“So how you doing, Gran?” I asked on the phone.
“I’m good, dear,” said Grandma. “And how you doing?”
I hated having to do this. Grandma wasn’t my grandmother at all. Her grandson had been killed in a car accident and people had said she was on her last legs so why make her final few weeks miserable. So they volunteered me to phone up and pretend to be the grandson. I’ve phoned three times now.
“You sound a bit different,” said Grandma.
“I’ve had a bit of a cold,” I said.
“When am I going to see you again?” asked Grandma.
“We are so busy with assignments at university, Gran, that I hardly get a spare moment.”
“Well, you’re a good boy,” said Grandma. “No other grandchild phones or gives a hoot. So I’m leaving you my entire fortune when I go; the house, the car, the bank account. I don’t want anyone else to get a dime.”
“Don’t you think it would be better to share it around?” I asked.
“It’s all arranged,” said Grandma. “It’s all signed and sealed. Anyway, I’ve got to run dear. There’s a knock on the door and it’ll be a friend. We’re off to our weekly evening of roller skating.”