Free Sin City by Wendy Perriam Page A

clouds. Clouds like bandages, clouds like semolina. Some are flat and lacy, others thick and padded. Some are torn in strips like we used to tear old sheets for curling-rags and dusters. Except they’re not old, not at all, but very clean and fresh.
    I’d like to smell them, touch them, maybe eat a bit of one. I think they’d taste like trifle. Trifle’s very special. We had it yesterday.
    I try to open the window so I can lean right out and reach them. It doesn’t seem to open, so I take my glasses off instead. I feel shy without my glasses and things go strange and fuzzy, but I don’t want anything between me and heaven.
    There’s an eiderdown! A white cloud eiderdown. I slept on one, just once. It belonged to another girl in Westham Hall, but she let me borrow it for a quarter of a night. I lay on top of it, not under it. It felt so soft and warm. Clouds must feel like that. I stole just one small feather before I gave it back, pulled it out and kept it, to remind me. Those clouds are full of feathers. I could lie on one for ever, with another one on top of me, pulled right up to my chin; feel the whole world soft and white, instead of hard grey stone.
    â€œNorah …’
    â€œJust a minute.”
    â€œLook, do come back. We haven’t had our coffee.”
    I put my glasses on again. My eyes feel weak and dazed from being let out of their cage. “Can’t we have it here? Change our seats?”
    â€œâ€™Course not, stupid. You can’t see the screen from there.”
    â€œScreen?”
    â€œFor the movie. You know – like TV. There’s two films, in fact, one starting any minute. Do buck up or we’ll miss that, too. It’s a funny one, they said, quite a hoot.”
    â€œ You go.” I turn back to the window. “I like it here.” The clouds have changed again. There are blue bits now, like lakes, between the white, and gold sprinkled on the top. I can’t see the sun, but it must be very close because everything is shining. I knew heaven would be shining. I can feel my body gold inside. I fly.
    A hand taps me on the shoulder. It isn’t Carole’s hand. “Will you please return to your seat, Madam. We’re showing the movie now.”
    I pretend I haven’t heard. It seems rude to me that people should watch television when they’ve got this close to God.
    â€œI’m sorry, but you’ll have to move. We’re closing all the blinds. And we like to keep those seats free, anyway, so as not to block the exit.”
    I slide out of the seat. She sounds sharp like Sister Watkins, so I dare not disobey. She leans over, snaps the blind down. Other hands pull other blinds all along the rows. It’s dark now, really dark. This must be a punishment. I creep back to my seat.
    The trays have disappeared, but Carole passes me a plastic bag with something grey coiled in it.
    â€œGo on – put it on. It’s the headset for the movie. Here, I’ll do it for you, if you like.”
    I hate things in my ears. At St Joseph’s, they stuffed our ears with cotton wool in winter, so everything was muffled. If we took it out, they slapped us. This isn’t cotton wool, but something harder. I can’t hear at all, just a whispered roar which is different from the plane’s roar. At least it’s not a mask. At least I can still breathe.
    I look up at the screen. A small thin man with a moustache is running in and out of rooms and climbing into wardrobes. His lips are moving so I think he must be talking, but I can’t hear any words. Only roar.
    I fiddle with the headset and everyone starts laughing – Carole and the fat man, the people next to them, and the whole row in front. I try to laugh myself, but I’m feeling rather scared. The laughs are getting louder, mixed up with the roar. I’m trapped in coils of laughter like barbed wire.
    It’s impossible to move. The fat man’s