and Frank’s direction. ‘A decoy of some sort, to make you think she’d taken something else.’
‘Well, it worked,’ Dan said flatly, hating the thought that even in something as serious as an overdose of drugs Zara was playing stupid games. ‘So what had she taken?’
‘The lab results say that the majority of the tablets were paracetamol but there was definitely some phenobarbitone, too.’
‘See!’ Audrey exulted, obviously completely oblivious to the serious expression on the man’s face. ‘It was nothing more than some over-the-counter tablets. We’ll soon have her home again, good as new.’
‘We knew in A and E that there was something wrong when her stomach was pumped,’ Dan said, remembering his shock when he’d seen just how many tablets there’d been. It had looked like handfuls of them still largely undissolved, to say nothing of the ones that must have already dissolved and entered her system. ‘The label on the bottle meant it should have been capsules but they were bringing up plain white tablets.’
‘Well, it looks as if she thought she was taking just enough phenobarbitone to send her to sleep, and miscalculated. She’s still comatose.’
And that wasn’t the worst of it, Dan knew with a sinking feeling, already working out for himself what Mr Shah was going to tell them next.
‘She was given activated charcoal when she was brought into A and E after her stomach was pumped,’ he recalled with a feeling of dread.
‘Unfortunately, not long after the IV was set up, she had an adverse reaction to the antidote we were giving her,’ the consultant said, obviously trying to keep things simple for Frank and Audrey. ‘We’ve given her antihistamine to dampen the reaction but, because she’s had the charcoal, methionine won’t be an effective alternative.’
To say nothing of the fact that she was still unconscious and would be unable to swallow the methionine tablets, Dan added silently. He’d been horribly right in what he’d feared. ‘That means you’re going to have to start the same IV again at the lowest possible infusion rate so you don’t trigger the reaction for a second time.’ And that meant it would take that much longer before the drug in her body was rendered harmless—time in which it could be doing untold damage to her liver and kidneys, especially to someone who was borderline for malnourishment, the way so many fashion models were.
‘So, how long will it be before she wakes up?’ prompted Audrey eagerly. ‘How long before we can bring our little girl home?’
The consultant sent Dan a wry look, sharing the knowledge that here was yet another set of parents who were only hearing what they wanted to hear.
‘We’re giving her medication to mop up the drugs still in her system, but everything else is largely up to her own body. She won’t wake up until the sleeping pills she took have worn off, and we have no idea how long that will take. It’s just a case of waiting,’ he explained kindly, and Dan knew that the man had recognised that neither of his in-laws was capable of taking in the possibility of any other outcome. As far as they were concerned, Zara would wake up as quickly and easily as though she’d fallen asleep in front of the television the way she sometimes did after a long flight.
‘Excuse us,’ Frank said suddenly, getting out of his seat after a quick glance at his watch. ‘It’s our time to go and sit with Zara. We wouldn’t want to miss it.’
‘By all means,’ the consultant said, getting up courteously to open the door for them. He glanced back at Dan as though asking whether he wanted to leave, too, but he didn’t move. There were so many more questions he needed to ask, particularly about the lab results and the level of concentration of the paracetamol that had been found in Zara’s blood.
At the last moment, just as the door swung closed, he caught sight of a slight cotton-clad figure in a wheelchair out in the corridor.
‘Just a moment, sir,’ he requested, and hurried across to open the door again, to find Sara making her laborious way towards her sister. Her parents must have passed her just seconds ago but had clearly left her struggling on her own.
‘Sara,’ he called gently to attract her attention, and stifled a wince when he saw how gingerly she turned her head towards him. She shouldn’t be wheeling herself about when she was so badly bruised. She should be lying in bed, giving her body time to heal.
‘Did you want to have a word about Zara?’ he invited. ‘The latest lab results are in.’ He glanced over his shoulder to find that the consultant hadn’t been quite so quick to mask his reaction to Sara’s injuries. ‘Do you have any objection if she joins us, sir? Zara is her twin, but Sara is a doctor on the staff here, down in A and E.’
‘I’ve no objections at all. Come in, my dear. Let me hold the door for you.’ He hurried to hold the door wide while Dan strode out to take hold of the handles and provide the propulsion she needed. ‘My word, your family is in the wars. What on earth happened to you?’ he asked as he gently shook her hand as though afraid she would shatter.
‘A hit-and-run accident on my way home from work,’ she said, as she used her hand to shift her cast to a more comfortable position, the wry smile that she sent him doing nothing to lift the evidence of pain from her face.
Dan ached for her, wishing there was something he could do, but there was no one on earth who would be able to persuade her to take painkillers if she’d decided against them.
‘How bad were the results?’ Sara asked quietly, as ever going straight to the point. ‘How much damage has she done to herself? I suppose she got the barbiturates on one of her foreign trips.’
‘Actually, my dear, it’s not the barbiturates that are causing the biggest problem,’ Mr Shah explained. ‘The majority of the drugs your sister took were paracetamol.’
Dan wouldn’t have believed that Sara could have gone any paler until he saw it happen. Her lips were almost colourless and she had to lick them with a flick of her tongue before she could speak.
‘So, she’s on IV N-acetylcysteine? What concentration has the paracetamol reached? Is it still rising or is it on the way down now?’
‘It’s not rising any more, but it hasn’t started dropping yet,’ the consultant said apologetically. ‘As you say, we put her on IV NAC, but she quickly developed side effects. We’ve had to administer antihistamine and drop the dosage of the drip right down.’
The small frown pleating her forehead told Dan that she had worked out for herself the reasons why they couldn’t use the alternative antidote, and admired the fact that her brain was still working just as fast as usual in spite of everything that had happened over the last day.
‘Also,’ Mr Shah continued inexorably, ‘we have no way of knowing how long the drugs have been in her system. If it is only a short time—less than eight hours—then it will not be such a big problem, but we cannot assume anything.’
Dan was watching Sara’s face as the consultant was speaking, so he saw the sudden widening of her eyes and the deepening of her frown. The expression must have pulled her stitches if the wince and the protective hand that came up to cover the dressing was any indication.
For a moment it was obvious that she was conducting some sort of internal debate and the way her hazel eyes darkened told him it wasn’t a pleasant one. Then her hand dropped to the curve of her belly in a protective gesture as old as time and panic roared through him. Was she in pain? Was she suffering a delayed reaction to her accident? Was she miscarrying?
‘Sara,’ he began, fighting for self-control when all he could think of was the precious picture propped on his mantelpiece, ‘is everything all right? Are you feeling—?’
The sudden sound of a hasty knock at the door cut him off as the consultant excused himself before calling, ‘Enter.’
‘Mr Shah, Zara Walker seems to be waking up. Did you want to—?’
‘Thank