Cast
Kieran Johannsen: a young gold-digger.

Scene
Life is unfair. My neighbour Mark Grimshaw inherited a bunch of money from his Great Aunt Edna (I assume it was “Edna”) and he used it to buy a Porsche Boxster. I drive a 1996 Ford Fiesta.

I’m not jealous of Mark Grimshaw and his beautiful Porsche Boxster but I think it’s totally unfair that a guy who stacks shelves in a supermarket (I assume) can own a luxury car and I have to get around in a twenty-year-old clunker. That’s why I’m looking for my own Great Aunt Edna. Not because I’m jealous of Mark Grimshaw, but if that guy has a Porsche Boxster then I want one too.

I met my friend Mrs Mavis Dalton at the hospital cafeteria where I work. She’s a sweet old lady suffering from severe rheumatoid arthritis and I reckon she’s only got months to go. Oh, “Hello Mrs Dalton! So great to see you. Look what I have. It’s your favourite chocolate pudding. I made it myself.” (bought it from the deli) “How’s your health?”

I talk to Mavis for twenty minutes and she updates me on her beloved Mr Tabbikins. Even though I’ve never seen Mr Tabbikins I could pick him from a lineup of twenty tabby cats by his odour alone. Mavis Dalton’s only daughter died in a car accident three years ago so she needs a friend.

On Wednesday evening I work as a bingo announcer at the local Club. “Eighty-eight, two fat ladies. Not that anyone here fits that description. Sixty-eight. Ooh, so close. Legs eleven, phwoar.”

They all love me there. I make it fun. At the end of each night I chat to whoever’s come alone. I’m particularly close to Max Sutton who has stage something prostate cancer, and Walter Finkleson who’s a different shade of grey every time I see him. He’s gone through half the Dulux colour chart since we met in April.

Max and Walter aren’t around tonight so I go introduce myself to Molly Alderley. “Hello dear. What’s your name?” “I’m Kieran Johannsen. Two Ns and an E.” “And what do you do, Kim?” I frown a little. “I’m the bingo announcer.”

Molly Alderley frowns right back as she pokes around in her meat tray. I say, “You look to be in good health Molly. How old are you? Seventy? Sixty-five?”

“I’m eighty-seven. And yes dear, my health is tip top. Still on my second set of teeth.”

I compliment Molly on her dentures, then she says. “What’s your name?”

Alright, dementia. A dementia sufferer isn’t going to know who I am, let alone put me in her will. I wish Molly a nice evening and head home.

Before you start judging me, all I’m doing is giving these lonely old darlings the one thing they’re missing in their lives: some company. If that’s worth their entire life savings to them, who am I to argue? That kiss on the cheek Mrs Bellevue gives me each week at the wildflower gardens is one of genuine fondness. And I really do care about how Mr Steinbach’s Parkinson’s disease is affecting him. You know the poor guy’s signature looks like an angry spider trying to paint a Jackson Pollock? Half his cheques bounce!

Next week I have lunch with Mrs Tan during my break. “How’s the hip?” I ask. “Which hip? One God give me or metal one Dr Frankenstein put in?” “Both?” “Both are terrible!”

I sip my coffee. Old Mrs Tan is supposed to be dying of something I can’t pronounce but she’s looking great. “Sorry to hear that Mrs Tan. I was going to take you ballroom dancing on the weekend.” “Ooh, you such a charmer. Maybe weekend after.”

END OF EXCERPT