8
The following week, Madeleine felt herself breathe a sigh of relief and offered up the quietest of thankful prayers as the GP took another look into Clara’s mouth and nodded.
Her rash still looked angry and sore, but her fever had all but disappeared, thank goodness. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and today—a week since first displaying any signs of illness—Madeleine’s five-year-old was looking much more like herself.
Dr. Barrett stood up and took a final glance down at Clara. “It looks like you are on the mend, princess,” he said with a smile. “You’re a very lucky girl.” His smile disappeared as he looked at Madeleine. “As are you,” he added in a grave tone.
She kissed her daughter’s forehead, tears of relief pricking at the corners of her eyes, but her attention was returned to Dr. Barrett when he cleared his throat and motioned with a sharp jerk of his head that he wanted to speak with her—privately.
She turned to leave the room and dutifully followed in his wake.
“When will Tom be home?” Dr. Barrett inquired. In his sixties, the Knockroe doctor had been on first-name terms with Madeleine’s family for years and had been her GP since she was a child. She secretly wondered when he was going to retire. Tom said that Frank Barrett would retire at his funeral. He was probably right.
“Not until later. He had to get back to work. He was here for the first few days, of course, but when it looked like she was out of the woods, he went back yesterday.”
Tom had been wonderful at keeping poor Clara’s spirits up, especially when one day he’d arrived home with, of all things, a blow-up kayak and a huge cuddly dolphin, promising their little girl that once she was all better, he’d take her out on the water like they did in Florida. This had raised a much-needed smile from her rash-covered face, and even a few giggles when Tom and Jake proceeded to reenact on the floor of her bedroom the loveliest moment of their trip—a memorable day out on the Gulf when a family of blue dolphins had appeared and proceeded to jump up and down alongside their kayak, delighting them all, especially Clara.
“He only has so much annual leave left, unfortunately, and we have holidays booked for the summer,” Madeleine babbled to the doctor, which earned her a stern harrumph. “I’m sorry, you’re right—that shouldn’t matter at a time like this.”
Especially when it had been a holiday that had gotten them into all this trouble in the first place.
“You’re right, she must have picked it up on the flight back from Florida,” Tom had agreed, when the doctor first came to examine Clara, echoing Madeleine’s early assessment.
On the GP’s advice, her husband had been in touch with the health board to report the incident and put them on alert for potential contamination among other passengers.
“The timeline does sound right,” the doctor concluded. “You got back, when—the Saturday before last? So she would have been exposed about ten days prior to showing any symptoms. Unfortunately, further exposing her classmates at Applewood in the ensuing time,” he’d added pointedly, and, thinking of little Rosie O’Hara, Madeleine winced.
Now Dr. Barrett turned to face her as they reached the living room. “I don’t know if you and Tom are really cognizant of just how lucky your family is—how lucky Clara is. Especially when you already dodged a bullet with Jake.” He narrowed his eyes at her from behind his spectacles and ran a hand through his full head of shockingly white hair. Madeleine sensed a lecture. She wished Tom was here—especially as she guessed what was coming next. It was so hard having to defend their position over and over—mortifyingly difficult, actually, given what they’d just been through. Her husband was much better than she at arguing the reasons behind their decision not to vaccinate Clara, and Tom had for the most part taken this recent misfortune in his stride.
“We just need to wait things out, Maddie. She’ll be fine. We’ve been through this before,” he reassured, when, after Clara’s diagnosis, Madeleine had castigated herself for their failures. But Tom had once again proceeded to reiterate the reasons why they had decided against the jabs in the first place, outlined their full decision-making process when Jake was a baby and arrived at the same conclusion. “We said the risk was one we weren’t willing to take, and now it’s time for us to stand by that,” he’d repeated gently, while Madeleine thought it was all fine and well to make such decisions without having to face the fallout of the reality: namely, a sick child who was feverish and uncomfortable.
But, in truth, Clara did seem to be fighting it well and now, thank goodness, looked to be in the clear.
“I need to encourage you again,” Frank Barrett reiterated. “When Clara is fully recovered, go and get your children protected against the rest of all these godforsaken illnesses medicine conquered years ago. I’m serious, Madeleine.” She put up a hand, trying to appease him, but he continued, “No, as your doctor, it is my job to say this. You know, there are a lot of GPs in this country who wouldn’t even allow your kids near their clinic. The only reason I haven’t had that policy with you is because I have known your family forever. But I have to put my foot down now. Do you know just how bad this could have been? Do you have any idea? I’m receiving complaints from parents all over Knockroe and beyond. Madeleine, they don’t want their kids around yours—especially not at school.”
“Please, Frank,” said Madeleine, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “You know this is something that Tom and I have always felt very strongly about—”
“Bah!” Dr. Barrett bellowed, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Nonsense. Conspiracy theories against the pharmaceutical companies. For heaven’s sakes, Madeleine, you know those autism studies were debunked years ago. I thought you were smarter than that; I know you are. All vaccines have ever done is eradicate serious illness. Do you know how many people in Third World hellholes would love to have access to something as simple as the freely distributed preventative medicine we take for granted? Do you know how many lives it would save?”
The doctor sighed heavily and dropped onto the sofa, seemingly exhausted. He looked at one of the plush throw pillows that he had disturbed from its artful arrangement and appeared thoughtful.
Madeleine could sense him softening somehow—like his rant had run out of steam. She didn’t know what to say to him. She understood his point of view, of course she did. But they’d been through this time and time again when the kids were younger.
“Do you want a glass of water? A cup of tea, maybe?” she asked kindly. He had done so much for her family over the last week, and she understood his stress.
Dr. Barrett shrugged. “Tea would be great. Thank you.”
Madeleine retreated to the kitchen, vaguely aware this was one room of the house that had yet to be completely rescued from neglect when Clara was in the throes of her illness. And, as if the house wasn’t bad enough, after the last week, Madeleine knew that she, too, badly needed taking in hand. She ran her fingers through her hair, now flat and straggly, and she guessed her unmade-up face looked haggard and a million miles from her bubbly blonde TV persona.
Washing her hands, she swallowed the compulsive urge to automatically grab the bleach and begin scrubbing things down right there and then—to try to restore order. Instead she put the kettle on and brought it to a boil. She pulled a teapot down from the cabinet as she eyed the wineglasses that were housed right above it.
What I wouldn’t give for one of you bad boys just now, she thought ruefully. Alas, it was barely noon and she wasn’t one of those people. Not yet at least.
Though her Mad Mum alter ego would probably advise her to go right ahead.
Allowing the tea to steep, Madeleine closed her eyes and thought about what Dr. Barrett had said. He was right, of course. She knew that they had been lucky in that it hadn’t been anything more serious. Clara was on the mend.
They’d gotten through it, dodged another bullet. Everything was going to be OK.
She nodded as if to reassure herself of this as she placed the teapot and cups on a silver tea service that had belonged to her mother. She knew it was a bit old-fashioned, but there was also something about it that was just so nicely ceremonial. She had always loved it and took it out every chance she could. Though Tom had kept the basics stocked up, unfortunately there were no biscuits or anything else to offer the doctor, and a trip to the supermarket was long overdue. She sighed. The last week had well and truly been utter chaos, but at least things were looking up now.
She walked back into the living room and set the tray on their walnut coffee table, taking extra care not to scratch the finish. Pouring a cup of tea, Madeleine looked at the doctor and asked, “Sugar?”
Dr. Barrett shook his head. “Just milk will do. Thank you.”
The doctor took a hesitant sip and closed his eyes briefly, as if allowing himself a brief respite as the warmth of the liquid spread through his body. Suddenly, he reopened his eyes and placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table. Something about his demeanor had changed once again, as if it was time to get back to business.
“You know that little Rosie O’Hara is in hospital?”
Madeleine looked down at her milky tea and nodded solemnly. “I know, I heard.” Lucy had filled her in on the news—that on Monday she had gone with Kate to the local clinic because Rosie’s fever had suddenly spiked. And that the little girl had soon after been transferred to Dublin.
Returning her eyes to meet Dr. Barrett’s, she had the uncanny feeling that he was studying her. Gauging her reaction. Of course, he’d given her that lecture before, too—about social responsibility and their contribution (or lack thereof) to herd immunity.
But how could you realistically proceed with something you truly felt was unsafe? Especially when there was no law against not vaccinating.
“She’s in critical condition, Madeleine. I don’t know if you know that. She has pneumonia and some swelling in her brain, apparently. She’s not going to have an easy road of it. Not like Clara.”
Madeleine’s throat went dry. Why was he telling her this? To make her feel guilty? Trying to blame her outright for Rosie’s condition? As if she didn’t feel bad enough.
Thanks to Lucy, she was all too aware that her daughter was being blamed by other Knockroe parents—and the school—for infecting Rosie. She didn’t need to be made to feel guilty about that from the family doctor, as well.
Madeleine placed her cup and saucer on the tray and stood up. She appreciated the house call that Dr. Barrett had made, but now it was time for him to go. She had more than enough to do around the house and she still had Clara to attend to.
And this whole conversation was making her feel really uncomfortable.
“I’ve already sent Kate our best wishes. I know what she’s going through, after all.” Madeleine intended her words to sound soft, but as they fell from her lips she realized there was more of an edge to them than she’d intended.
But she just couldn’t face any more guilt, any more regret. This, taken with the stress and worry about Clara over the last week, was getting on top of her. What was done was done and there was nothing Madeleine could do about it now. She couldn’t go back and change things or stop Clara from contracting the disease. The time for such decision-making was years ago, long gone. And at that time, she and Tom had made the decision that felt right, that was the best one for their family. She couldn’t think about the impact of that choice on other people just now. It was all too overwhelming.
Madeleine just wanted the doctor to leave so she could deal with this on her own, away from stern glares and accusing tones. Though if this was what her doctor—a close acquaintance—was saying, she wondered what strangers or indeed other locals would say when they heard about Rosie’s hospital admission.
Dr. Barrett clearly picked up on the mood. “Well, I suppose that I should be going,” he said, standing up. “Let me know if there is any change with Clara. Otherwise, I think she is indeed on the mend. But again, you and Tom should think about what I said about the other jabs. It’s still not too late.”
He focused a keen eye on Madeleine then and she felt as if all of her thoughts, doubts and worries were on display. Incredibly, despite her relief that Clara was on the mend, this visit had actually made her feel worse—had sent her entire world out of whack.
It was truly awful that little Rosie was in the hospital; there was no question about that. She felt for Kate and she was desperately sorry that Clara’s infection had played some part in that. It wasn’t her daughter’s fault, though; these things were always a risk, and nobody had any control over how another child might fight infection.
And, more to the point, wasn’t it common knowledge that Rosie was unvaccinated, too?
In any case, Clara was going to be OK; that was the main thing.
It was the only thing that Madeleine should be thinking about just then.