Free Sin City by Wendy Perriam

the hospital.
    â€œYes, we have, silly.” Carole points to another plastic dish. It’s wrapped in that see-through stuff the doctor keeps his dressings in. There’s lettuce at the bottom, just a tiny bit with one slice of tomato. I think I’ll still be hungry.
    â€œWhere’s the pudding?”
    â€œThere.”
    â€œThat’s a cake.”
    â€œNo, it’s not, it’s pudding. Strudel Viennese.”
    I don’t know what she means. And I can’t see any fruit, not even just an apple. Perhaps they got the picture wrong.
    I eat the pudding first. It has wet stuff in it which doesn’t taste of anything, and two small currants. The chicken has gone cold. At least they didn’t mince it, but it isn’t very filling. You can have seconds in the hospital, or fill up with bread and marge.
    Carole’s drinking more champagne. I mustn’t drink, or I’ll need to go. I need to go already.
    â€œExcuse me, Sir …” That lady called him Sir, the one who brought his dinner. He smiled at her. He’s muttering at me. I think he’s foreign. I can’t understand the words. His eyes are very small, small and black like the currants in the cake. I can’t get out. No room between his stomach and his tray. “I’m sorry, Sir, but …’
    Three toilets in a row. I’ll try the middle one. It’s frightening locked in here. I should have left the door open like they make us do at Beechgrove. I’m trapped in, like a prison. No room to move, no windows. A gust of wind is blowing from the ceiling, very cold. Maybe there’s a hole in the plane and no one knows about it.
    They have funny toilets here, metal ones which are noisy when you go. Can they hear outside? There isn’t any chain to pull. I can’t make the taps work, either, or the plug. That’s my face in the mirror there. I don’t look how I thought I did.
    It’s hard to stand. The floor keeps moving under me. There are lots of little cupboards with soap and paper towels in. The bars of soap are tiny. Perhaps they can’t afford the large size. I slip one in my pocket. I’ve been in places where there isn’t any soap, even in hospitals where they keep saying “Wash your hands”. I’m not sure about America, but better to be safe. I also find some sanitary towels which are useful if I leak. I don’t have periods any more. They took a lot of things away when I moved to Beechgrove, including my womb.
    I daren’t disturb that man again. I think I’ll stay in here. Except you’re not allowed to hang around the toilets. Sister always comes to get you out. People smoke there sometimes. I tried a cigarette myself, just before we left. Carole asked me to. She kept worrying that I’d won the competition, yet never had a smoke. I cried first, then I coughed, but it made Carole happy, and I like it when she’s happy.
    â€œNorah? Are you in there, Norah?”
    Someone’s knocking. Sister. I’m not smoking, Sister, honestly, I’m not. I only smoked the once.
    I open the door. It’s Carole, come to get me. “Are we there?” I ask her.
    â€œDon’t be daft. We’ve hardly started yet. I was just worried where you’d got to. Are you feeling sick or something?”
    â€œOh, Carole, look!’
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe clouds.”
    â€œWhat about them?”
    We’re flying, yes we’re flying. It’s true. We’re right up in the clouds. They’re so wonderful I must sit down and watch. There are two seats on their own, with no one sitting in them. I climb into the window one, press my face almost to the glass.
    Clouds. So close we’re right inside them. Flying clouds. Clouds with wings, great white feathered wings like those Angels in the play. Carole’s right. I do feel sick, sick with happiness. I wish I had more words – words for happiness, words for all the