A Special Relationship (53 page)

‘That’s right. She entered hospital for a time thereafter.’

‘She
entered
a psychiatric unit thereafter … the breastfeeding incident being the event that brought her to hospital. So how can you say that you
know
that this incident was just a common mistake if you weren’t there?’

‘Because I’ve dealt with these sorts of cases before.’

‘But you didn’t specifically deal with this one …’

‘I dealt with Ms Goodchild …’

‘But
before
the incident, is that not right?’

Pause. Jane was cornered, and she knew it.

‘Yes, I suppose that’s right.’

‘As for your claim that “though the child goes floppy for a bit, he or she just sleeps off the drugs”, I have a clipping here from the
Scotsman,
dated 28 March of this year – a short news item, detailing a death of a two-week-old boy in a Glasgow hospital after his mother breastfed him while taking a similar sedative. No more questions.’

‘Re-examination, Ms Doherty?’

‘Yes, My Lord. Ms Sanjay, have you ever dealt with a death like the one just described?’

‘Never – but I am certain it could happen. But only if the mother had ingested far beyond the normal dose of sedatives. I’d be interested to know if that mother in Scotland had been a drug addict – because many addicts mainline high doses of the drug. And if you then breastfed a baby after mainlining an overdose of sedatives, well … a tragedy like that can happen.’

The judge came in here.

‘Just out of interest, was the Glaswegian mother a drug addict, Ms Fforde?’

Ms Fforde looked profoundly uncomfortable.

‘She was, My Lord.’

After Jane was dismissed, the moment I was dreading had arrived. Maeve Doherty called my name. I walked down the aisle, entered the witness box, took the oath. I looked out at the courtroom and had that same sensation I had the one-and-only time I appeared onstage in a school play: the sheer terror of having all eyes upon you, even if the audience (in this case) was such a small one.

Maeve was brilliant. She stuck to the script. She didn’t ooze sympathy (‘That won’t play with Traynor’), nor did she lead me by the nose. But, point-by-point, she got me to explain the whirlwind nature of my relationship with Tony, my feelings about falling pregnant in my late thirties, my difficult pregnancy, the horror of discovering that Jack was in intensive care after his birth, and the fact that I began to feel myself mentally slipping into a black swamp.

‘You know, the expression, “In a dark wood”?’ I said.

‘Dante,’ Mr Justice Traynor interjected.

‘Yes, Dante. And an apt description of where I found myself.’

‘And in those moments of lucidity when you re-emerged from this “dark wood”,’ Maeve asked, ‘how did you feel about shouting at doctors, or making those two unfortunate comments about your son, or accidentally breastfeeding him while on sleeping pills?’

‘Horrible. Beyond horrible. And I still feel horrible about it. I know I was ill at the time, but that doesn’t lessen my guilt or my shame.’

‘Do you feel anger towards your husband about how he has behaved?’

‘Yes, I do. I also feel that what’s happened to me has been so desperately unfair, not to mention the most painful experience in my life … even more so than the death of my parents. Because Jack is my son. The centre of my life. And because he’s been effectively taken away from me – and for reasons that haven’t just struck me as unjust, but also trumped up.’

I gripped the rail of the witness stand as tightly as I could during this final statement. Because I knew that if I let go, the entire court would see my hands shaking.

‘No further questions, My Lord,’ Maeve said.

Lucinda Fforde now looked at me and smiled. The smile of someone who wants to unnerve you, wants you to know they’ve got you in their sights and are about to pull the trigger.

‘Ms Goodchild, after being told of your son’s critical condition while at the Mattingly Hospital, did you say: “He
is
dying – and I don’t care. You get that? I
don’t
care”?’

I gripped the rail tighter.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did you, a few weeks later, call your husband’s secretary at work and say: “Tell him if he’s not home in the next sixty minutes, I’m going to kill our son”?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did you breastfeed your son while taking sedatives after being specifically told
not
to do so by your GP?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did your son end up in hospital after this incident?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Were you hospitalized for nearly two months in a psychiatric unit after this incident?’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘In 1988, did your father attend your commencement party at Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Did you give him a glass of wine at that party?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did he tell you that he didn’t want that glass of wine?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘But you made the comment, “How middle aged,” and he downed the wine. Was that the correct sequence of events?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he then drive off later that evening, killing himself, your mother, and two innocent passengers in another car?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘I thank you, Ms Goodchild, for confirming that all the major accusations against you are correct ones. No more questions, My Lord.’

‘Re-examination, Ms Doherty?’

‘Yes, My Lord. But before I begin, I would like to take issue with the fact that Counsel used the word “accusations” in the context of my client. It should be noted that Ms Goodchild is
not
on trial here.’

‘Noted,’ Traynor said, with a bored sigh.

‘Ms Goodchild, did you mean what you said
when
you said: “He
is
dying – and I don’t care. You get that? I
don’t
care”?’

‘No, I didn’t mean it at all. I was suffering from postoperative shock.’

‘Did you mean what you said when you threatened the life of your child?’

‘No – I was suffering from clinical depression.’

‘Did you ever commit any violent act against your child?’

‘Never.’

‘Did you ever breastfeed him again while taking sedatives?’

‘Never.’

‘Are you now over your postnatal depression?’

‘I am.’

‘Did you give a glass of wine to your father on the fateful June night in 1988?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Now even though you didn’t force it down his throat – and, in fact, made nothing more than a flippant comment – do you still feel guilty about giving him that glass of wine?’

‘Yes, I do. I’ve always felt guilty about it. And I’ve lived with that guilt, day-in, day-out, for the last fifteen years.’

‘But do you think you deserve that guilt?’

‘Whether or not I deserve it, it is there.’

‘I think that’s called having a conscience. Thank you, Ms Goodchild, for so clearly stating the
real
facts of this case. No more questions.’

I stepped down from the bench. I walked down the aisle. I sat down next to Nigel Clapp. He touched my shoulder and said, ‘Well done.’

High praise from Mr Clapp. But I still thought that Fforde had scored serious points against me – and had pointed up, for Traynor, the fact that I had validated all the accusations against me.

There was one more witness before lunch. Diane Dexter’s former housekeeper – the Hispanic woman I had met on that day I had rushed to Dexter’s house. Her name was Isabella Paz. A Mexican, resident in the United Kingdom for ten years. In Ms Dexter’s employ until four months ago. And she confirmed that Mr Hobbs had been a regular guest to her residence since 1998 … and no, they did not sleep in separate rooms during these occasional visits that occurred when he was back in London from assorted overseas postings. She confirmed that Ms Dexter had gone on holiday with him in 1999 and 2000, and that she had spent a month with him in Cairo in 2001. And yes, he had been regularly visiting Ms Dexter since then – and, in fact, all but moved into her house for around eight weeks this past year … which, as Maeve Doherty helpfully added, was the eight weeks when Jack and I were resident in the psychiatric unit of St Martin’s.

‘In other words, Mr Hobbs and Ms Dexter had been carrying on an occasional romance since 1999, and a rather steady romance since his return to London in 2002?’

‘That was how I saw it, yes,’ she said.

During her cross-examination, Lucinda Fforde said, ‘Weren’t you fired by Ms Dexter for theft?’

‘Yes – but then she took back what she said, and paid me money.’

‘And before Ms Dexter, didn’t you work for a Mr and Mrs Robert Reynolds of London SW5?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And weren’t you fired from that job as well? For theft again?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘No further questions.’

‘Re-examination?’

‘A very fast question, Ms Paz,’ Maeve said. ‘Were you ever charged with theft by Mr and Mrs Reynolds. Officially charged, that is?’

‘No.’

‘So you don’t have a criminal record?’

‘No.’

‘And if the court wanted proof of the dates of, say, the holidays Ms Dexter took with Mr Hobbs, how could they obtain proof?’

‘She keeps a diary by the phone, writes everything in it. Where’s she going, who with. Once the year is finished, she puts the diary in a cabinet under the phone. She must have ten years of diaries down there.’

‘Thank you, Ms Paz.’

When we broke for lunch, I leaned forward and asked Maeve, ‘Did she really get done for stealing in her first job?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘A diamond necklace, which was fortunately recovered from the pawnbrokers where she sold it. And I think it was her mad plea for mercy that made her employers decide not to involve the police. And I’m pretty certain she did steal from Dexter – but, knowing that she was involved in this case, Paz decided to scream false accusation and raise the roof. Which is why Dexter paid up. So, if you’re looking for a housekeeper, don’t hire her. She’s completely larcenous … but she certainly served our purpose.’

Then she gave me a little shrug of the shoulders, as if to say: I know it’s not pleasant, but if you want to win, you have to engage in a little suspect play, just like the other side.

‘You did well in the witness box,’ Maeve said.

Rose and Nigel shot off to retrieve our two last-minute witnesses. Maeve excused herself to prepare for her final two examinations in full. So Sandy and I took a walk by the Thames. We didn’t say much – the pressure of the hearing and yesterday’s revelations stifling any serious conversation. But my sister did suggest that the morning went well for me.

‘But how well?’

‘Tony and his rich bitch were caught out lying about the newness of their relationship, and about only being just friends until after he snatched Jack. And I thought you were impressive.’

‘I hear a
but
coming on.’

‘But
… I did think that Tony’s barrister nailed you in her cross-examination. Not that you did anything wrong. Just that all the question marks hanging over you were confirmed by you. But maybe I’m just being overly pessimistic.’

‘No, you’re completely spot-on. Maeve thought so too. I’m worried. Because I can’t read the judge, and I don’t know what line he’s taking on the case … except wanting to get it over with as fast as possible.’

When we returned to the court after the two-hour recess, Maeve was sitting alone on our side of the court and told me that – in order to ensure that Tony and Co. didn’t run into our surprise witnesses – Nigel and Rose were dawdling with them in two separate coffee bars nearby. And as soon as the other side were in place…

In they walked, Tony and I pretending that there was a Berlin Wall between us. Immediately, Maeve was dashing up the aisle, her mobile phone in her hand. She was back within a minute, breathless, just as the clerk was calling the court to order. Traynor came in, just as Nigel came rushing down the aisle to slide in next to me. Traynor didn’t like this at all.

‘A little late, are we, sir?’ he asked.

Poor Nigel looked mortified. ‘I’m … uhm … terribly sorry, My Lord.’

‘So, Ms Doherty’ Traynor said. ‘We
are
going to finish up this afternoon, I hope?’

‘Without question, My Lord. But I must inform the court that, like the applicant, we also have last-minute witnesses.’

Traynor’s lips tightened. He didn’t like this news at all.