‘That I take you home to my flat.’ ‘Your flat?’
Her expression was so shocked that he hurried to continue. ‘I—we—do have a spare room, Sara, and I’m sure that your sister would be delighted to know you’re somewhere safe.’
Under her breath she muttered something that sounded very much like, ‘I doubt it.’ He almost asked her to explain but as she was conceding defeat over donning her coat it looked as if he’d at least won that round, even if was only to get her to stay here for the few hours left till morning.
‘I’ll give you a lift after morning rounds if the orthopod gives you the all-clear, and see what we can do to make you comfortable and safe … all three of you,’ he added quickly when she bristled again at the suggestion that she couldn’t take care of herself. He wasn’t above using her pregnancy as a weapon if it got her to take care of herself. ‘The last thing you need is to have a fall down the stairs. You might not be so lucky a second time.’
SARA felt as if she’d been tricked into staying in hospital for the last few hours.
It had taken her some time to recognise the way Dan had played on her concern for the two tiny beings residing inside her to persuade her to agree, and she’d even had to smile at his astuteness, but she had no intention of staying any longer. Now was the perfect time to make good her escape, while the staff were all too busy elsewhere to notice her going. What did it matter that she would now be leaving in daylight in a pair of oversized scrubs that looked like a clown’s baggy pyjamas and a coat that looked as if someone had rolled in the gutter in it—which she had.
‘Maybe the dry-cleaners will be able to do something with it,’ she muttered as she awkwardly balanced her borrowed crutches across the arms of the wheelchair to reach for the button to call for the lift. If the coat wasn’t salvageable … well, it was easy come, easy go. It had been one of the items Zara had been throwing out because she’d needed to make room for more up-to-the-minute items, irrespective of the fact that it was made of some horrendously expensive fabric like cashmere or vicuna. All Sara knew was that it was the most deliciously warm coat she’d ever worn and she’d be loath to lose it. She certainly wouldn’t be able to replace it with anything as good.
‘Making your escape?’ said a deep voice behind her, and she jumped so high she had to scrabble to hold onto the crutches.
‘Dan! Don’t do that!’ she snapped as her heart gave its familiar leap in response to his closeness.
‘I had a feeling you wouldn’t be waiting about this morning,’ he said wryly. ‘It’s nice to be proved right.’
‘Actually, I was just going to call in to ICU to see what Zara’s latest results are. Have you already been? Do you know?’
The lift gave a quiet ding and the doors slid open to disgorge half a dozen assorted staff and visitors. ‘Let’s find out together,’ he suggested as he took charge and wheeled her into the lift. Then the doors slid closed and the two of them were trapped in the enclosed space, isolated and alone in a way she’d been careful to avoid ever since the day Zara had turned up to be introduced to her tall, dark and handsome doctor friend.
‘Sara, are you really well enough to be leaving so soon?’ he asked quietly, and her heart gave a stupid extra beat when she saw the caring expression in his eyes.
He’s a doctor. Caring’s what he does, she reminded herself firmly, just in case she got the idea that it was her as a person that he cared about.
‘I’ll cope,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m a fit, healthy person, so I’ll soon be on the mend. You don’t have to worry about me.’
Her timing was perfect as the doors slid open just as she finished speaking, and the people waiting to board the lift prevented Dan from saying anything more.
‘Ah, Daniel. Good. I’m glad you’re here,’ Mr Shah said, almost as soon as they’d set foot in the unit.
‘Problems?’ Sara heard the edge in his voice that told her he’d been expecting this conversation.
‘More problems than I’d like,’ the consultant admitted as he showed them into his office. ‘Your wife’s liver enzymes are raised and rising but time is critical. If only we knew exactly how long it was since she took the overdose. We’d have some idea how much further they might go.’
Sara felt sick as she took in the information. She knew that the raised enzyme levels were evidence of liver damage but she also knew that the number of hours between overdose and the start of treatment was very important. If a patient received the antidote within eight hours there was a far better chance of saving the liver from permanent, if not fatal, damage.
In her mind’s eye she replayed the split second before she’d been struck by that car, the instant when she’d been looking straight towards whoever was driving it and had seen her own face looking back at her.
Had it been her own face, reflected back at her from the windscreen, or had the person behind the wheel been the only other person in the world with a face exactly like hers?
She didn’t want to know, couldn’t bear to know if it had been Zara, because whoever it had been, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that they had aimed the car at her deliberately, that they had intended to kill her and the babies inside her.
But … logic told her that knowing might be essential for Zara’s health. If she had been the driver, that would mean that she probably hadn’t taken the paracetamol until she’d returned home. That would give Mr Shah the timeline he needed to gauge how much more aggressive his treatment needed to be if he was to be able to rescue Zara’s liver.
She was still conducting her silent debate when one of the nurses ushered her parents into the office to join them.
‘I’m afraid Zara won’t be going home today,’ the consultant stated firmly as soon as the pleasantries were over.
‘But I’ve got everything ready for—’ Audrey protested.
‘She’s not well enough to leave today,’ he said. ‘Her latest results are showing us a problem with her liver and she needs to stay here until we know she’s stable.’
‘Her liver? What’s wrong with her liver?’ Frank demanded with a look of disbelief. ‘She’s never been a big drinker, not like some of these girls who go out and get drunk all the time.’
‘Partly she’s having the problem because she’s underweight,’ Mr Shah explained patiently. ‘Her liver didn’t have enough reserves, so when her body started to break down the paracetamol, it began damaging the tissues of the liver.’
‘So, how bad is it?’ Frank was suddenly very subdued, as though the severity of the situation was only now coming home to him. ‘And is it going to get any worse?’
‘The damage means that her liver will develop areas of necrosis—that means the tissue dies,’ he explained hastily when he saw their puzzled expressions. ‘We don’t know yet whether it’s going to get any worse. It’s just a case of wait and see.’
‘How long will we have to wait? Weeks? Months?’ Audrey asked tearfully, clutching her husband’s hand like a lifeline.
‘Not as long as that. Usually, it’s no more than a few days before we can tell whether the liver is damaged beyond repair.’
‘What happens then?’ Audrey was pale and shaky but clearly intent on fighting for her precious daughter. ‘What are you going to do to make her well again? Will she need medication or dialysis or what?’
‘Dialysis