A Walk Among the Clouds
A fine drizzle fell from the grey sky. Daniel tilted his face up, his skin instantly coated in a mist of rain. He breathed deeply, savouring the damp air. Behind him, the prison gates clanged shut with a metallic finality. Adjusting the strap of his sports bag over his shoulder, he quickened his pace along the high brick wall.
***
Two and a half years earlier
Daniel drove through the city, trying to shake off his irritation. Where had the love gone? Why couldn’t he and his wife understand each other anymore? On the passenger seat, his abandoned phone trilled insistently, drowning in its own ringtone.
The ringing stopped.
“Finally,” Daniel muttered through clenched teeth.
But before he reached the next traffic light, the phone rang again.
“What now?” he snapped, grabbing it.
“Danny, I can’t do this anymore. You just walked out—we didn’t even finish talking…”
Helen went on and on, picking up right where she’d left off at home. Her words drilled into his skull, fogging his thoughts and blurring the road ahead. He wanted to scream, *Just shut up!*
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Her voice sharpened.
“I know what you want to hear. Fine. It’s better we split than keep torturing each other.” He stomped the brake, barely stopping at the red light. The phone slipped from his fingers—he caught it just in time.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice crackled through the line. “Don’t leave, Daddy!”
“Sweetheart? I’m not leaving. Don’t cry, I’ll be home soon—”
A horn blared behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going!” Daniel barked at the impatient driver.
He hit the accelerator and tossed the phone aside, glancing at the passenger seat for a split second. Then—impact. An invisible barrier, then another jolt as the car behind rammed into him. The seatbelt bit into his chest as he slammed into the steering wheel.
“Oh, bloody hell!” He flung the door open and stumbled out.
On the rain-slicked tarmac, sprawled face-down before his car, lay a teenage girl.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted at the gathering crowd before crouching beside her.
And just like that, his normal life—his job, his wife, his daughter—vanished.
Daniel got two years. He considered it lenient. If someone had hit his little Alice, he’d have killed them on the spot.
Helen filed for divorce immediately, remarried within six months, and moved away with Alice. Now he realised she’d had a lover long before the accident—probably why she’d picked fights.
***
Daniel
He climbed to the fourth floor and rang his own doorbell, knowing no one waited inside. Then he knocked next door.
“Daniel! You’re back?” His elderly neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, clasped her hands. “Your lot moved away, you know?”
“I know. You wouldn’t have a spare key, would you?”
“Oh, of course—hang on.” She shuffled back inside and returned with a keyring. “Here you go. Pop in anytime, love.”
The flat greeted him with oppressive silence. In Alice’s room, her forgotten teddy bear sat slumped on the bed—the one he’d given her for her fifth birthday. He pressed it to his face, inhaling the fading scent of his daughter, swallowing a groan.
After a long soak in the bath, he collapsed into bed. It felt like he’d slept a full day, but the clock showed half past six in the evening when he woke, ravenous.
No one would hire an ex-con. He took a job as a loader at a nearby bakery. It would do for now.
He used to watch films, scroll news, chat with mates online. If he had a laptop, maybe he could freelance. But Helen had taken his.
He’d always earned well, stashed some cash. The car needed constant repairs, and Helen nagged about expenses—but she’d never found his secret fund. He rummaged through his hiding spot and grinned. Still there. Problem solved. The next day, he bought a cheap laptop.
Now, after work, he’d fire it up—scan job listings, skim social media. When he found Alice’s profile, he nearly whooped with joy. Photos of a girl who’d grown up without him.
He didn’t message her. Helen might block him. But he checked her page daily, biding his time. One day, he’d ask to meet. Not yet.
Then it hit him: find the girl he’d hit. She’d been fifteen then. Trial, prison—she’d be eighteen now. He’d never forget her name, but her face? Mud-strewn when they’d lifted her. Would he recognise her?
He typed her details into the search bar and scrolled. One face looked vaguely familiar—a girl smiling, but her eyes were solemn. Her profile was private.
Daniel sent a friend request and a message: *You remind me of my daughter. My ex took her far away.* A lie, of course. What else could a thirty-two-year-old man say to an eighteen-year-old girl?
He spun a tale—hospitalised after an accident, couldn’t walk. Piled on the drama to hook her. Posted as “Dave,” using old photos. What if her parents monitored her friends?
Three days later, she accepted. One selfie showed the armrest of a wheelchair. No doubt—it was her.
Josie wrote plainly: a car hit her too, but she’d had worse luck. No hate, no rage. Said she wrote articles online, made decent money.
“Brilliant! Teach me?”
Soon, Daniel rushed home daily, eager for her messages. Within a month, they were proper mates. He dodged questions about the accident, calling the memories too raw.
“You’d understand if you could walk,” he typed.
Guilt gnawed at him. Josie deserved better than a life in a chair. Shameful, lying to her—but she’d never talk to him otherwise. Soon, they Skyped.
One day, Josie invited him to her birthday.
“Will your parents mind a bloke my age showing up?”
“Relax. I’ve told them about you,” she said breezily. “Mum’s thrilled I’ve got a friend.”
***
Josie
Four hours hunched over her laptop. The article still wasn’t right—clunky phrases, weak words. Josie tweaked endlessly.
“Need a break, love? Fancy a cuppa?” Mum peeked in.
“Yeah,” Josie murmured, eyes glued to the screen.
Enough. Fresh eyes later. Sipping tea, she mentally rewrote sentences—until Skype chirped. Dave! She answered, camera on.
“Alright?” His voice crackled through, too cheerful.
“Hi. You’re early.” She smiled.
“What’s your biggest dream?” he blurted.
“Can you grant any wish, or are there limits?” She loved throwing him off.
“I’ll try. So?”
“Walking on clouds. Stargazing at night. Manage that?”
He paused.
“Easy. Need two days.” Then—click. Gone.
“Silly man,” she chuckled, returning to her work.
On her birthday, morning rain gave way to afternoon sun. *Good omen.*
The doorbell startled her. Too early for guests—not that any were coming, except maybe Dave.
She wheeled out—and nearly crashed into him. In person, he was handsomer. Mum hovered, eyeing him warily.
Daniel had worried Josie’s mum would recognise him from court. But he looked different now. She didn’t.
“Gorgeous. Happy birthday.” He handed her red roses.
She buried her nose in them, blushing.
“Ready?”
“For what?” she and Mum chorused.
“Our cloud walk.”
Mum gasped.
“Don’t fret. Bundle her up,” Daniel said.
“But her chair’s not—”
“It’s fine. I’ve handled worse. We won’t be long.” He wheeled Josie to the lift.
“Be careful!” Mum called after them.
Downstairs, planks bridged the steps. Daniel eased the chair down. Outside, Josie squinted in the sudden light.
“Cloud-walking time?” He pushed her through puddles mirroring the sky.
“I’m flying!” She flung her arms wide.
Daniel swerved around potholes while Mum watched tearfully from the window.
“Faster!” Josie gripped the armrests, knuckles white.
After looping the block, Daniel grinned, panting. “Well?”
“Amazing! Thank you.”
“Don’t relax. Surprise number two.” He wheeled her home.
“Mum! I walked on clouds!”
“Bless you, Dave,” Mum hugged him. “Haven’t seen her this happy in years.”
Daniel flinched—he’d forgotten his alias. The lie soured his stomach.
“Hope I’ve earned some cake?”
Mum bustled off to boil the kettleDaniel knew he could never truly walk among the clouds with her, but for one perfect afternoon, he’d given them both something close to flight.
