35
I sat by Rosie’s bed at the hospital, a lot of thoughts going through my head, the majority of them confusing. But what else was new?
The other day’s encounter with Madeleine was still on my mind. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut and not tried to speak with her, but what really bothered me was what had happened with Declan that same day.
OK, I know that nothing did happen, not technically speaking. But it still felt like some kind of line had been crossed when he made me lunch. There was no denying we’d become closer because of the case, and I supposed by nature of the fact that he had gone through everything with me when Rosie woke up at the hospital, but on that particular day—especially when he hugged me—it felt as if there was more to it.
Now, sitting next to Rosie, holding her little hand that fit limply in mine, I tried to wrap my head around everything. I knew I would have to see him again, and soon.
Should I just pretend like nothing had happened? Or maybe I should clear the air? Thinking of the delicious pasta dish he’d made, my stomach gurgled urgently and I realized I was ravenous, having only had enough time to grab a banana before heading off for this morning’s consultation in the hospital with Rosie’s physical therapist.
I looked at my watch. It was still early enough, almost eleven o’clock, and the hospital café should still be serving breakfast. I’d be here all day, so I should go down and grab a bite. I’d be no good to Rosie when she came home if I ended up ill myself.
“Hey, hon,” I said quietly to my daughter. “Just going to grab a quick bite, OK? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She smiled, her green eyes twinkling in that achingly familiar way, and made an attempt to mumble my name as I kissed her on the forehead.
As I made my way downstairs to the café, I realized my feet were on autopilot. I had quite literally walked this hallway thousands of times, but since my little girl had shown signs of improvement there was no doubt my footsteps felt a little lighter.
Making my way down to the ground floor, I said hello to some staff faces I’d come to know throughout the endless days and hours I’d spent here. I entered the dining area and found myself relatively alone, and it took me no time to order a bowl of cereal and a bagel with jam. I was craving carbs at that point and wanted the immediate burst of energy they would provide.
As I paid for my order, I also grabbed a newspaper and asked the lady at the register to charge me for that, as well.
Settling at an empty table near a bank of windows, I took a bite of my bagel, opened my copy of the Daily Record and started leafing through the sections. In the last while, I’d barely kept up with what was happening in the world, but now that Rosie was out of immediate danger, I felt like I should make some sort of an effort to keep up.
But all too soon something caught my eye—a headline.
Redefining Legal Privilege?
There was something about the words that made my stomach feel uneasy. I grabbed the paper and unfolded it so I could see the picture that sat just under the article’s title. And then I did a double take. No, actually, a triple take. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
And I didn’t think I wanted to, either.
It was a photograph of Declan and me from the other day, locked in an embrace outside my car. A feeling of utter violation—not to mention embarrassment—rushed through me. I quickly pulled my eyes from the story and looked around at the cafeteria, sure people were staring at me.
But I was wrong. No one was looking. There wasn’t anyone paying attention to me. That feeling was all in my head.
That was beside the point, however. People would see this. My friends would see this, maybe even my parents, Rosie’s teachers and her friends’ parents would see it. Madeleine and Tom Cooper would see this—their legal team, too. And perhaps worst of all, Declan would see it.
That alone would open up an awkward can of worms that I had hoped to simply avoid or pretend was nonexistent.
Scanning through the article, thankfully I found very little personal information. Just a summary of who we were—mostly who I was. And a blow-by-blow account of my legal action against the Coopers. But then some blatantly salacious questions about Declan’s professional ethics, which maddened me, followed by some faint speculation about me as a person. The newspaper article’s words seemed to paint me as some sort of opportunist. And there were quotes from “unnamed” local sources. People who accused me of “courting sympathy” after my husband’s death and now trying to do the same thing once again with this latest tragedy...
By the time I finished reading, I was seeing red. And I had completely lost my appetite. I pushed the food tray away from me, pulled the paper closer and quickly ran an eye through the article once again. It was all just so...hateful. I couldn’t help speculate on who the unnamed sources were and I was equally as curious to know where the damn photographer had been hiding.
Dealing with this lawsuit was one thing. But I hadn’t been prepared for outright character assassination. Why did they have to invade my privacy, allude to the idea that something unethical was going on between me and my solicitor?
I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, scrolled through my contacts and found Declan’s number. I figured that if anyone should make him aware of this new development, it ought to be me. I pressed the name and waited for him to pick up.
The phone only rang once before his voice sounded on the other end of the line. “Kate?” he began, worry thick in his tone. “Is everything OK? Is Rosie OK?”
My heart gave a small, inadvertent flutter at the concern in his voice. He was so good to us.
“No, I mean yes.” I placed my hand on my forehead. “Sorry. What I mean is yes, Rosie is OK. But no, everything else is not.”
There was silence on the other end. Declan cleared his throat. “OK, does this have to do with the other day? About the hug... I’m really sorry if I—”
Oh, God, so he thought something was off, too. I groaned inwardly, realizing that there was no way that we couldn’t discuss this now.
“Well,” I said, feeling resigned. “Kind of. Do you get the papers—the Daily Record in particular?” I hoped against hope that it was only the one paper who’d run the story.
I heard some shuffling on the other end of the line. “I haven’t gotten around to reading anything yet but no, I don’t get the Record—bit of a rag, if you ask me. Kate, what’s going on?”
Rubbing my temples, I answered simply, “Go online, then, to the Record website and search for my name.”
More shuffling as Declan did as I requested. And then: silence.
“Are you still there?” I asked him quietly, mortified, like I had walked out of the toilets with a line of paper stuck to the bottom of my foot.
When he spoke, his voice was even. I had no idea if he was upset, disgusted or ready to punch a wall. “Stupid bastards...”
Up until now, most of the media nonsense had existed on the periphery of my life, and suddenly it was moving front and center. Exactly what I didn’t need. Everything was already daunting enough, let alone having to now worry about journalists and cameras following me (or, God forbid, Rosie?) around and putting me on high alert about how I might be judged by people I didn’t know, as well as those I did.
Guiltily, I thought of Madeleine Cooper. This was new for me, but she had already been dealing with such scrutiny for weeks on end. If this was how it felt, who could blame her for her reaction at the supermarket?
“I’m so sorry, Declan. This is very embarrassing.”
“Stop. None of this is your fault. I suppose we should have anticipated something like this would happen sooner or later.”
“But how can they be so...callous? Rosie is still in the hospital, for crying out loud.”
“They don’t care; they just want to stoke the fires. Madeleine Cooper’s gone quiet lately; she hasn’t posted anything since that blog post a few weeks back, and definitely not since that TV appearance. So if they can’t bait her...”
“Now it’s my turn.”
“Probably. So be on your guard. Don’t talk to anyone, the hospital staff, good friends, even. You just never know...”
The idea of one of Rosie’s caregivers betraying us like that seemed inconceivable, as did any of my friends. But how did I know? People were so easily seduced by the media, and the potential to play their part in any drama was irresistible to some, I knew. Christine Campbell was a case in point. But surely Declan’s own cousin wouldn’t dream of...
“Anyway, forget about that,” he said then, shrugging off the suggestion that he and I might be anything more than friends, as if it was nonsense. Which of course it was. “I was going to phone you this morning anyway. I just got word from the High Court.” He paused. “We have a trial date.”