Stairs Sprinter

Over the years, I have become adept at sprinting up and down stairs.

Stairs in our house,
hospital stairs,
the stairs at my Dad's house.

Nothing makes me shift my carcass quite as quick as my Mum shouting my name in that shrill panicked tone of hers, reserved only for me when she needs immediate  help with Emily.

Nothing, that is, apart from Emily's desperate cries.

It was a cold rainy day, my Mum was at work, and my Grandma was half way through her weekly seven hour tesco trip, (she knows far too many people and always gets caught in deep, 'meaningful and important' conversations- usually on the bread aisle).

I had been entrusted with Emily, which meant my last few hours had consisted of running around getting cold fizzy drinks and making Honey Buts (honey sandwiches- these were one of Emily's absolute favourites- partly because she loved the taste and partly because I detest honey and she knew I had to make them for her!)

She was upstairs in her room, and as instructed I had remained downstairs because she wanted some privacy. I sat down and changed the tv channel - NO MORE POKEMON TODAY I thought to myself, with a triumphant smile.

...

BEEEEEEETH! BETHHHHHHHH! ELIZABETH!!!

I shot off the sofa- roadrunner had nothing on me!

I was halfway up the stairs already, pushing off the sound of my Mother reprimanding me in my head- HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO LEAVE HER! ARE YOU STUPID?

I burst through the bedroom door, bracing myself for rigours, for vomit...

I grabbed the medazalam tube off the side.

Her bed was empty, the floor was clear-

EM?!?! WHERE ARE YOU?!?

...

'Right, don't be mad'

I whipped around and looked through the open ensuite door

There was that cheeky smile again...

'I'm going to be stuck here a while, you know, all the strong painkillers and stuff'

I put my hand on the bedpost to steady myself, the blood rushing in my ears

...

'Could you just angle the TV this way for me? I can only see half of Jeremy's face and it's real annoying me.'

Laughter erupted from deep within me.


I turned the TV, told her she was a moron, asked her kindly to never give me a heart attack like that ever again, and went to go back downstairs.

As soon as I placed my foot on the top step...

'BETHHHHHHHH'

I turned my head- what now?!

'Just before you go... I can't reach the diddler, (this is what we call the remote in our family). Like I can see it, but I can't reach it.'

The laughter came again, stronger than before.

I passed it over, and went slowly back downstairs.

When my Mum came home late from work that night, she came into Emily's room to see us, where we were both watching a film.

I told her what had happened and we all sat and cackled for a while.

We were still giggling a few hours later in our separate beds, able to hear each other through the thin walls.

I turned over, clutching my aching belly.

We all shouted good night, and Emily told us she loved us, even though we were idiots.

I drifted off, content, and happy.