Prologue
Sean’s unhappy “ummph” as he bounced down the last four stairs convinced me the pulley system was not going to work. Even with gravity on our side, getting him down had been a difficult job. Getting him back up was going to be a Herculean feat.
I followed him to the bottom of the stairs and looked up toward the bathroom. The distance seemed vast. Still, Sean wasn’t in any state to use the bathroom, and my mind strayed grimly to thoughts of adult nappies.
The dangers of keeping him downstairs were myriad.
Picture the scene if a social caller dropped by, expecting tea and a chat, only to find this young man—strong and healthy just yesterday—prostrate on my lounge floor.
Imagine the mayhem that would ensue. If I was going to keep him downstairs, I would have to be very careful indeed.
“Ugg, gllg, glllg,” Sean gurgled, and I looked down to find him choking on his own saliva.
I heaved him to a sitting position and kicked his leg into place. Poor Sean would be covered in bruises at this rate! I straightened up, stretching my back, and he began to slide sideways. I caught him by the shoulder and balanced him against the banister.
“Cup of tea?” I asked, and he gurgled. “Come along then!”
I hitched myself between his ankles, like a horse between the shafts of a cart, and started moving forward.
As Sean’s upper body slid to the floor, I realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
After a few jerky steps, I turned around and started pulling backward.
But that was worse; I turned again and walked forward.
“We’ll get you into the dining room and take tea at the table,” I said, to rally his spirits.
Although Sean’s days of sitting up at a table were almost certainly behind him.
“Maybe we could have cake? I’ve got some left over from your wedding.
I froze my piece. You’re meant to freeze some and keep it for the christening.
Did you know that? Did you do that?” At my age, the chances of having a baby to christen were roundabout zero, but I like to stick to traditions.
Though traditions were out of the window now.
“No time like the present,” I said. “I can defrost it.”
Or maybe I wouldn’t defrost it. Sean’s cake-eating days were also a thing of the past. He would almost certainly choke on the crumbs, coughing his way into the next life, as the tiny morsels tickled their way down his throat.
The kitchen door was open and through it, as I dragged Sean down the hall, I could see the blender sitting on the countertop.
It would be seeing a lot of business in the weeks ahead; I may be in the market for a sturdier model.
Along with the nappies, this was shaping up to be an expensive enterprise.
Perhaps Sean could eat baby food, although I’d need to buy it in vast quantities. People would think I’d opened an orphanage.
“Aaarggh!” he said. As I rounded the corner into the dining room, something snagged.
I looked up from my toils and—goodness me!
—what had happened to his arm? Something was pulling it above his head, back toward the hall.
On investigation, I found it was still entangled in the pulley, tethering him to the stairs.
I unraveled him, crouching down to untwist his sleeve and giving myself time to catch my breath. I gazed at Sean’s woebegone expression, ran my fingers through his hair, and sighed.
“Be careful what you wish for, eh, Sean?” I said.