Rags
to Riches

So I was sat with Marjorie in front of the TV, as we do, on
a Saturday night. She was snoring away. I was waiting for the woman with the
balls to come on. Marjorie’s snored since, well whenever. Since we were weekly
boarders at the Convent in 1948 and the nuns used to poke her because she kept
the other girls awake.

She’s snored since she came to live with me after Herbert
died. Drives me mad. I could kill her. Except she’s my sister.

So the woman with the balls comes on, then the man calls out
the numbers and I don’t have to write them down because we always have the same
numbers. I have my birthday, Herbert’s birthday, mum and dad’s birthday and the
Queen’s official birthday. Marjorie has mum and dad’s birthday and the Queen’s
birthday just like me. Then she has her birthday and the day she got engaged.
She never married.

I just stared. The numbers came up. There was mum’s, dad’s
and the Queen’s birthday. Then blow me, Marjorie’s, and the day she got engaged.
They all came up. I leaned over and gave her a poke. Seventeen million. Bloody
hell Marjorie. Seventeen million. But she didn’t say anything. And the snoring
had stopped. So I poked her again.

So I’m standing there with Marjorie dead in the chair and
I’m holding her Lottery ticket thinking bloody hell. She’s gone and won and now
she’s dead. What do I do? I know she’s left all her money to the cats home. All
because of that bloody moggy with the evil eyes and the broken ear. Doted on
him even though he used to rip her candlewick to shreds. If the Lottery people
give it to her, it will all go to the cats home. That will keep them in Whiskas
for a bloody long time.

So I’m standing there hanging on the phone to the man from
the Lottery company. “Yes this is Marjorie Cantrip. I think I’ve won the
jackpot. What do I do now?” He says yes that all seems present and correct so
now they’ll send someone round tomorrow to check the ticket and make sure it’s
all kosher. I’m going to have to tidy up the lounge a bit.

I do wish Marjorie
had gone on that diet like she kept threatening. Took me ages to haul her into
the yard. The bin bags kept slipping off and her head made a hell of a bang
when it hit the kitchen step. Good job she can’t feel it. At least the lounge
is tidy. Well it will be when I’ve vacuumed. Don’t know what I’m going to do
with Marjorie but I’m sure it’ll be a lot easier to sort out when I’ve got
seventeen million in the post office.

He’s a very nice man with very shiny shoes. I opted for no publicity. He says they can
advise me on how to invest it and they can appoint a fund manager and all
sorts. Me, I just want a new bathroom. It’s embarrassing when visitors still
have to go out to the privy in the yard. He went out a couple of minutes ago. Said
he’d drunk too much tea. I’d better go and check he’s all right. Don’t want him
finding things he shouldn’t.