, he ran to the front door. His wellington boots irritated him for not coming on quickly enough, and his mother’s call of “Don’t forget your scarf!” seemed a deliberate attempt to delay him further.
“Yes Mum, I’ve got it. Bye!”
“Oh, and have you had your breakfast?”
“Yes! See you later!”
A blast of cold air hit Peter’s face as he opened the front door and waded onto the white paradise which yesterday had simply been Orchard Close. No cars had dared attempt the road, but Peter’s feet had not been the first to imprint upon the virgin snow. Approaching Tommy’s house at the foot of the cul-de-sac, Peter observed a trail of footprints which he recognised as those of his best friend. But where was Tommy?
Tommy Shaw was a year older than Peter, and the pair had been inseparable since the Coopers moved to Orchard Close six years ago. The boys bonded over a mutual love of dinosaurs when their parents met for dinner, and they soon started playing out in the street together. Peter, short and plump, would struggle to compete against the tall, athletic Tommy when they played tag or football - but this didn’t discourage the younger boy, who was happy to have somebody to play with at last. Peter had seen less of Tommy recently, since the older boy had started at Dordale Grammar. Peter had joined Tommy there the following autumn, but the boys no longer shared classes, being in different year groups. Yet Tommy remained, as always, Peter’s closest friend.
It was an unspoken tradition that whenever school was cancelled due to snow, the boys would meet at the bottom of Orchard Close to play. It was therefore unusual that Tommy wasn’t there this morning, but Peter knew his friend too well to let this fool him. Pacing up the road, he began peering over walls and into bushes to find Tommy’s secret base, knowing he would be preparing a pre-emptive snowball attack. It was a cunning strategy - but not if Peter got there first.
The very first time it snowed the day had started in a similar fashion. Walking into the street to meet his friend, Peter initially saw no sign of Tommy. Then, out of nowhere, there was a shout from above.
“Open fire!”
Looking up, Peter was pelted in the face by a snowball, the cold ice melting on impact and trickling down his neck. After a moment of confusion, Peter located his attacker. Tommy was sitting grinning on the topmost branch of an oak tree, cradling an arsenal of snowy ammunition. This meant war. Running to a nearby car, Peter scraped the snow from its windshield and moulded it to form a giant snowball in his hands. With both arms, he lifted the huge weapon into the air and threw it with full force towards Tommy. The older boy screamed as he met his retaliation, flailing nervously before regaining his balance and mounting a new attack. Peter, now wise to his assailant, dodged a succession of snowballs as they smashed onto the ground.
“You’ll never get me from up there!” Peter teased.
“Oh yeah? Well, I’d better come and get you then!”
Tommy climbed down and chased his friend down the street, both boys giggling uncontrollably. Catching up with Peter, Tommy attempted to slow down, but his feet were beyond his control. He skidded forwards and collapsed onto the floor, hitting the icy ground with a thud. Peter walked over to him anxiously. There was a moment of silence.
“Tommy - are you okay?” Tommy remained perfectly still. “Tommy! Tom!” Peter’s heart began to race. “Can you hear me?!”
Tommy kept a straight face for a good thirty seconds. Then he burst into laughter. Embarrassed, Peter took the opportunity to pelt his friend with another snowball.
Peter looked down at the spot where Tommy had fallen over years ago. He had searched every hiding place he could think of on Orchard Close, but he still couldn’t find his friend. This wasn’t like Tommy. Confused, Peter walked up to the Shaw household and rang the doorbell. Peter was surprised to see the door opened by Tommy’s mother. Mrs Shaw looked different now; her hair, which had always been a vibrant brown, was now showing the first signs of grey.
“Hi there, Peter. What can I do for you?” Mrs Shaw asked, looking surprised.
“Is Tommy ready to come out and play?”
“Tommy? He’s in town right now. He’ll be back later, I think.”
Of course. Peter remembered now. The previous year, the boys had discussed buying a sledge to ride in the snow. Tommy had probably gotten up especially early to go out and get it. Peter was annoyed he hadn’t done the same - he could have helped Tommy to choose a good one! He hoped he picked a red sledge; red was clearly the best colour. Still, he was sure Tommy could be trusted make an informed choice.
“Oh right - thanks!” Peter chirped.
Mrs Shaw closed the door, her raised eyebrow unobserved by Peter. Walking back onto the street, Peter wondered how they were going to fit all of their activities in. As fun as the snowball fight and sledding would be, it was of course vital that they found time to build snowmen.
Snowman building was another tradition which had begun the first time it snowed. After the snowball fight had reached a ceasefire, Tommy began scraping the snow together with his wellington, forming a big pile at the foot of his driveway. Peter watched as he developed it into a short, stocky snowman. After carving a smile into its face and adding pebbles for eyes, Tommy stood back and laughed at his creation’s uncanny resemblance.
“Look, Pete! It’s you!”
“Aha. Thanks.”
Peter forced a smile as he glanced at the portly figure. Was that really was how he appeared to Tommy? Well, if that was how it was going to be… Gathering the remaining snow with his hands, Peter moulded a tall, narrow snowman to stand alongside his own likeness.
“I call him Mr Lanky,” Peter smirked.
“That is nothing like me.”
“It is too!”
Every year after that, the boys had ended their day off by building snowmen to resemble each other. With time to kill, Peter took it upon himself to make a start on his portrayal of Tommy. Having developed his craft over the years, Peter made his creation as similar to Tommy as possible: 5ft in height, and with a smile which was half-friendly, half-smirking. Peter stood back and looked proudly on the finished product. Glancing behind him, he almost expected to see Tommy admiring his work of art - but the street was empty, the snow still lightly falling from the white sky. After pacing around for a while longer, Peter decided to do his friend a favour. Gathering more snow, he began work on Tommy’s usual task: making Snowman-Peter. Though Peter thought himself not quite as portly Tommy’s depictions suggested, he nonetheless moulded the snowman so as to resemble one of Tommy’s - short, wide and with a slightly gormless expression. Tommy would love it.
Yet the afternoon passed by, and still Tommy was nowhere to be seen. Feeling tired, Peter sat on the curb. He crafted some snowballs and began throwing them halfheartedly against the opposite wall, one by one. He was beginning to feel the cold, and was tempted to head home and call on Tommy again later. But he couldn’t risk missing him, so he waited. Surely there was an explanation? Tommy had never let Peter down before. Perhaps he was halfway home with the sledge and he realised it was broken, so he had to take it back. That would explain it. But would that really take up the entire afternoon? Peter shivered as he felt the snow soaking into his jeans.
In time the skies began to darken and the cold became unbearable. With a sigh, Peter prized himself up and trudged back towards his house. As he turned towards his driveway, he took one final glance up the road. Two figures were walking slowly down the street. Peter’s heart skipped. He squinted. Yes, it was Tommy! He was disguised in an unusually smart jacket and trousers, but it was definitely Tommy. At last they could let the fun begin. But where was the sledge?
Peter leapt through the snow towards his friend, forgetting that he was almost frostbitten. Getting closer, he looked at the other person. It was a girl, wearing a fancy white scarf and a lot of makeup. Her short brown hair and small features were familiar; Peter vaguely her recognised as somebody from the year above at school. Confused, but indifferent to her presence, Peter called out to his friend.
“Tommy! Where have you been?!”
Avoiding Peter’s eye, Tommy muttered a quiet “Hey.”
“I’ve been waiting all day! It’s nearly evening and we haven’t had our snowball fight!”
The girl smirked, and Peter took an instant disliking to her. Tommy remained silent.
“Well, once you’ve said goodbye to - your friend, we can get started. Can’t we, Tommy?”
Tommy looked at his companion apologetically before turning to Peter.
“Pete - don’t you know what day it is?”
“Of course I do. It’s snow day!” Peter grinned expectantly. Tommy sighed.
“I’m busy today, Peter. Sorry, pal.”
Peter watched in astonishment as his friend took the girl’s hand. The two walked, mitten in mitten, towards the Shaw household. As they shut the front door behind them, Peter thought about what Tommy said. What was so significant about today, other than that it was snowing? He recalled that tomorrow was the fifteenth, which was Tommy’s mother’s birthday. But this had never stopped Tommy coming out to play before. And besides, Mrs Shaw was at home.
Peter went back home and lay on his bed till the room went dark. When he fell asleep, he dreamed about snowball-fighting with Tommy - just himself and Tommy, playing together like they always did. By the following morning, the snow had started to melt and the clouds had given way to blue skies. The adults went back to work, and the snow on the street gradually disappeared. By the end of the day, all that remained of yesterday’s snow were two snowmen, stood side by side in the afternoon sun.
Peter ran downstairs. As the boy burst into the kitchen his father rolled his eyes, having no doubt what was coming.
“Dad! Dad! Have you seen outside?!”
“Mmhm.”
Mr Cooper carried on eating his breakfast, looking at a pink greeting card which had appeared on the kitchen table.
“You’ve got to ring the school! Please!”
Eager to return to his corn flakes, Mr Cooper obliged. Peter followed him to the telephone and listened anxiously to one side of the conversation.
“Hello there. This is Mr Cooper speaking. Will Dordale Grammar be open this morning?” He paused. “Really? Oh, right. Well, that is a shame.” Peter’s heart sank as his father looked down at him. “Okay, thank you. I’ll let him know.”
Mr Cooper put the phone down calmly before returning to his cereal. Peter stared at him impatiently.
“Well Dad, what did they say?!”
“About what, Peter?” Mr Cooper smiled.
“Is school on today or not?!”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son - but no, you won’t be going in today.”
Peter squealed with joy. Throwing on a woolly jumper, he ran to the front door. His wellington boots irritated him for not coming on quickly enough, and his mother’s call of “Don’t forget your scarf!” seemed a deliberate attempt to delay him further.
“Yes Mum, I’ve got it. Bye!”
“Oh, and have you had your breakfast?”
“Yes! See you later!”
A blast of cold air hit Peter’s face as he opened the front door and waded onto the white paradise which yesterday had simply been Orchard Close. No cars had dared attempt the road, but Peter’s feet had not been the first to imprint upon the virgin snow. Approaching Tommy’s house at the foot of the cul-de-sac, Peter observed a trail of footprints which he recognised as those of his best friend. But where was Tommy?
Tommy Shaw was a year older than Peter, and the pair had been inseparable since the Coopers moved to Orchard Close six years ago. The boys bonded over a mutual love of dinosaurs when their parents met for dinner, and they soon started playing out in the street together. Peter, short and plump, would struggle to compete against the tall, athletic Tommy when they played tag or football - but this didn’t discourage the younger boy, who was happy to have somebody to play with at last. Peter had seen less of Tommy recently, since the older boy had started at Dordale Grammar. Peter had joined Tommy there the following autumn, but the boys no longer shared classes, being in different year groups. Yet Tommy remained, as always, Peter’s closest friend.
It was an unspoken tradition that whenever school was cancelled due to snow, the boys would meet at the bottom of Orchard Close to play. It was therefore unusual that Tommy wasn’t there this morning, but Peter knew his friend too well to let this fool him. Pacing up the road, he began peering over walls and into bushes to find Tommy’s secret base, knowing he would be preparing a pre-emptive snowball attack. It was a cunning strategy - but not if Peter got there first.
The very first time it snowed the day had started in a similar fashion. Walking into the street to meet his friend, Peter initially saw no sign of Tommy. Then, out of nowhere, there was a shout from above.
“Open fire!”
Looking up, Peter was pelted in the face by a snowball, the cold ice melting on impact and trickling down his neck. After a moment of confusion, Peter located his attacker. Tommy was sitting grinning on the topmost branch of an oak tree, cradling an arsenal of snowy ammunition. This meant war. Running to a nearby car, Peter scraped the snow from its windshield and moulded it to form a giant snowball in his hands. With both arms, he lifted the huge weapon into the air and threw it with full force towards Tommy. The older boy screamed as he met his retaliation, flailing nervously before regaining his balance and mounting a new attack. Peter, now wise to his assailant, dodged a succession of snowballs as they smashed onto the ground.
“You’ll never get me from up there!” Peter teased.
“Oh yeah? Well, I’d better come and get you then!”
Tommy climbed down and chased his friend down the street, both boys giggling uncontrollably. Catching up with Peter, Tommy attempted to slow down, but his feet were beyond his control. He skidded forwards and collapsed onto the floor, hitting the icy ground with a thud. Peter walked over to him anxiously. There was a moment of silence.
“Tommy - are you okay?” Tommy remained perfectly still. “Tommy! Tom!” Peter’s heart began to race. “Can you hear me?!”
Tommy kept a straight face for a good thirty seconds. Then he burst into laughter. Embarrassed, Peter took the opportunity to pelt his friend with another snowball.
Peter looked down at the spot where Tommy had fallen over years ago. He had searched every hiding place he could think of on Orchard Close, but he still couldn’t find his friend. This wasn’t like Tommy. Confused, Peter walked up to the Shaw household and rang the doorbell. Peter was surprised to see the door opened by Tommy’s mother. Mrs Shaw looked different now; her hair, which had always been a vibrant brown, was now showing the first signs of grey.
“Hi there, Peter. What can I do for you?” Mrs Shaw asked, looking surprised.
“Is Tommy ready to come out and play?”
“Tommy? He’s in town right now. He’ll be back later, I think.”
Of course. Peter remembered now. The previous year, the boys had discussed buying a sledge to ride in the snow. Tommy had probably gotten up especially early to go out and get it. Peter was annoyed he hadn’t done the same - he could have helped Tommy to choose a good one! He hoped he picked a red sledge; red was clearly the best colour. Still, he was sure Tommy could be trusted make an informed choice.
“Oh right - thanks!” Peter chirped.
Mrs Shaw closed the door, her raised eyebrow unobserved by Peter. Walking back onto the street, Peter wondered how they were going to fit all of their activities in. As fun as the snowball fight and sledding would be, it was of course vital that they found time to build snowmen.
Snowman building was another tradition which had begun the first time it snowed. After the snowball fight had reached a ceasefire, Tommy began scraping the snow together with his wellington, forming a big pile at the foot of his driveway. Peter watched as he developed it into a short, stocky snowman. After carving a smile into its face and adding pebbles for eyes, Tommy stood back and laughed at his creation’s uncanny resemblance.
“Look, Pete! It’s you!”
“Aha. Thanks.”
Peter forced a smile as he glanced at the portly figure. Was that really was how he appeared to Tommy? Well, if that was how it was going to be… Gathering the remaining snow with his hands, Peter moulded a tall, narrow snowman to stand alongside his own likeness.
“I call him Mr Lanky,” Peter smirked.
“That is nothing like me.”
“It is too!”
Every year after that, the boys had ended their day off by building snowmen to resemble each other. With time to kill, Peter took it upon himself to make a start on his portrayal of Tommy. Having developed his craft over the years, Peter made his creation as similar to Tommy as possible: 5ft in height, and with a smile which was half-friendly, half-smirking. Peter stood back and looked proudly on the finished product. Glancing behind him, he almost expected to see Tommy admiring his work of art - but the street was empty, the snow still lightly falling from the white sky. After pacing around for a while longer, Peter decided to do his friend a favour. Gathering more snow, he began work on Tommy’s usual task: making Snowman-Peter. Though Peter thought himself not quite as portly Tommy’s depictions suggested, he nonetheless moulded the snowman so as to resemble one of Tommy’s - short, wide and with a slightly gormless expression. Tommy would love it.
Yet the afternoon passed by, and still Tommy was nowhere to be seen. Feeling tired, Peter sat on the curb. He crafted some snowballs and began throwing them halfheartedly against the opposite wall, one by one. He was beginning to feel the cold, and was tempted to head home and call on Tommy again later. But he couldn’t risk missing him, so he waited. Surely there was an explanation? Tommy had never let Peter down before. Perhaps he was halfway home with the sledge and he realised it was broken, so he had to take it back. That would explain it. But would that really take up the entire afternoon? Peter shivered as he felt the snow soaking into his jeans.
In time the skies began to darken and the cold became unbearable. With a sigh, Peter prized himself up and trudged back towards his house. As he turned towards his driveway, he took one final glance up the road. Two figures were walking slowly down the street. Peter’s heart skipped. He squinted. Yes, it was Tommy! He was disguised in an unusually smart jacket and trousers, but it was definitely Tommy. At last they could let the fun begin. But where was the sledge?
Peter leapt through the snow towards his friend, forgetting that he was almost frostbitten. Getting closer, he looked at the other person. It was a girl, wearing a fancy white scarf and a lot of makeup. Her short brown hair and small features were familiar; Peter vaguely her recognised as somebody from the year above at school. Confused, but indifferent to her presence, Peter called out to his friend.
“Tommy! Where have you been?!”
Avoiding Peter’s eye, Tommy muttered a quiet “Hey.”
“I’ve been waiting all day! It’s nearly evening and we haven’t had our snowball fight!”
The girl smirked, and Peter took an instant disliking to her. Tommy remained silent.
“Well, once you’ve said goodbye to - your friend, we can get started. Can’t we, Tommy?”
Tommy looked at his companion apologetically before turning to Peter.
“Pete - don’t you know what day it is?”
“Of course I do. It’s snow day!” Peter grinned expectantly. Tommy sighed.
“I’m busy today, Peter. Sorry, pal.”
Peter watched in astonishment as his friend took the girl’s hand. The two walked, mitten in mitten, towards the Shaw household. As they shut the front door behind them, Peter thought about what Tommy said. What was so significant about today, other than that it was snowing? He recalled that tomorrow was the fifteenth, which was Tommy’s mother’s birthday. But this had never stopped Tommy coming out to play before. And besides, Mrs Shaw was at home.
Peter went back home and lay on his bed till the room went dark. When he fell asleep, he dreamed about snowball-fighting with Tommy - just himself and Tommy, playing together like they always did. By the following morning, the snow had started to melt and the clouds had given way to blue skies. The adults went back to work, and the snow on the street gradually disappeared. By the end of the day, all that remained of yesterday’s snow were two snowmen, stood side by side in the afternoon sun.
