and Ellen worked together to remove the bandages. Most came away easily and there was only one small section that required a little soaking. Abi felt positive. The skin she was revealing was red, indicating that the blood vessels were functioning.
‘Vascularisation has started,’ she commented, pleased with the outcome. ‘It’s looking good.’
‘What about his thighs?’ Julie queried.
‘The dressings on the donor site will remain on for another few days. His thighs are likely to be more uncomfortable due to the exposed nerve endings, but I will start to lighten his sedation.’ She turned to address Ellen. ‘Keep the antibiotics running for now.’
‘When do you think he might be able to come home?’ Julie asked.
‘Do you have somewhere to live?’ Abi realised she had no idea how badly their house had been damaged in the fire.
‘He’ll have to share a bedroom with his younger brother but the house is liveable.’
‘You should expect him to stay with us for another week but I’ll review that in a few days’ time and give you a more definite answer then.’
‘Will I need anything special when he does come home?’
‘We will go through all of that with you before he’s discharged. He will need physical therapy but I will get Grace Watson, she’s our resident physio, to speak to you before Dylan leaves and she or I will also organise a visit for you from a nurse or occupational therapist to organise any aids he might need. We’ve got time. The main thing is that he rests, stays relatively still and has time to heal,’ Abi explained, as she signed off on Dylan’s notes before returning to her office to get the rest of her day under way. She was consulting today. She had four new patients and she wanted a chance to read through their referrals before the appointments.
She sat at her desk, booted up her computer and scanned the list of names in her diary. One jumped off the screen at her. It was the first name on the list but that wasn’t what had caught her attention. She recognised this name.
Nicolette Farrington.
It couldn’t be.
The name was familiar but surely it couldn’t be her.
Abi’s heart was racing and she could feel a lump lodge in her throat, but she wasn’t quite sure what the lump was. It could be so many things. Fear. Apprehension. Panic.
Nicolette Farrington.
Mark had been a Farrington. He’d had two daughters—Nikki and Natasha.
Abi closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to stem the rising tide of panic. The words that had been printed on his memorial card flashed across the back of her eyelids.
Devoted husband of Tanya.
Loving father of Nikki and Natasha.
How many Nicolette Farringtons could there be in California? In LA?
She clicked on the patient details, almost reluctant to see what information had been entered. Did she really want to know?
Nicolette’s date of birth would make her twenty, which would make her the right age to be Mark’s daughter.
Abi was having trouble breathing. Her chest was tight and she could feel a sharp pain between her ribs as she tried to inhale. Apprehension had been replaced by guilt, which joined together with fear and panic. She fought down a wave of nausea as she tried to figure out what to do.
She buzzed her secretary to ask if Nicolette could be moved to Damien’s list. She hoped Jennifer wouldn’t ask why because what could Abi say?
I have a conflict of interest. She might be the daughter of my ex-lover. My married ex-lover. My dead ex-lover.
But of course Jennifer did ask why. ‘Why? Her mother phoned and specifically asked to see you,’ she said.
Why would she ask for her by name? Abi wondered. What was going on? What did she know?
‘Anyway,’ Jennifer continued when Abi stayed mute, ‘Damien is in surgery and Nicolette and her mother are already here. They’re waiting for you,’ she said, as if that ended the issue.
But Abi knew it was far from over. It was only just beginning. Unless it was a different Nicolette Farrington? That was her only hope.
She read through the referral letter on the screen, forcing herself to focus on the important facts and the patient’s history as she tried to ignore her nerves. The patient had sustained facial injuries in a motor-vehicle accident three months ago. She had fractured her eye socket, cheekbone, nose and jaw. She had been put back together but the initial focus had been on making sure she survived, not making sure she looked the same as before. And apparently she didn’t. This was a reconstructive surgery case and one that Abi would normally be excited about, but it was difficult to be excited when she felt like vomiting.
Still hopeful that she was panicking over nothing, she knew there was only one way to find out. She stood up from her desk, crossed the floor and opened the door.
It was her. Them.
There was no mistaking mother and daughter. She recognised them both, even though she had only seen them once before, at Mark’s funeral. But they were regular visitors in her dreams and the real-life versions looked identical to her guilt-induced, night-time visions.
They looked up as they heard the door open and Abi felt her heart stop as Mark’s pale blue eyes looked directly at her. Nikki’s eyes were identical to her father’s, the same shape and exactly the same shade, pale blue framed by thick dark lashes. It was like looking at Mark all over again, except a younger, damaged version. Abi hoped her own shock wasn’t written all over her face. She wasn’t shocked at the damage to Nikki’s bone structure but Nikki wouldn’t know that. She didn’t want her potential patient to think she was shocked by her appearance.
But the surprise of seeing Mark’s eyes looking back at her rendered her immobile for a few seconds before she came to her senses. Before she was able to ignore the colour of Nikki’s eyes, to ignore the fact that she had dark hair like her father’s, although his had been sprinkled with salt and pepper, before she was able to look at the whole person.
This wasn’t the girl Abi remembered from the funeral. There were few similarities between this girl and the one she recalled. She had been a pretty girl but the right side of her face looked completely different now. Her facial injuries must have been extensive or perhaps she had simply been badly managed. There was no correlation between the two halves of her face, between right and left. It was as if two different people had been put together to make one. Her face was lopsided, her nose was crooked, her right cheekbone was depressed and her right eye drooped.
Abi began to examine Nikki from a distance, looking at her face shape and bone structure and working out how she could fix her. She forgot about Mark. She forgot about his connection to this young woman. All she saw before her now was a girl who needed her help.
She swallowed her nerves and worries. Her professional mask slipped into place, hiding her own fears and insecurities. ‘Nicolette? I’m Dr Thompson. Would you like to come through?’
Abi managed to get through the beginning of the consultation by sticking to the script. She introduced herself to Nikki’s mother, Tanya, Mark’s widow, terrified she was going to start making accusations, but Tanya didn’t mention Mark and Abi relaxed. She got Nikki’s history and made an effort to focus on her; she couldn’t afford to dwell on Mark. The sins of the father were not Nikki’s fault or her problem.
She made notes about Nikki’s medical and surgical management post-accident, listing the issues Nikki reported—difficulty with eating and talking—and her concerns about her appearance. She listened to her say she just wanted to be normal. Abi could relate to that. Some people had external scars, others internal, but in the end everyone just wanted to be accepted, and for a young woman appearance was important. Abi got that and she would do her best to help.