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‘Not about this.’

‘Ah, see, this one’s got her head screwed on,’ Emma said, patting Holly’s knee.

But Holly put the leaflet back on the coffee table and took a breath. ‘Emma, I’ve been doing some research into pancreatic cancer and—’

‘I stand corrected,’ Emma said with a sigh.

‘And I—’

‘You think you know better than the doctors, do you?’

‘No, I just—’

‘Holly, I’ve made up my mind.’

Holly shot Jack a helpless look and he grimaced in solidarity. He’d tried too.

‘I don’t want to have some awful treatment that will make me feel sick and give me all sorts of terrible side effects, only to add on a few extra months of what may well become a very debilitated existence because of those same treatments.’

‘But it might be longer than that!’

‘Not a lot longer,’ Emma said firmly.

Really, she might have been discussing how long to bake a bloody cake, rather than how long she had left to live. He supposed that was how she was getting through it – being practical. He supposed that was how he was getting through it, too.

‘I would rather have quality over quantity – and right now I am able to be at home, I can do pretty much everything I’ve always done, and I am not constantly back and forth to the hospital, which, by the way, is miles away. You won’t change my mind on this, my girl, and quite frankly it’s not your decision to make, so let’s move on once and for all, shall we?’

Holly stared at Emma, then glared at Jack, as if it were somehow his fault. ‘Back me up here, will you?’

He shook his head slowly. Because Emma was right: it was her decision. The hospice, no, but this . . .

She glared at him again, before looking back at Emma. ‘You’re giving up.’

‘I’m not, Holly. I’m accepting and choosing to enjoy what I have left, which I’m far more likely to do without chemo.’ She smiled a little. ‘Death is inevitable, my girl, so all we can do is choose how to face it.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be now,’ Holly insisted.

‘It’s not now.’

Holly shot Jack another look. ‘Don’t you have anything to say?’

‘It’s her choice,’ he said softly.

Holly’s lips tightened. She stood up off the sofa, nearly losing her balance in the process, and stormed out of the living room.

Emma only jerked her head at Jack – a silent instruction. He got to his feet and followed, found her in the kitchen.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

She was filling the kettle with water. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He grabbed her arm as she crossed the kitchen, still with that angry, storming stride. ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I don’t like this any more than you do.’

She looked like she was going to say something horrible at that, but she managed to bite back whatever it was as she pulled her arm from his grip. She set the kettle on to boil and crossed her arms tightly. ‘I can’t believe we are here, talking about the end of her life.’

He felt the wince run through him but did his best to control it – one of them needed to be the level-headed one here. ‘There is time, yet. And we both know things can change in an instant. She is still here, still enjoying life – and I say we try to enjoy it with her too. It’s not the end of the road yet.’

‘I might die getting hit by a champagne cork before the road naturally ends anyway,’ Emma shouted from the other room. ‘Twenty-four people a year do.’