51
My mouth dropped open. “I’m sorry—what? I don’t understand!” I exclaimed and Declan moved to put a comforting hand on my arm.
“I remember your daughter; she was talking about Mosasaurus and how the latest Jurassic Park movie got the details all wrong,” Scott continued. He smiled a little. “And I agreed with her, but it was only the other day, when I saw her picture on the news report, that I put two and two together. Over the weekend, I contacted a buddy at the RDS who was able to pull the security footage for the dates in question, and we brought that here this morning for you all to see. I figured that would be necessary to prove my involvement.” He motioned to a laptop situated on a table next to the judge. On the screen a black-and-white video was paused—it showed the inside of the expo location and a mass of people congregated in groups around the various dinosaur exhibits.
“In any case, I probably wouldn’t have made the connection at all and wouldn’t have shown any interest if that journalist hadn’t talked to you. Like I said, I remember the day you and your daughter were there, and it was the following day that I ended up going home early from my shift because I was feeling so off. I couldn’t get out of bed after that and was out of commission for almost two weeks.”
I was shaking my head, still in disbelief, when Declan spoke up. “You were diagnosed with measles at the time? I assume you reported your infection to the RDS?”
Scott continued, “Well, firstly, I didn’t actually realize until now that what I had actually was measles, because I am vaccinated. So I suppose it’s very possible that I’m a nonresponder. I only compared my symptoms with what was standard for the virus when I thought there might be a connection between myself and your case. I did phone Care Doc at the time last year, and they said it was likely a viral infection—and I wasn’t going to spend more money going to a GP or the hospital when I know that viruses cannot be treated. As you know, Ms. O’Hara, since you are a nurse, antibiotics don’t do anything for viruses and, as I had no further complications—my symptoms were mild and nowhere near what either of your daughters experienced—my only option was to sit at home and wait the thing out. Mrs. Cooper, I understand that your daughter did much the same.”
Madeleine nodded solemnly. “That’s right. We just kept Clara at home until she was feeling better.”
“Measles is one of those diseases that is very manageable if it’s not too serious,” stated Scott knowledgeably. “So I managed it. Recounting my experience with the benefit of hindsight, yes, I had a slight rash, as well as the coughing, sneezing, sore throat, fever, all of those things. I loaded myself up on vitamin A, vitamin C, zinc, acetaminophen and what have you, drank plenty of fluids and I got rest. However, I now realize I was also contagious. Dangerously so.”
Hindsight...
John Fleming pulled the laptop closer to him. “Ms. O’Hara, Mr. Roe, it’s probably best if you watch the security footage.”
Declan and I both approached the laptop like it was a ticking time bomb. As Fleming pressed Play and pointed to where Scott was on the screen, I immediately spied Rosie on the day we attended the expo on March 15. She was chatting to Scott beside a Triceratops display, nodding attentively while also touching and inspecting the various elements that Scott—who all the while kept sneezing and coughing into his hand—indicated.
It was something of an otherworldly experience—as I watched this strange man visibly infect my child with an invisible virus that would fester within her for the next few days, waiting to rear its ugly head and change our lives forever.
I watched the tape back a few times until I was clear of one thing—the most important thing—which in itself led to a terrifying realization: Clara didn’t infect Rosie with measles.
In fact, it was the other way around...
I turned to Madeleine Cooper, my eyes full of remorse and mortification. “I...I’m not sure what to say.”
To her credit, she, and indeed her husband, didn’t appear superior or dismissive toward me. As I struggled to find more words, Declan asked a question. “Where would you have been exposed, Scott?”
“Well, I started trying to figure this out once I realized it was measles that I actually had. My best guess is that I picked it up in the lab at some point. I had a molecular-biology module last year that paid great attention to the spread of infectious diseases. Measles is a member of the Paramyxoviridae family, and we worked with some strains of this disease in the lab—family members, I mean, not necessarily a live measles virus. I’m thinking that perhaps whatever strain we worked with actually morphed and changed, which is possible with viral structures such as this. Like they say in that old dinosaur movie, nature always finds its own way—nothing anyone can do to prevent that. And coupled with the fact that your immunity becomes reduced as you get older, which would be impactful for me if I did happen to be a non-responder, it’s completely possible that my blood contains fewer IgG antibodies...”
John Fleming held up a hand as his client grew more and more animated. “Scott, I really don’t think it’s necessary to go into that much scientific detail,” admonished his solicitor.
“Right,” the young man said, realizing that the majority of his audience did not hold scientific backgrounds in molecular biology and therefore were unimpressed by such an explanation. “In any case, I think I’m going to write a paper on it. Maybe I can get it published.”
The solicitor cleared his throat. “I hope it goes without saying, Ms. O’Hara, that Scott deeply regrets the distress caused to you and your daughter as a result of further complications from the virus he transmitted. But I am here today primarily to protect his interests, given the seriousness of the current court proceedings despite the fact that there is no issue of negligence on Scott’s part or the university’s—”
I put my hand up, stopping him from saying any more. “That won’t be necessary. Of course I don’t intend to hold Scott liable,” I assured, feeling sick to my stomach that people saw me as “that person,” someone who would sue everyone in sight for the slightest wrongdoing.
But, like it or not, I had become that person, I realized, looking askance at Madeleine and Tom Cooper, who were both watching me closely, relief written all over their faces.
And who could blame them?
When, in the end, I had gotten it all so terribly wrong.
“Obviously my client and I will need some time to discuss this new development.” I felt Declan’s hand at my elbow as he addressed the Coopers and the judge.
But, as far as I was concerned, there was nothing to discuss. I’d made a huge mistake, had cast aspersions and made serious accusations toward people—my own neighbors—that had proven utterly false. Because I was aware of the Coopers’ vaccination stance, I’d made a huge assumption, automatically blaming their daughter for visiting misfortune on mine when it had been the other way around.
The other way around.
Oh, God, did this mean that the Coopers were now going to come back and countersue me, for not only infecting Clara, but for the unbelievable suffering and disruption they’d endured over the last year and more?
The very idea made me feel dizzy.
“Kate, are you OK?” Declan asked as he led me into another side room off the judge’s chambers no bigger than a broom closet, and I wondered idly if the room existed for this very purpose—to house people who took frivolous cases before the court and needed to reflect on their idiocy.
“Of course I’m not OK. Didn’t you hear what was just said, see that guy on-screen actually infect Rosie?”
“Well, from a medical point of view, and certainly from a legal one, that’s not conclusive...”
“Oh, come on, Declan, we both know this is a mess, a complete disaster! The judge has no choice but to dismiss the case now. In fairness, I wouldn’t blame him if, after all this, he wanted to put me in jail.”
“I can assure you, Kate, there’s no way something like that will happen—” he began, but I knew he was unable to truly grasp the extent of my despair. How could anyone?
“What am I going to do?” I whispered, my voice sounding frail even to myself.
How would I get over this? Not only had I made a monumental mistake, which had already cost me a huge amount emotionally—to say nothing of financially—caused needless hassle and heartbreak to another perfectly innocent family, but, in the end, it had all been for nothing.
“It’s a shock, I know,” Declan replied, his tone reassuring as always. I looked at him then, thinking about what a wonderful man he was and how incredible he’d been throughout all of this in so many ways: the case, keeping my spirits up while Rosie was still in the hospital, being a shoulder to cry on, as well as helping us tackle many day-to-day domestic concerns since she came home.
In short, he’d gotten me through everything.
And I could only imagine how much my problems had cost him personally and professionally—how he’d given up so much of the legal practice’s resources, as well as forgone so many regular paid cases, and indeed his own personal time and energy, to help me out.
How would I ever repay him?
“I don’t know what to say to you except sorry,” I began. “I’m so sorry for dragging you into all this. It never crossed my mind for a second that Clara might not have been the source of infection. I was so dogged about it...”
He waved my apologies away. “Try not to think about that now, Kate. There’s no point going down that road. We could only work with the information we had to hand.”
“But we can’t pretend that this isn’t a huge disaster in every way. When I think of your fees...and all the bills for Rosie’s care...”
The world was starting to swim before my eyes. I had no idea what I was going to do to make things right. An apology to all parties concerned would be a start, of course, but after that? I had no idea.
All along I’d believed (prayed) that this trial would be the light at the end of the tunnel, and that if I just kept working toward it, everything would work out for the better.
I could never have imagined that the light would turn out to be the headlights of a fast-approaching train.