I was still gripping the steering wheel like I’d just outrun a SWAT team. “I think I blacked out after my Queen of Hearts,” I muttered. “Was that a fever dream? Did we just—win?”
They were indeed so sweet.
To say that £275,000 made them so happy.
For me, it was just a penny but to them, it was like that world rained gold.
Jhing Jhing slapped the dashboard. “What do rich people eat after a win like that?! Champagne and caviar?!”
“No,” I said solemnly, turning the key in the ignition again.
We all looked at each other.
And said in unison:
“McDonald’s.”
Fifteen minutes later, we marched into our tiny, chaotic apartment carrying three giant bags of fries, six burgers, two apple pies, three sundaes, and the kind of victorious madness usually reserved for lottery winners or deranged ga
