Title: Moments in Time

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Still not Joss Stirling, sorry...


Chapter Two


The nurse leads me into a plain, white room, with a comfy chair, generic paintings on the walls and a drip stand.

"Just sit there, then, Adrianne, and we'll get the platelets sorted for you," she instructs.

I dump my bag on the side-table and get myself comfortable, stripping off my hoodie to reveal my tank top, and the catheter I had put in two days ago in the crook of my elbow.

The nurse attaches a bag of platelets to the stand, and then rigs it up to my catheter. This part of the process is relatively painless – all I have to do is stay as still as I can as to not jig the set-up.

"So, we'll be back in half an hour to start the chemo, sweetheart," the nurse says cheerily. "Press the call button if you need anything."

"Okay," I say, not taking my eyes from the book in front of me. I hear the door close quietly as I turn a page. I'm reading The Girl at the Lion d'Or, by Sebastian Faulks. I'm going through a phase of reading and buying his books, ever since I read Birdsong, and fell in love with it.

After half an hour, two different nurses come into my room. I put the book away in my handbag as the younger one smiles at me. "Hello Adrianne," she says. "I'm Sorcha, and this is Maggie."

"Hi," I say. "Time for the chemo?"

"Yes," Maggie says. "But it will only last two hours today, as it's just a preliminary round."

"It could be worse," I try to force the trembling out of my voice – after all these years, I still loath chemo with all my heart.

"We aim to please," Sorcha smiles reassuringly. "I guess you know the drill, then."

"All too well, unfortunately," I sigh.

"Well, let's get on then," Maggie says, adopting a business like tone.


Time fades your memories, changes them from saturated colours to black and white. I haven't had chemo since I was sixteen, and boy have I forgotten how awful it is. Within twenty minutes, I start to feel sick, and ten minutes later, I start throwing up.

After another twenty minutes, Sorcha injects me with anti-vomiting drugs, and that does the trick, but still leaves me with a lingering feeling of queasiness.

The whole thing takes two hours, like Maggie said, but by the time it's done, I'm feeling tired and nauseated. After they've released me from the drip, I get up, trying to ignore the shaking in my legs, and follow Sorcha through to a smaller room, bright under the harsh hospital lighting.

She sits opposite me, holding a clipboard.

"I know you've probably had this talk before," she says, sympathetically. "But it is hospital protocol, so I'll just run through the main points."

"Okay," I say, swallowing hard.

"The combination of these drugs will make you feel really sick for a few days, but we'll give you a prescription for some anti-emetics to get from a chemist on your way home. Also, your skin will probably become dry and itchy, so it would be useful to purchase some moisturizing cream when you go to the chemist."

"Will my hair go?" I ask softly, dreading the answer. I lived through the pain of losing my hair three times, and I'll be damned if I have to go through it a fourth.

She looks slightly uncomfortable, but nods. "If it went last time, it'll go now," she says.

"Okay," I say. "Okay. That's fine. It's going to be fine." I knew it would happen, but I needed confirmation. Even though it was hopeless, I was hoping I'd be wrong.

"Here's your prescription," she says, handing me the green sheet. "Just take it easy, Adrianne, and we'll see you again in a week."

"Okay," I say, getting up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Thank you."


I find a chemist in a row of shops, and duck in to get my cream and drugs. The lady at the counter takes one look at my white face, and insists that I take a couple of tablets immediately. I don't argue with her.

When I come out of the chemist, I notice a hairdresser's across the street. I rake my hand through my lovely, soft hair and stare at the sign for a few seconds, crossing the road.

The bell tinkles cheerily as I push open the door, alerting the teenage receptionist to my presence. She smiles at me. "Hello, would you like to book an appointment?" she asks.

"Yes, please," I say. I have to go through with this.

"Okay, then. When would you like to book?" she flips through her notebook of times and days. I wonder morbidly if I'll still be alive when she reaches the end of the book.

"Do you have any spaces now?" I ask.

She studies her pad intently. "We have one in, like, five minutes if you could wait? Is it a wash and cut, or just a cut?"

"Just a cut," I say.

"Can I take a name?"

"Adrianne Delemare," I say.

"Okay, Adrianne, if you'd like to take a seat?" she gestures to the padded bench along the window.

I take a seat, and tip my head back against the cool glass, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths. Now I'm here, I'm having second thoughts, but I won't allow myself to back out. I won't.


I sit in the hairdresser's chair, staring at my pale face in the mirror whilst a blonde thirty-something woman brushes my hair. "You have gorgeous hair," she coos. "Such a nice colour, and it frames your face so well."

You're in for a shock, I think as she places a black robe around my neck. The nausea is subsiding – evidently, my anti-emetics are kicking in.

"How much do you want off?" she asks, picking up her scissors, and snipping them a few times.

"All of it," I say bluntly. "I want the whole lot shaved off."

Shock causes her mouth to fall open, her green eyes to almost pop out of her face. "Honey, surely you don't mean that!"

"I do," I snap. "I want the whole lot gone."

"Are you sure?" she asks, almost tentative now.

I shrug nonchalantly, sitting on my true feelings. "It's all going to start falling out in about two weeks anyway…"

"Chemotherapy?" the woman catches on to what I'm hinting at. "Oh, honey, I am sorry."

"So am I," I say, holding still as she starts to cut my hair.


I look so different without my hair. Fiercer, somehow. Wilder. Almost beautiful, in a strange way.

Kiera, as I found out my hairdresser is called, unhooks the robe. "All done," she says, watching as I run a hand over my now bald head.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"It was fine, honey."

"How much do I owe you?" I ask.

"Absolutely nothing," she says, waving her hand.

"But…" I protest.

"Get out," she says. "You don't owe me a cent."

"Thank you," I repeat, walking towards the door.


I get a bus back to college – unluckily it's full of kids, who stare me like I'm an alien from outer space.

I try to ignore them, but I can feel their eyes boring into me; hear their covert whispers to their bored mothers. What's wrong with that lady, Mummy? Mummy, why doesn't that girl have any hair?

I'm embarrassed, but I don't let it show; I just stare out of the window at the passing streets, golden in the midday sun.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in front of my mirror, the blue headscarf in my hands. My mother taught me how to put one on when I was seven years old, and it's taking a bit of thought to remember how to do it.

After a few tries, I finally end up folding it, then tying it in a knot at my left ear, letting the ends hang down onto my grey tank-top. I then lie on the bed and continue my book until I hear the bell for lunch.

I take a final look at myself in the mirror before I leave the room, adjusting the scarf, and pulling down my tank top. I don't know how Sabrina is going to react – she'll probably get grossed out by the catheter in my arm that is so obviously on display, but…

Why the hell am I thinking about what Sabrina wants? Why should I? This is my life, and I'm going through my own personal hell right now – I shouldn't even have to worry about her getting grossed out – that's her problem, not mine.

In the dining hall, Sabrina is sitting with Will and the blonde one again – Kian, I think his name is. I get a glass of water, and slide into the seat next to her.

"Hey, Adrianne," Will is the first one to speak. I smile briefly at him as he says, "Nice headscarf."

"Thank you very much," I say, taking a sip of my water. I am hypersensitive to Sabrina's stare, burning into my skin.

"It happened that quickly?" she squeaks, her hand covering her mouth.

I nudge her with my shoulder. "Don't be silly, Sab. I decided to get my head shaved – you know, so I don't have to go through any trauma."

Well, what do you know? Drugs evidently make me more confident.

"I…why?"

"Wouldn't you think it's traumatic for me to brush my hair every morning and have it come out in clumps?" my tone is saccharine, and I know I'm being a bitch, but after the morning I've just had…I'm not in the mood for my fickle best friend.

"Slow down," Will holds up his hand, as if to stop me in my tracks. "Why would your hair fall out?" I can see the puzzle pieces slotting together in his mind; he's frowning as he tries to work it out.

"I suffer from acute lymphoblastic leukaemia." I drop the bombshell.

His reaction would've been funny if the matter wasn't so serious. "You have cancer?" he splutters.

"Yes," I say, examining my nails, which are still pink and healthy-looking – for the moment, anyway. "And I had my first lot of treatment today. That's why I wasn't in."

"Okay," he sounds worried. "You're okay, though?"

"No," I say, suddenly annoyed at his density. "No, I'm bloody well not okay! I. Have. Cancer."

"Addie!" Sabrina looks angry, her dark eyes flashing at me. "Calm down!"

"How can you say that to me?" I ask her indignantly, slamming my hands down on the table, adrenaline rushing through my blood along with the chemo drugs. "I've had one hell of a morning and you're telling me to calm down?"

"Yes," she scowls fiercely. "You're embarrassing me!"

"I don't care, you selfish cow!" I spit. "Your best friend is sick, and all you care about is your shallow little appearance to the boys!"

Two spots of red burn high in her cheeks as she glares at me. What is her problem! Just because she has cancer doesn't mean she has to be such a bitch! I mean, it's not like she's actually going to die or anything!

I am so angry at the voice, my vision turns red. "I could very fucking well die!" I hiss at her. "And you wouldn't care at all!"

"Excuse me?" Hurt confusion crosses her face.

"Did I stutter?" I snap.

"What the hell, Adrianne? I didn't say anything! Why are you talking to me like that?"

"Because you're meant to be my best friend, and what the hell? Best friends don't assume things that they don't know!" I stand up.

Will suddenly looks alert, as Sabrina stands up too, tossing her hair. "I did not say anything!" she declares.

"You did!" I retort vehemently, before realising the whole dining hall is staring right at us like we've suddenly won the lottery. Ah, hell.

Will stands up, holding out his hand between us. "Adrianne, could I have a word?" Oh hello, Mr Peacemaker, nice of you to turn up now.

"Fine," I turn on my heel and stalk out of the hall, every eye following me as Sabrina breaks down into dramatic sobs.

Just outside, Will draws me into the shadow of a tree, away from listening ears. "Is there any particular reason why you started yelling at her?" he folds his arms, gives me a long, level look.

"For fuck's sake, Will, I don't need a lecture from you too!" I snap back, feeling an almost embarrassed heat flush across my face.

"No, please, humour me," his eyes are fixed on me, deep and brown.

"Because she assumed that I'm making a fuss over nothing; that I'm not actually going to die!" I throw my hands up. "She can't say things like that and get away with it!"

"Adrianne, she didn't say that," he says calmly, leaning back against the tree.

I snort. "Well, I definitely heard it. I must have picked it right out of her head," my voice drips sarcasm.

"Probably."

I stare at him, my anger leaching away to be replaced by bewilderment. "What did you say?"

"I said, probably. There's a highly likely chance that you picked it out of her head."

"What the hell are you on? This isn't a fucking fantasy story, Will!" I glare fiercely. If this is some practical joke, I'm going to kill him.

Then why can you hear me now? His voice reverberates around in my skull, tingling down my spine, warming me and making me shiver.

"I…I don't h…hear…a…anything…" I stutter, feeling overwhelmed.

Yes you do. I can tell.

I shudder. "Please don't do that, Will, it's creepy. You're scaring me."

"You can do it too," he takes one of my hands. I jerk away.

"No, I can't! I'm just an average, normal girl and my mind is playing tricks on me, that's all," I ramble.

"You're not average," he seems totally relaxed, a small, confident smile gracing his lips. "You're a savant."

"What?" I stare at him. "No, I'm not listening to this nonsense. I'm really not."

"You can't deny it, Adrianne. It's who you are."

"I can and I will." I turn away from the strange boy, start to walk; my head ringing.

Bye. His voice flows into my mind, like a beautiful melody, being played just for me. I squeeze my eyes shut, wrap my arms around my body in an attempt to protect myself.

As I round the corner, I think, Good Lord, what just happened to me?