As the last one was unwound and the single remaining cotton pad peeled off, she picked up the hand mirror but held it in her lap. John and Myrna both carefully looked out the window. No one moved. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly.‘Shall we leave ye, lassie?’ Myrna asked.Tamar said, ‘No, it’s all right.’ She took an audible breath and raised the mirror to her face. Saying nothing, she stared silently at her reflected image.John held his breath.Tamar said flatly, ‘It’s revolting.’‘Och, no, lassie, it’s a huge improvement!’Tamar lowered the mirror and smiled. ‘Not my face, my hair! I haven’t washed it in nearly two weeks and it’s disgusting!’John laughed. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got your sense of humour back. You’re going to need it while I’m removing these sutures. And when I have you’ll really be able to see the improvement.’‘I don’t care, as long as they’re out, they’re itching like hell and my face has been still for so long I feel like a china doll.’As Tamar lay back, John took out a tiny pair of sharp, curved scissors.
