At that point Matt interjected with some advice about what they needed to do from a legal perspective if a countersuit truly was Tom’s choice. Madeleine felt her vision narrow and heard a strange ringing in her ears, even as she continued to witness the exchange between the two men, or, more to the point, Tom’s diatribe about the threat to their family’s character and personal liberties.
But at the mention of the character attack, Madeleine started to think about her own rapidly growing public profile. She thought about all that she had accomplished in the last year or so. It was this realization that really frightened her.
This lawsuit—especially if it got as far as the courts—could be highly public and very divisive. She thought about what her mother-in-law had pointed out before, about public opinion and what a hot-button topic vaccination could be. What would people say when word got out? Would they feel the same way as Kate did and blame Madeleine for passing the measles virus to her daughter? What would they think of her?
She had spent long enough on the internet to know how vicious and unforgiving anything to do with harm to a child could be. If these proceedings went ahead, would people fall on her family’s side or Kate’s?
And if they didn’t and she and Tom were castigated for their stance on vaccination, would Madeleine and her family very quickly become social pariahs?
22
Later that week, I sat next to Rosie’s bed.
She was as silent as ever. The only sounds that came from her were electronic ones, the various beeps and boops that showed her vitals and expressed that she was still of this world.
I, however, was not silent. I made it a point every day to sit close by and talk to her, stroke her beautiful curls and discuss what was happening, how much I loved her and how I missed her. How very much I wished she would get better. I had to believe that she could hear me—I needed to feel close to her. Especially now, when I felt so scared about what was happening outside the hospital walls.
“I’m only doing this for you, honey,” I said, wondering if I was really talking to my daughter or myself. “And if you woke up this minute and showed any sign that everything was going to be OK, I would stop the action immediately. I would.”
Brushing a curl of my daughter’s hair back from her forehead, I let out a heavy sigh. If anything I felt more exhausted now than I had in the weeks before. I knew that much of it was based on stress. Pretty soon, if not already, all of Knockroe town, perhaps even Glencree, would hear what was going on. And while I was sure I would have supporters like Christine who believed I was doing the right thing, I also knew that there were going to be critics, too. My thoughts turned immediately to Lucy, one of Madeleine Cooper’s closest and oldest friends. Whose side would she be on?
I had to pray it would be mine, because if this got to court, I needed Lucy to testify that Madeleine had indeed sent Clara to school knowing she was ill.
I had yet to broach the subject with her and I knew it would be a very hard thing to ask.
I didn’t get to ponder that line of thought too much, though, because suddenly I realized I wasn’t alone. There was a soft knock at the door and I looked up with surprise to see that it was Declan. I was expecting contact from him about next steps soon, but I certainly hadn’t expected him to show uphere.
And he must have read it on my face. “I’m sorry, I hope I’m not being too forward popping in unannounced. It’s just, I’ve had some thoughts, and I wanted to save you from having to leave Rosie’s side for any of this stuff. I also figured I’d try to meet the medical team while I’m here. But I appreciate that I’m intruding, I should go...” He started to edge toward the door, and I motioned for him to stop.
“No, really. It’s fine. I was just...talking to her.” I nodded toward the bed. This would be the first time Declan “met” Rosie, and I couldn’t shake a sense of weirdness about this situation. This was awkward—and I knew that he must feel it, too. He had to.
“May I say hello to her?” he asked softly.
The tense knot that had found a permanent home in my shoulders seemed to disappear and I felt myself offering a grateful smile. Far from being awkward or uncomfortable, Declan was treating this like a normal situation, and he wasn’t making those clucking noises of concern and sympathy that so many others did.
“Of course. I’m sure she’d like that.” I was telling the truth. Rosie was an old soul, and she hated when adults tried to talk around her or over her simply because she was a kid. She liked to be involved in conversations, no matter if the participants were old or young.
I turned back to the bed. “Sweetheart, I want to introduce you to someone. This is Declan Roe. He’s going to be helping me with some things.” I didn’t expect a response, of course, but since this was about her, I felt it appropriate for Rosie to “know” the man who was representing her...our...interests.
Declan walked to the other side of the bed and sat down in a chair without invitation. He met my gaze and somehow gave me a look that conveyed immediate comfort, as if willing me to believe everything would be OK.
I don’t know why I thought that. He just had that type of presence.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Rosie. I wish it was under better circumstances,” he said, returning his attention to my little girl. “I want to let you know that I am going to do everything in my power to help you and your mum. She’s really worried about you. Everyone is.” He sounded so unexpectedly tender—this complete stranger talking to my daughter like he truly cared about her—that I felt a lump in my throat. “But I am going to try to help. Because I think your mum would like someone to help her while you’re in here, and that’s me. I’m going to help take care of your mum for you until you’re again ready to take over.”
With that, I felt my eyes well up with tears. I sniffed, trying to hold them back, but then a huge wave of emotion overcame me and I lost it. Seriously lost it.
Declan’s head shot up and he looked startled. He obviously wasn’t expecting to hear me sobbing. Immediately, he stood and rushed around to my side of the bed. He crouched down next to me and put a supportive arm around my shoulders.
“Hey...I’m so sorry,” he said gently. “If I said or did something wrong, I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to.”
He thinks he’s done something wrong...
I snorted an ugly laugh in the midst of my crying. My unkempt hair was stuck to the side of my face, and I was pretty sure there was snot coming out of my nose. I was the definition of a mess.
“No. You didn’t say anything wrong. Please,” I stuttered. “It’s just...this is stupid, and please don’t take it the wrong way, but I suppose it’s been a while since somebody’s done that—been in my corner, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I have my friends, Lucy and Christine, of course, who’ve been wonderful. And I know you meant help in a professional sense. It’s just that... Oh, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. It’s just that hearing you say that you’ve got my back, I feel for the first time that maybe there’s some fight left in me, after all...”
It was like the legal action was something to aim for, a light at the end of a very dark tunnel that I had been stumbling around in for so long. I was no longer a victim.
