by Melissa Hill
By now, it had well and truly become personal. He’d been apoplectic from day one at the very idea of Kate using their anti-vaccination stance to accuse Clara of infecting Rosie, and since the public began to pile on, too, and on Madeleine personally, his outrage seemed to grow more with each passing day. For Tom, it was a direct attack on not just their personal liberty but their family, and her husband would defend both to the ends of the earth.
She could ask again but...
“I seriously doubt it, Lucy,” she told her friend despondently. “Tom’s already so furious with Kate and with the media for piling on over the vaccination thing. As far as he’s concerned, we haven’t broken any laws and have no case to answer.”
Though Madeleine wondered, now given that Lucy had agreed to provide Kate with the necessary testimony to support her supposed negligence, did those words still hold true?
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 perip
hery 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.”
36
Irish Times News—Court Report
On a crisp autumn evening, a small crowd begins to form outside High Court buildings in central Dublin.
There is a mix of people present—some holding signs offering their support of or displeasure with the involved parties, others paying devoted attention to the media crews getting set up in front of the building.
The electricity in the air mirrors that of a carnival.
And while the crowd isn’t large—at least not yet—the same cannot be said about the multiple news outlets on site. A mixture of local Irish broadcasters as well as CNN, Sky News, ABC and even representatives from the Huffington Post are all present in anticipation as O’Hara v. Cooper, or as the international media has dubbed it, Vaccination on Trial, makes it to the courtroom.
In the months leading up to this day, ever since poor Rosie O’Hara contracted measles and developed subsequent complications that impacted the rest of her life, the attention on the O’Hara v. Cooper case has grown from being a regional interest piece alone to that of an international controversy.
And the debate grows ever heated.
The peanut gallery continues to debate the issue. Some believe that it would be wise for Kate O’Hara to drop the case. Here is a single mother—a widow—now faced with the reality of a special-needs child, all because of another parent’s willful negligence and, more important, their voluntary decision not to vaccinate their children. No, concerned health commentators agree, Ms. O’Hara should press on with the issue. It is her right.
Others believe Kate O’Hara is being ridiculous. It isn’t the Coopers’ fault that her daughter became so ill. And haven’t they been through enough, too? Their own daughter was infected and they themselves have been dragged relentlessly through the coals of public opinion. This is just a shameless money grab on behalf of Kate O’Hara. Frankly, the woman should be ashamed of herself for trying to capitalize on her daughter’s condition.
But the hysteria surrounding this case doesn’t start or end with just the lawsuit. The public has also been scrutinizing every aspect of both families’ lives. What kind of house does Madeleine Cooper live in compared to Kate O’Hara? What is the Coopers’ marriage like? Are their kids good students, or are they troublemakers? Isn’t Madeleine Cooper a self-confessed bad mother? When did Kate O’Hara’s husband pass away? And what exactly is going on with her and her solicitor?
Speculation abounds, and it appears that everyone has an opinion on who is right and who is wrong. Online, Madeleine Cooper’s blog’s traffic spikes to immense heights, and she sees a drastic increase to her social media following. Moreover, a Facebook page has been launched in Rosie O’Hara’s honor—Justice for Rosie—and today alone it has attracted over 10,000 followers.
Passionate anti-vaccination proponents focus on helping the Coopers with their ever-mounting legal bills, while, on the other side, Kate O’Hara’s loyal following of concerned and outraged parents pitch in to help her cope with day-to-day living expenses. However, while the funds continue to grow, neither family has claimed any of the money.
The online debate for and against vaccination continues to rage. The Health Service appeals for calm, and, following increased public concerns re the MMR vaccination and a corresponding decline in uptake rates, the Health Minister is believed to have put pressure on the courts system to expedite the O’Hara v. Cooper trial date in the interest of public safety.
Suddenly, a black car pulls up slowly in front of the court buildings.
When the crowd realizes that Kate O’Hara and Declan Roe have arrived, a chorus of cheers (and even a few boos) echoes around the concrete plaza. Looking pale as she takes in the commotion, Kate O’Hara turns worried eyes toward her solicitor, who says something in response as he pats her back. She then allows her arm to be taken by his young female assistant. The trio rush through the throng of people and into the courthouse without muttering a word.
Further excitement then ripples through the crowd as another black car pulls up. This time, Madeleine and Tom Cooper emerge, along with their children and legal team. They walk briskly toward the doors of the court building, following the same path as the plaintiffs moments before.
The only difference is that Mrs. Cooper mouths a silent “thank you” as she catches the eye of an anti-vaxx supporter—a woman who yells, “It’s your choice, Madeleine! Defend your choice!”
After that, Madeleine Cooper grasps her children’s hands tighter and forges on, entering the bowels of the building.
* * *
As Madeleine walked into the courtroom, she felt as if every fiber of her being was on high alert. She had been shocked by what had waited for them outside.
While of course she knew (all too well) that this trial would attract plenty of interest, she hadn’t expected so much media, nor had she been prepared for the crowd of onlookers, and the signs. Looking down at Clara and Jake, she hoped that they had been too overcome with sensory overload to actually read or understand the nasty messages on some of the signs people had been holding. Some had been mean, offensive and downright vulgar—and she knew they had made a mistake in bringing the children with them.
But right from the get-go, Matt Townsend and the legal team had suggested that Clara and Jake should accompany them at trial. Tom had agreed, though Madeleine was horrified—even when Matt had explained his reasoning to her. “It will humanize you as parents.”
“Humanize us? We are humans! Ordinary people! This is absolutely ridiculous!” she had argued. But the men had insisted it was the best move. Bringing the kids illustrated their close dynamic as a family. It could...would...show their bond.
But Madeleine didn’t agree.
Especially now as she walked into the expansive courtroom and worked to get her bearings. She recalled her initial reaction to the idea—it felt sleazy. Like she was using her own children as some sort of prop—pawns, even. Her stomach churned at the thought. It was like those women on reality shows, soap operas or in movies who towed thei
r children along to divorce hearings, trying to get more money out of their soon-to-be ex-spouses. Today it looked like she and Tom were the ones working every angle to keep their money from Kate O’Hara.
“This is all wrong,” she muttered under her breath.
“What did you say, Mum?” asked Jake, looking up at her. He was doing his best to wrangle free from holding her hand, but she grasped it tighter because she had just spotted Kate, who was already seated on the other side.
She was conferring with her solicitor, and the pair had their heads pressed close together. Sensing another set of eyes on her, Kate suddenly turned and met Madeleine’s gaze. Neither woman’s expression changed; they simply seemed to study each other for a brief moment before Kate turned back to Declan Roe.
Madeleine followed Tom’s lead down the aisle of the room. She settled the children in the bench behind the defendants’ table, both set up with an iPad chock-full of games (sound turned off) and took her seat next to her husband. No doubt the public would see this as yet more proof of her failings as a parent, but the reality was all this would be deathly boring for Jake and Clara and it wasn’t as if they could read with all the background chatter. Screw it, after months upon months of endless recrimination, there was little else they could say about her now.
She didn’t look in Kate’s direction again.
“Mum?” asked Clara from behind her. “Mum? Can I sit up there?”
Turning to meet her daughter’s eyes, Madeleine realized that the courtroom was already practically full with onlookers and media. Glancing briefly to her left, she saw Christine Campbell sitting in the bench behind Kate and Declan, eyes locked on her. Madeleine tried her hardest to keep a neutral expression and ignore the look of judgment that woman seemed to wear permanently when it came to her family. She no longer wondered what she thought and definitely didn’t care. The mere fact that Kate’s solicitor was Christine’s cousin was enough. She didn’t need a red pen to connect the dots.
