During her chemo she is still tired and nauseous – even more so than before – but this is clearly a plus, not a minus. As Jenny declares as she struggles not to vomit up the pills, “If these are a placebo then I’m Marilyn Monroe.” “Well you do have the hair,” I point out. But within twenty-four hours of ending her chemo-week her energy levels rocket sky-high. Whether this is a result of not being dosed daily with radiation, not having to trudge back and forth to London, the optimism borne by the knowledge that she has ended up in the desired half of the trial, or perhaps even a sign that the treatment is working, is unclear. But we tacitly agree to decide that it is this last explanation that holds true. Whatever the real cause, Jenny has energy to spare. She deals with every aspect of Sarah’s schedule, cooks beautiful meals for the three of us, and even starts to repaint the hall. “Whether I end up getting rid of this place or dying in it, I still don’t want a green hall,”
