by Melissa Hill
McGuinness nodded solemnly. “Indeed. Every parent hopes to do what they feel is right for their kids. Absolutely.”
“And it’s not as if they—or we—broke the law, either,” Fiona continued, impassioned. “That’s why I think all of this is so unfair. There is no law in Ireland that says you have to vaccinate your kids. It’s a personal choice. And I fully support that choice—as well as Tom and Madeleine’s right as parents to make it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Marsh. No further questions.”
“Mr. Nevin?” asked the judge.
Matt Townsend held his breath.
“Thank you, but we have no questions for the witness at this time.”
46
“Today, Tom Cooper’s sister, Fiona Marsh, took the stand in defense of her in-laws’ decision to not vaccinate their son, Jake, and daughter, Clara.
“Ms. Marsh gave a stirring and heartfelt account of her own son’s autism diagnosis and its possible connection to his receipt of the MMR vaccine when he was a mere thirteen months old. Her testimony cut through early beliefs that the Cooper family’s decision was borne of conspiracy theories and governmental cover-ups and for the first time put a very human face on the real-life issues the family has faced.
“I believe, madam, that you have been supporting Kate O’Hara’s cause and following this situation closely? Can you share your thoughts on the trial so far with RTé News viewers?”
“Oh, yes, from day one, I’ve been paying attention. And I’ve been standing here since the trial started. This is a major story and it’s happening right in our backyard. It’s a big deal.”
“Indeed it is. And I’m assuming from your placard that you are in support of Kate O’Hara?”
“Yes. I have supported Kate from the very beginning. I feel so terrible for her and her little girl.”
“And what do you think of today’s information? That the Coopers may have some sound reasoning for not vaccinating their children?”
“Well, I mean, it’s tough. You can’t help but feel bad for them, too. After all, every parent just wants to protect their kids. And if they had firsthand experience with their nephew developing autism because of vaccines...well, I’m a mother—that might give me pause, too.”
“Yet medical professionals have stated, repeatedly, that there is no correlation between vaccinations and the chance of developing autism or any other condition. Are you saying that those medical professionals—doctors and experts all of them—are wrong?”
“I’m not saying they are necessarily wrong, but they might not be right, either. I mean, if I saw my child change from one day to the next, I might start to think that the vaccine caused it, too. I think as parents we have to trust our instincts. And I think there is a lot of stuff that the general public isn’t told, lots of cover-ups. This could be one of them.”
“It sounds as if you might be changing your stance on this? Is that correct?”
“Well, I don’t know if I would say I’m changing it, but everything certainly doesn’t feel so black-and-white. I guess there are two sides to every story.”
“Interesting commentary from a bystander in the crowd here outside High Court buildings. Begging the question: What does this mean for Kate O’Hara’s case? Is the tide of public opinion shifting in favor of the defendants? And most important of all, how is all of this playing to the judge? Hannah Slattery, RTé News.”
* * *
Declan and I watched the evening news reports from my kitchen table, Rosie between us in her wheelchair.
Regardless of public opinion, truth be told, Fiona Marsh’s testimony had made a huge impact on me. I also thought that the judge seemed relieved to finally hear something positive about Madeleine and her family, and for once I was starting to understand why the vaccination issue hadn’t been so clear-cut for them.
Of course, I didn’t say anything like that to Declan. He had optimism in spades and kept telling me that everything was going great.
While I was working very hard to take his advice, I was also trying to envision Rosie’s future and mine once this case was over.
Regardless of what happened, I had started to think about the idea that we would probably have to move. Outside of the obvious discomfort of living in a community where I could possibly run into the family I’d sued, I knew we couldn’t continue living in this house, which being on two floors was wholly inappropriate for Rosie’s incapacitation.
There must have been something distant in my expression, because Declan abruptly stopped talking.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you there? You seem a million miles away this evening.”
I offered him a tired smile. “Sorry.” I pulled the bowl of chicken soup I’d been helping Rosie with closer to me and glanced around, trying to organize my thoughts.
Seemingly reading my mind, Declan jumped up. “I’ll get a napkin,” he offered and grabbed the kitchen roll.
He returned to me a moment later and put the napkin in front of Rosie. I was about to mutter an automatic thanks but was startled when she in a somewhat mumbled and garbled way got in before me. “Thank you.”
My mouth dropped open and my heart lifted as I looked from Rosie to Declan in delight. “Good girl, sweetheart, that was amazing!”
Whenever she initiated communication or worked to say something—which she tried really hard to do—I felt hope spring from within me. She was getting there and that meant so much.
“You are so welcome, Rosie,” replied Declan with a grin, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Anytime.”
I would be lying if I said I didn’t like having him around and sharing these little moments of positivity with him. There was something so comforting about his presence—the way he seemed to fill a room. Thankfully, Rosie seemed to feel the same way.
Interrupting my thoughts, he asked, “Are you hungry, Kate? Can I get you anything?”
He seemed to always be aware of what and how often I was eating. I knew I could stand to put on a few pounds—it was just sometimes I didn’t have the time or the appetite to eat three square meals a day. Regardless, I was touched by his concern.
“I will after I put her to bed,” I said quietly. “And...thank you.”
For the next few minutes the three of us sat in companionable silence as Rosie finished her soup. While Hazel was looking after her during the trial, I was determined to use her only when I wasn’t around—not just because I was hoping to achieve a new normal, but also to try to control the scarily expensive medical-care bills appearing on a monthly basis.
I picked up the bowl and stood to take it to the sink at the same moment that Rosie offered up a pretty large yawn. She got tired much earlier these days, another side effect of the trauma her brain had suffered.
“Ready for bed, sweetheart?” I asked.
Declan took the bowl out of my hands without asking and, smiling gratefully, I grasped the handles of her wheelchair and pushed her across the wooden floor to the base of the stairs. Unclipping the strap, I put my arms around her in an effort to lift her up (my daughter wasn’t heavy, but she was no longer as easy to carry as she used to be).
Declan’s touch on my back caused me to pause and I turned around to face him.
“I can carry her up, if you’re OK with that?”
Glancing at his broad shoulders and strong arms, I welcomed the help. “If you’re sure you don’t mind? I hate to...”
“Not in the least.” He got close to Rosie and smiled. “As long as you don’t, either, Rosie?” Her eyes brightened immediately and I knew she was fine with it, too. “I’m going to help you up to your room, OK?”
Seconds later, she was cradled easily in his arms and I was following them up the stairs. I couldn’t deny that it was lovely having someone ready to take on some of the load that had been pi
ling on my shoulders.
Knowing the layout of my house, Declan carried Rosie into the bathroom and placed her in a special chair so I could help her brush her teeth and ready her for bed. He then retreated to the hallway, and I entered the room and stood next to my daughter, going through her usual bedtime ritual. Then when we were ready, Declan reentered the bathroom and picked Rosie up, taking her to her room, where he laid her gently on her bed, among all her dinosaur posters.
He stood in the doorway as I kissed her good-night and sang her favorite nighttime lullaby. I’d stopped doing that shortly after her fifth birthday, when she’d joked that she was “too cool” for that kind of thing, but had resumed last year when she came home from the hospital. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was more soothing for her or me.
Soon her eyelids grew heavy, but she managed to raise a small hand and place it on my cheek. My throat closed over with emotion. “Good night, sweetheart,” I said, trying to fight back tears. “Sleep tight.”
By the time I returned to the hallway, I could already hear Rosie’s quiet snores. She was out for the count.
Declan was waiting at the top of the stairs. “She OK?” he whispered as we headed back down together.
“She’s fine. Whacked. You’re really good with kids,” I commented.
“I’m happy to help, Kate. Rosie’s a great child. She deserves...so much.” He paused then on the step below me and met my gaze. “So do you.”
Suddenly, all of the air seemed to be sucked out of the room, and I felt my breath catch in my throat as Declan looked up at me with gentle eyes.
“Thanks, I...”
Just then, the doorbell rang and I jumped, my mind flooded with confusion and embarrassment. With a bright-red face—I felt like I was on fire—I sputtered out the words, “Someone’s at the door.”
Thanks for that, Captain Obvious...
I stole a glance at his face, trying to determine what I saw. Was that embarrassment? Or concern in the form of worry and confusion...
Not wanting to examine it too closely, I marched down the steps past him and went to the door.
Out front, under the soft glow of the porch light, stood Alison. Stealing a glance at my watch, I realized that it was a bit late for her to be making house calls, or indeed for her brother to be at a client’s house.
“Alison, hi.” I stood back to let her inside and the moment she did so her eyebrows raised at the appearance of Declan, coming slowly down the stairs. His hair looked a little mussed after his efforts in carrying Rosie and a single dark lock spilled over his forehead.
Like Superman.
I worked to arrange my expression and control it, but regardless, I felt Alison’s curious gaze on us both.
“Sorry—we were just putting Rosie to bed. I mean, Declan helped carry her up the stairs.”
His sister smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
“What’s going on, Alison?” Declan asked evenly, all business.
She looked at us both and unfurled a piece of paper. “I just dropped by the office. The defense has issued an addition to the witness roster for tomorrow. Madeleine Cooper is going to testify.”
47
On Friday morning, Madeleine held her head high as she walked to the witness stand. She knew that this was a risky move, but it was one that she had to take.
The judge, the media and, most of all, Kate needed to hear from her.
Her sister-in-law had already been brave and done an incredible job, and her great friend Lucy had done her utmost to paint her in a decent light. Now she had to top their performances and make the case for why she, and especially her family, were not guilty of negligence, and while they might be considered indirectly responsible for this, their decision not to vaccinate Jake and Clara did not make them monsters.
Eschewing the conservative suits she’d worn to court so far, today she wore a flowing floral skirt and light pink cashmere polo-neck sweater that was much more her usual day-to-day style. She smoothed the skirt carefully as she took her seat.
Looking around the courtroom, she adjusted to the change in landscape of the room from this point of view and decided that this was much like a pet goldfish must feel like in a fish tank.
“Mrs. Cooper—Madeleine—thank you for taking the stand today and for your willingness to share your testimony with the court.”
Nodding at Michael McGuinness, she clasped her hands in her lap and tried to remain calm.
But her palms were sweating.
“Madeleine, I would like to begin by recounting your own experience of March twentieth last year when Clara fell ill,” the barrister said. “Can you talk us through the events of that day?”
“Yes. Clara had been a little sniffly the night before, and my husband commented that she might be coming down with chicken pox. The school had sent a note home—another girl in my daughter’s class had come down with it that week—so we knew that it was going around and I was prepared for the fact that Clara might well catch it. She’d never had the disease before but Jake, my eldest, had.”
“Indeed. And how did you feel about that?”
Madeleine decided to be circumspect. She’d agonized over how she should play it today, especially knowing that she and Tom had always been considered unconventional, or even cavalier, in their approach. And as that same approach had been criticized long and hard well before this whole thing started, she felt there was no point in trying to paint things any differently to how she saw them. The judge, and indeed the media, would see right through that. “No parent likes to see their child ill,” she said, “but these diseases, particularly among school-going children, are almost a rite of passage.”
“I see. So the idea of Clara contracting such a disease didn’t bother you.”
“Not at all. Chicken pox in particular is an uncomfortable but relatively harmless illness. In fact, many parents hold chicken-pox parties so they can control when their children fall ill with it, and thus can make work arrangements around this.”
“Just for clarification, you’re saying that some parents arrange to actually infect their children on purpose?”
“Correct. In my experience, this occurs often when there are a few siblings involved so that all children in the house can be cared for at the same time, and particularly in the case of working parents, so that no further time off is needed to deal with the same illness subsequently. But I am lucky in the sense that I work from home, so I don’t need to plan around these things as much as most.”
“But you did have a work commitment on the morning of March twentieth, did you not?”
Madeleine took a deep breath. “On that particular morning, yes, I did. The nature of my work sometimes necessitates media appearances, which by their nature are often time-sensitive and last-minute.”
“But you were aware of this prior commitment on Monday evening, were you not?” McGuinness probed.
“I was, yes. But chicken pox usually takes a couple of days to develop and I’d hoped, as did my husband, that Clara’s sniffles were the result of her immune system trying to fight off the numerous bugs and infections all school-going kids are exposed to. As I’m sure most parents know, if you worried about every little cough and sneeze, you’d never be able to sleep a wink.”
She winced a little, realizing that last remark had come out a little more glibly than she’d intended, and she hoped it hadn’t made her come across as uncaring. But she got the sense that the judge was a bit of a no-nonsense sort who wouldn’t be inclined to mollycoddle every child with a runny nose, and she needed him to view her as a competent, sensible parent and not the feckless, irresponsible monster the media, and indeed Kate’s solicitors, had painted her thus far.
And Madeleine also felt it was especially important to get a mention of Tom in there, too, so everyone could see that
both parents were equally unconcerned about Clara’s prognosis, so much so that they both intended to carry on the following day as planned.
“OK, so you assumed, although you couldn’t yet be sure, that Clara might be coming down with chicken pox?”
“Based on the school note we’d received, I thought this was a reasonable assumption, though of course I couldn’t be sure. Like I said, there are always various bugs going around at all times. She could just as easily have been coming down with a common cold. Or nothing at all.” She paused then. “But, as we know now, it wasn’t quite that simple and, of course, with the benefit of hindsight—”
“Objection. The witness is illustrating hindsight bias.”
“Agreed, Counsel,” said the judge, before turning to address her. “Mrs. Cooper, if you can, try to continue your testimony without referring to the outcome, so as not to distort your recollection of events.”
Madeleine swallowed hard. Damn. Matt Townsend had warned her about this, that hindsight bias was a cognitive phenomenon that could be especially damaging in a defense situation. She needed to focus her testimony on how things actually happened rather than try to alter them based on her knowledge of the outcome.
She cleared her throat. “Sure. I’m sorry.”
The defense barrister helped her along. “So on the morning of March twentieth, your family got ready for the day as normal. Was there any further development or deterioration in Clara’s condition—perhaps a difficult night or any sickness?”
“No, nothing at all. We went to her grandmother’s house after dinner, and she even seemed to brighten a little as the evening went on. I gave her some acetaminophen as a precaution before bedtime and had her eat an orange and some blackberries to boost up her levels of vitamin C...”
