Dreaming under the sheets

“All I remember is the sense I had every night. I’d bury my head under my sheets, close my eyes and pray that when I opened them again I’d be back home with Mum in England. The sheets would feel rough against my skin, but if I willed hard enough I could make them feel soft like the winceyette ones Mum had and then it was like sleep would transport me home.”

Abimbola Babatunde, in Alice Douglas, My big brother, Bim, The Guardian, 6.3.2010, Family, p.2