Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

The ebb and flow of postnatal care... I was being eviscerated with lethal ease.

'Sadly, the concerns of Mr Hughes and his colleagues proved justified, as shortly after her release from hospital with her son, she was prescribed sedatives by her General Practitioner to help combat the insomnia she had been recently suffering. Her GP had specifically warned her not to breastfeed her child while taking these sedatives. Shortly thereafter, however, her son was rushed to hospital in an unconscious state, having ingested tranquillizers from his mother's breast milk. And upon arrival at St Martin's Hospital, the staff were so concerned about Ms Goodchild's mental state that they admitted her to the Psychiatric Unit, where she remained for nearly six weeks - as she spoke not a word and refused all food for the first few days of her stay'.

I found myself putting my hands over the top of my already lowered head, like someone protecting themselves from a series of repeated incoming blows.

She now moved in for the coup de grace - talking about how Mr Hobbs was the distinguished foreign correspondent for the Chronicle, who had just resigned his position as Foreign Editor to look after his son full-time...

Once again, I wanted to scream, 'What?' but restrained myself. I was in enough trouble right now.

She then explained that Ms Dexter was the founder and chairman of one of the most influential marketing companies in Britain, soon to be floated on the London Stock Exchange. She listed her real estate holdings, her chairmanships of assorted well-known companies, and the fact that she was planning to marry Mr Hobbs as soon as his divorce was finalized.

'Most tellingly, from the outset of this familial crisis, Ms Dexter has taken it upon herself to ensure Jack's safety and his well-being. To this effect, she has hired a full-time nanny to look after him - in adjunct to his father whom, as I mentioned before, has demonstrated his deep commitment to fatherhood by giving up his position at the Chronicle to be with his son at the start of his life.

'There is no doubt that Mr Hobbs and Ms Dexter will provide the sort of loving, secure environment in which Jack will flourish. There is also no doubt that, though Ms Goodchild may be responding well to pharmacological treatment, there are still large question marks over her ongoing stability, as proven by the fact that just two days ago, she arrived unannounced and uninvited at the gates of Ms Dexter's weekend home in East Sussex - a most disturbing visitation, and one which contravened the ex parte order issued against her a fortnight ago.

'In conclusion, may I emphasize that neither Mr Hobbs nor Ms Dexter wish Ms Goodchild ill. On the contrary, her estranged husband is deeply distressed by her current debilitated state. Nor was there any malicious or vengeful agenda behind his decision to seek an ex parte order against his wife... which was done solely to protect their child from further harm. His relationship with Ms Dexter had already been well established before this decision was made. He simply felt that, unless he moved their son out of direct physical contact with Ms Goodchild, he could be subject to further jeopardy. Ms Dexter not only provided shelter for Jack, but also round-the-clock nursing care. Considering that she is not the child's mother, her behaviour at this critical time can only be regarded as exemplary'.

And then, suddenly, it was all over. Or, at least, Lucinda Fforde had thanked His Lordship and sat down. The Judge then said he would retire to consider his decision and asked us all to return within twenty minutes when he would give judgment. Deirdre Pepinster nudged me to stand up as he himself rose and left. But I could barely make it to my feet.

Lucinda Fforde and the solicitor came down the right hand side of the court, avoiding me as they walked by. Paul Halliwell followed.

'I'm sorry' he said. 'But I can only play the hand I'm dealt'.

Then he too left.

I sank down in the seat again. There was a very long pause. Then Ginny Ricks said, 'You actually went to that woman's country house this weekend?'

I said nothing.

'And why didn't you tell us about the sleeping pills incident? Or the threats you made against your child? I mean', I heard Ginny Ricks say, 'if you had been direct with us, we could have' -

I stood up.

'I need to go to the loo'.

I headed out, but my knees started buckling. Deirdre Pepinster was there to catch me.

'Steady on', she said.

'Stay with her', Ginny Ricks said in a voice so dismissive it was clear that they now considered me to be completely damaged goods - to be jettisoned from their lives twenty minutes from now, when this entire embarrassing episode was behind them.

I wanted to tell her what an incompetent Sloaney little bitch she was. Remind her how she failed to garner all the necessary facts from me, how she treated my case like an addendum to her ultra-busy life, how she failed to instruct my barrister until ten minutes before the hearing (and I don't care if he was a last minute substitute - she could have found a replacement last night), and how she was now trying to blame me for her complete slipshodness.

But I said nothing, and allowed Deirdre Pepinster to help me into the loo, whereupon I locked myself in a cubicle, fell to my knees and spent five long minutes divesting my stomach of its entire contents.

When I emerged from the stall, Deirdre Pepinster regarded me with nervous distaste, looked at her watch, and said, 'We'd best be getting back'.

I managed to swill some tap water around my mouth before we left. When we reached the court, I saw a look pass between Deirdre and Ginny Ricks.

Then the court clerk announced the entry of the judge. We all stood up. The side door opened, the judge walked in. He sat down. So did we. After clearing his throat, he began to speak. He spoke nonstop for just five minutes. When he was finished and the courtroom was empty, Ginny Ricks leaned over to me and said, 'Well, that's about as bad as it gets'.

Ten

THE JUDGE DIDN'T look at me as he talked. He seemed to be speaking to some nether place, located on the floor just beyond his desk. But his crisp voice was aimed directly at me.

His 'judgment' was brief and to the point. After due consideration, he saw no reason to change the initial ex parte order - and therefore he was allowing this Residence Order to stand for the next six months, until 'The Final Hearing' regarding residence could take place. However, he was adding a few provisos to the original order. Though he concurred that the safety of the child was paramount, he also ordered that 'the mother be allowed weekly supervised contact at a contact centre within the borough of her residence'. He also commissioned a CAFCASS report, to be filed five weeks before the Final Hearing which he fixed for six months' time, 'at which time the matter will be decided once and for all'.

Then he stood up and left.

Lucinda Fforde leaned over and proffered her hand to Paul Halliwell. From the brevity of the handshake and the lack of conversation between them, I could sense that this was a mere end-of-hearing formality. Then she and her solicitor hurried off, a quick nod to Ginny Ricks, hearing finished, job done, on to the next human mess. My barrister had a similar approach. He packed up his briefcase, picked up his raincoat, and left hurriedly, muttering 'We'll be in touch' to my solicitor. Even though he had only been parachuted into the case today, he too looked decidedly embarrassed by the outcome. Nobody likes to lose.

Deirdre Pepinster also stood up and excused herself, leaving me and my solicitor alone in the court. That's when she sighed a heavy theatrical sigh and said, 'Well, that's about as bad as it gets'.

Then she added, 'Like Paul Halliwell, I've always said about cases like these: I can only play the hand I'm dealt. And I'm afraid you've dealt me a busted flush. Had I only known...'