‘This is your idea of a sick joke? Like the pizza deliveries for a month?’ ‘Not as funny . . . but just as real. If you can see and hear me, it means you’re dying.’ Winnie draws a slow breath and rolls her eyes. ‘And they send you to my door to tell me this?’ she mutters. ‘How long have I got?’ ‘Well . . .’ I add, trying to sound sympathetic. ‘I wouldn’t book tickets for Hamilton . . .’
