The Girl Who Cried Wolf(7)

Dr Barbie was having none of it. ‘Bring Anna some fruit, please, Isabel.’ She looked back to me. ‘How will your body repair itself if you don’t give it the tools to do so? You need a little protein, vitamins and carbohydrates to get well again.’

She continued to drone on about fats and minerals so I rolled my eyes at Izzy, expecting her to pull a face also. We hated being told what to eat, and much preferred diet and starvation. But she nodded along with Dr Braby, agreeing that I needed to eat more, and that she’d bring me some bananas for folic acid and berries for antioxidants.

I felt doomed as Izzy left the room and closed the door behind her.

‘Mr Raj told me how upset you were earlier.’

‘So would you be if you just found out that you’ve suffered the worst, most terrifying weeks of your life for nothing. That it didn’t work but hey, look on the bright side; you’ve lost all your hair and you can no longer eat or drink without throwing up so let’s just look forward to the major brain surgery you probably won’t survive and be happy, shall we?’

Dr Braby took off her expensive glasses and looked at me. I thought her lovely eyes seemed watery and she suddenly seemed rather young and soft.

I let out a big sigh and tried hard not to start crying. ‘Please don’t start being nice. It might make me throw up again.’

She smiled and said, ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about your hair. Don’t start shouting at me just yet, and try to remember that I’ve spent a lot of time with women who’ve been through this so maybe I can help.’

I wanted desperately to tell her to f*ck off but I do not speak to people like that, so I said nothing. I stared furiously at a freckle on one of my hands instead.

‘Your hair will grow back, Anna, probably a lot faster than you think, but for the next few months I want you to be able to face yourself and what’s happening to you.’

I felt some consolation that she seemed to think that I might still be here in a few months, until I looked down and saw she was holding a hand mirror.

‘I know that you’ve taken down the mirror in the bathroom, and you won’t let anyone touch your hair, but if you want it to grow back healthy, we need to cut it properly. I’ve brought some lotion that helps regrowth.’

‘Anna, I know you hate me. I’ve brought you nothing but bad news since we met, but please try to let me help.’

She was right. I did hate her, but part of me was curious to see what it was she had in mind. How awful did I actually look? The fact that almost everyone winced when they first came in to see me was not a good sign. A few weeks ago I did take down the bathroom mirror, Barbie was right about that.

I had made the mistake of looking into it after being sick through the night, and never mind the cancer, I nearly died right there and then. My face was unpleasantly gaunt, and there were blue and black circles around my eyes like dark bruises. Eyebrows and eyelashes gone, skin an ashen grey, but worse than any of that, worse than the stranger’s face looking back at me through hollow eyes, was my not so long ago Super Blonde hair.

I only had small tufts near my forehead and round the skull, then some long, thin straggly strands near the nape of my neck and my ears. They had all brought me various bandanas and wigs since then, but I was not in the mood. I had always worn make-up, and aimed for immaculacy. I loved moisturising my skin and highlighting my features. Kohl around the eyes, blusher to the apples of my cheeks, and I have very rarely been seen without lip gloss. It was the part of being female I loved the most. The bubble baths, the body oils, the hair perfume. And now look at me. No, if I was going to look like the walking dead I might as well do it right. I could not see any way back to myself and it terrified me more than the cancer.

I took the mirror from above the wash basin and rested it gently but firmly behind the sink unit, glass facing the wall. I remember going to bed that night and praying to God I would not wake up.

‘I’ve brought you some things.’ Dr Braby’s strident voice broke through my thoughts.

I must admit I was more than a little enticed when she placed some rather expensive-looking bags on the tray in front me. I saw Ralph Lauren and what looked like a Chanel powder compact.

I tried my best to look nonchalant, and sighed dramatically. ‘If you must.’

I felt hugely self-conscious as she snipped away at the sparse strands of hair and cut them short. But she chatted as she snipped and it was starting to feel better. This woman was so bloody sure of herself it was hard to believe she did not know exactly what she was doing.

‘That’s better already,’ she told me, using a huge make-up brush to dust the hairs off me as if we were in a salon. ‘Izzy told me she brought you some toiletries weeks ago but you’ve never even looked at them.’

‘In that cupboard.’ I pointed to where I had stuffed the bag, thinking I was too miserable for my old luxuries. They belonged to another life.

‘Here, have a look.’

I opened the lovely Ted Baker bag and ooh’d and aah’d for a while at its contents. How could I have missed out on this, and have not even thanked Izzy?

All of my favourite things: a bottle of Chloé perfume (almost new), some Max Factor lip crayons, Olay cleansing wipes, and a Clinique moisturiser. There were more treasures in the side compartment; YSL Touche éclat, and a large tube of Benefit lip gloss.