Page 119 of Stolen

‘I’m her daughter,’ I say. ‘Alexa Martini.’

‘Naomi Todd. I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances.’ She sighs. ‘I’m afraid your wife’s taken a bit of a turn for the worse, Mr Johnson. Her heart rate’s up and her temperature’s started to climb. We don’t want to concern you, but we’d like to pop her back into theatre.’

‘More surgery?’ I say. ‘Are you sure that’s necessary?’

‘The doctors know best, love,’ Dad says.

‘Your mum is worrying us a bit, Alexa,’ Todd says. ‘Her bowel must have perforated quite some time before she arrivedat A&E. There was considerable faecal matter in the abdomen, enabling all sorts of nasties to get into her bloodstream. We’d like to stay ahead of this thing, if we can.’

‘Can I see her first?’ Dad asks.

‘Just for a couple of minutes.’

‘I’ll be right there, Dad,’ I say.

I wait until the doors to the ICU have swooshed shut behind him.

‘What’s the prognosis?’ I ask bluntly.

‘It’s still very early days—’

‘Dr Todd, I’d appreciate whatever facts you’re able to give me.’

Her grey eyes appraise me. ‘Your mother is very sick,’ she says, after a moment. ‘The biggest danger is sepsis. Mr Terpsichore is going to try to stabilise her condition with an abdominal washout, and he’ll also put in a drain. He may need to remove more of her large bowel. I’m afraid, after that, it’s very much a waiting game.’

The ground shifts beneath my feet. I have gone fromthey caught it in timetovery much a waiting gamein just a few minutes.

‘Is she going to die?’

‘We’re going to do everything we can.’

‘My sister lives in the Shetlands,’ I say.

A beat passes.

Naomi Todd’s voice softens. ‘In an otherwise healthy patient, the overall mortality rate, in a case such as this, is roughly thirty percent,’ she says. ‘Your mother has metastatic cancer, and the infection was already well-established before we were able to operate. If there are members of the family who might like to say goodbye, now would be the time to call them.’

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