The Cloud That Needed a Nap

Theo was building a hill out of pillows when the cloud came in through the window.

It was a very small cloud. It was about the size of a cushion, and it was the kind of white that is really a bit grey, the way a sheep is a bit grey when it has had a long day.

"Excuse me," said the cloud, in a voice like a sigh. "Is this the sky?"

"No," said Theo. "This is my bedroom."

"Oh," said the cloud, and it sank a little lower. "I was looking for somewhere to rain. But I'm so tired. I've been floating since morning and I can't seem to get the drops out."

Theo looked at the cloud. The cloud looked at the pillow hill.

"You could rest there," said Theo, "if you want."

The cloud did not need asking twice. It drifted over and settled on top of the pillows, and it fitted the way a cat fits a sunny spot, exactly and all at once.

"Oh," it said. "Oh, that's better."

"Why are you so tired?" asked Theo, climbing into bed beside the hill.

"Big clouds have it easy," said the cloud sleepily. "They float along in a crowd and when it's time to rain they all do it together. But I got separated. I've been trying to rain on my own all day, and it's very hard to rain when nobody is raining with you."

Theo understood this. He had tried to be brave on his own once, at the swimming pool, and it had been much easier the next time when his dad came in too.

"You can rain here," said Theo, "if you need to. I don't mind."

"That's kind," said the cloud. "But I don't think I will, now. I think I'll just sleep."

"Do clouds sleep?"

"This one does."

The cloud's edges went soft. The grey in it faded, as if someone had turned down a lamp inside, and it became the clean white of a pillowcase fresh from the line. Theo watched it breathe. Clouds breathe, it turns out, very slowly, in and out, so that you can hardly see it unless you are lying very still, which Theo was.

"Theo," said his mum from the doorway, "why is there a cloud on your pillows?"

"It needed a nap," said Theo.

His mum looked for a long moment. Then she came in, pulled his blanket up, and kissed the top of his head and, after a small pause, the top of the cloud.

"Goodnight, both of you," she said, and turned the light out.

In the dark, Theo heard the cloud sigh, the comfortable kind. He put one hand out and rested it on the pillow hill, and the cloud was cool and soft under his palm, like a flannel someone has just rinsed.

In the morning the cloud was gone. The window was open, and far away over the park a small white shape was floating along with a big grey crowd, and all of them, together, were raining.

Theo's pillows were a tiny bit damp, right at the top. He did not tell anyone. Some things are only for the person who was there.