I take the first stair, holdin onto the rail on the right. I look up and he’s there right in front of me, and we’re helpin him – shovin him up those stairs one at a time – me and Lorna, Oh, he needs your help girls…he’ll no manage without you, my gran’s sayin. We know if we don’t help him he’ll fall back and he’ll crash down the stairs…right down to the bottom…and we’ll get squashed, cos he’s quite fat and he’ll maybe break his neck and get killed. So we keep pushin, hands on his back. C’mon Grampa, up you go, right to the top. And then he’s fallin back and we’re shoutin, Hold on Grampa, we’ll get you up…keep goin…just another few stairs. My gran’s right behind us, just in case. But we make it and we’re out of puff, and she passes us at the top of the stair, opens the door – Roght-o, into bed you go. And there I am on the top stair already, and I dont even remember climbin them, except in my memory – just a few months ago, and every Saturday forever. It was just a game, and I loved it.

I stop. What will I do? I’m no sure. I can hear everybody talkin downstairs, but the doors are shut as if they don’t want their voices to come upstairs to the room.


This story and others appear in the book Oor Ain Voice by Write Enuff! on this link: