42
At home later that evening, my mind was troubled following events of the day.
It appeared that things had for the most part gone well for us with Lucy’s testimony confirming Madeleine Cooper’s intent, and following that another convincing expert from the Health Service Executive, who outlined the government’s current recommendations on childhood vaccinations and produced proven studies discrediting any link between the MMR vaccine and autism, or indeed any other disorder.
Following her own appearance that afternoon, I’d invited Lucy back to the house for catch-up and a bite to eat as a thank-you for agreeing to take the stand. I’d always known that today would be very hard for her, and understood that while she’d given us the necessary “proof” we needed to show negligence, she’d also mitigated a lot of the damage our side had caused to the defense.
I guess I’d hoped that she wouldn’t come across so overtly sympathetic toward Madeleine on the day, but deep down I’d always known that she’d try her utmost to do right by both of us.
And I couldn’t help but admire her for that.
Now she stood at my sink, insistent on washing pots and pans as I sat at my kitchen table—Rosie parked beside me in her wheelchair.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” I asked my daughter. She gave a small nod and raised her hand just a bit. She had been wanting to try to feed herself lately, and more often than not it resulted in a huge mess and major frustration on her part.
It was like she was completely aware of what she wanted to do and what she was capable of, but she just couldn’t get her body to comply. There was a disconnect somewhere, one that she was trying her hardest to relearn—but I didn’t discourage her progress. I placed the spoon in her hand and pushed a bowl of mashed potatoes closer to her.
“So when is Declan coming?” asked Lucy, turning her attention to me. Quickly, she reached for some paper towels and brought them over, placing the roll stealthily on the table. While many people had expressed shock and discomfort at Rosie’s condition over the past year, Lucy had not.
She continued to be the great friend she’d always been and I really didn’t know what I’d do without her.
“He said he was going to change out of his suit.” I don’t know why, but I felt myself flushing and I hoped Lucy didn’t notice.
“Hmm,” she replied pointedly. Damn. So she had seen that blush. At the same moment a quiet knock came from the front as Declan entered the room and gave us all a smile.
“And speak of the devil.”
“Who’s calling me a devil?” he joked, leaning over to ruffle Rosie’s hair—which earned him a sparkling smile from my daughter—before sitting down on the other side of her wheelchair.
Though he was initially a little uncomfortable about my ongoing friendship with Lucy given her relationship with Madeleine, Declan had since gotten to know her well enough to realize that, unlike his cousin, she was doing her best to remain partisan in the situation.
Tucking into our food, we chatted easily, Declan all the while including Rosie in the conversation, even though she could hardly contribute. He’d been the same way with her ever since she’d come home, and I couldn’t deny that it melted my heart a little.
We’d never spoken again about the embrace that had led to that photograph in the Daily Record last year and had been extra careful to keep our distance ever since. These days we had a nice, easy friendship, which was exactly how I liked it.
“I didn’t get to talk to you after you left with Alison,” I said, deciding to broach a concern I had about today. “I wasn’t altogether sure what McGuinness was suggesting during Dr. Ryan’s testimony about the timeline of Rosie’s infection. Am I reading too much into it?”
Declan accepted the glass of wine that Lucy had poured, took a sip and then nodded.
“He was pressing on that a bit, all right. And remember we had a few misgivings ourselves about how in-depth we wanted to get with that. In case something came back to bite us.”
“Like what, though?” Lucy asked. “Madeleine and Tom admitted from the start that Clara must have picked it up in Florida.”
I nodded. “And Dr. Ryan said today that tracing it back to one source, when only two people were affected, is practically impossible.”
“Maybe, but it’s the defense’s job to pick holes and introduce doubt,” said Declan, in between mouthfuls of mashed potato. “They’re merely trying to introduce the idea that it’s impossible to prove where the infection was picked up.”
Lucy wiped her hands on a dish towel. “So they’re just trying to make it look inconclusive? Like, yes, maybe the girls were at school together, but really either one could have passed it to the other?”
“Exactly. If so, then how can the judge categorically rule that the Coopers are to blame?”
“But they must be—Clara got sick three days before Rosie,” I protested, getting anxious now, even though I wasn’t comfortable discussing this topic in front of Rosie when she couldn’t participate in the conversation. But Hazel, her rehab nurse, insisted that she shouldn’t be sheltered or made to feel isolated, because we had no real idea of what she did or didn’t understand. And the more we included her, the easier—psychologically at least—her recovery would be.
I also knew Declan wasn’t too keen on discussing the case in front of Lucy—friend or not.
“That may be so,” he said, his easygoing manner reassuring me somewhat, “but in court, if the defense can find and pinpoint any weakness in our case, then they will. And, Kate, I told you from the start that this was always going to come up. Remember the counterclaim?”
I nodded, remembering. But I still didn’t like the idea of the defense trying to suggest that there was no way to prove that Clara had introduced the infection to Rosie. It made it too easy for the judge to let them off.
That couldn’t happen—we couldn’t lose—not after all the time and effort we’d spent getting this far. Not to mention money—the thought came unbidden and I swallowed hard.
My body felt exhausted, but my brain continued to feel on high alert and my mind wouldn’t stop working.
“Is there anything else you need, Kate?” asked Lucy, evidently picking up on my concern. “A cup of tea, maybe?” She wouldn’t stop pottering around the kitchen and I waved her over.
“Yes, come and sit down with us; you’re making Declan nervous,” I joked. While I was used to her need to constantly be doing something, he wasn’t and I could tell by the look on his face that it did make him uncomfortable.
“You’ll get used to it.” I smiled, only realizing a beat later how weird that sounded. This was a temporary situation; when I was no longer his client, I wouldn’t see him anymore, so he wouldn’t be getting used to anything. That thought left me a little confounded, not to mention wistful. This last year, I had gotten so used to having him around as a confidant and friend.
“Lucy knows my life better than I do sometimes,” I said looking at my friend, feeling thankful she was there. “I don’t know what I would do without her.” I reached out then and grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thanks for being at court today and for the moral support—I know it’s hard...with everything. But I do appreciate it.” I reached for my daughter’s hand, too. “And Rosie appreciates all you’ve done for us, too.”
Lucy smiled at the compliment. She never asked for thanks—even after Greg passed away—and she seemed to never tire of helping me. But I knew she did appreciate basking a little in the attention—especially after the strain of today.
I was also glad to have moved away from my idiotic, overfamiliar comment to Declan. However, if he was in the least bit fazed by what I’d said, he didn’t show it.
Lucy, however, shot me a knowing look. She had of course in the meantime pumped me for information about our unusually close client/solicitor relationship as well as about that infamous picture in the newspaper. But I’d insisted repeatedly that there was nothing to tell.
Nothing at all.