“I’ve known you since you were four. I don’t need to listen to your songs to know you think blunt honesty is the same as tactful—”

“Anyway,” I interrupt. “Back to the whole point. What were you thinking? This is embarrassing. Delete it, quick, before anyone sees it.”

Amanda adopts a smug expression. “Too late.”

“What?”

She giggles. It sounds incongruous coming from her. “This page has barely been up a week and it’s already going viral. It’s been shared by”—she peers at her phone—“one hundred and twelve thousand people and counting. Had over twenty million views, and there are already six thousand comments. I haven’t even read them all yet, and more keep coming in.”

I stare at her. “What?”

“Which part did you not understand?”

“Any of it?”

“OK. Remember when we were at your house with your mum, talking about the budget?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I had an idea to help us raise some funds so we can throw you a proper party. I mean, anything that’s anything is on Facebook now. It’s the way to connect with the world.”

“Well disconnect it, please. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.”

“Oh, please. If you can’t accept charity when you’re dying, when can you?”

“But I don’t need charity.”

“Wrong choice of word,” she says, conciliatory. “It’s not charity, Ava, if people want to help you.”

“It is if they don’t know me and only want to help me because I’m sick.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I’m not. How did all these people even see it? If you only just created it?”

She smiles modestly. “I shared it on my band’s page. We may be on the wrong side of famous still, but we have a lot of dedicated fans. They all started sharing it and, well, it’s all gone a bit nuts.”

“I can’t believe you did this without asking me.”

“Look.” She holds the phone out to me again. “I’ll delete it if that’s what you really want. But before I do, read some of these comments first, OK? You have a lot of people thinking of you and sending positive, healing thoughts.”

“That reminds me,” says Kate drily, clicking her fingers. “I meant to put an order in for healing thoughts at the surgery yesterday. We’re fresh out of stock.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Amanda says. “You’re so funny. There’s nothing wrong with the power of positive thinking.”

“Except it can’t cure cancer.”

“No, it can’t cure cancer. Obviously. Just shut up, OK? This is for Ava.” She gets to her feet. “I’ll make you a cup of that green crap you drink while you have a look.”

After they’ve left the room I prop myself up in bed with an extra pillow, and with some trepidation I start scrolling down the Facebook page. She’s right: there are loads of messages. I even recognize the odd name from my past, an old school friend, an ex-colleague. But the vast majority are strangers.

Sorry to hear you’re sick! Kia Kaha, thinking of you xx