Douglas Kennedy: A Special Relationship

'Yes'.

'She said, "How middle-aged." And he drank the drink. Is that right?'

'Yes'.

'And you believe, because of that, she should be held culpable for the fatal accident he had several hours later?'

'I have never been asked to comment on her culpability'.

'But you've been brought all this way across the Atlantic to sully her character, haven't you?'

'I was brought here simply to relate the information she told me'.

'While she was a patient of yours, yes?'

'That's right'.

'Aren't there laws in the United States about patient/doctor confidentiality?'

'I'm not a doctor. I'm a therapist. And yes, there are laws. But they mainly have to do with criminal malfeasance'.

'Now if Ms Goodchild didn't speak with anyone else about this, how on earth did Mr Hobbs's people find you after all these years, and why did you agree to be brought over here?'

'Because they asked me to testify, that's why'.

'And what are they paying you for your trouble?'

'My Lord, I do hate to interrupt yet again', Lucinda Fforde said, 'but this is improper'.

'Oh, please', Maeve hissed. 'He's obviously not over here for altruistic reasons...'

'We are running out of time, Ms Doherty' Traynor said. 'Is this line of questioning likely to take matters further?'

'I have no further questions for this... gentleman!

Traynor heaved a huge sigh of relief. He could go home now.

'The witness is dismissed. Court is adjourned until nine am tomorrow morning'.

As soon as Traynor had left the court, I was on my feet, racing out the back door in search of Sandy. I found her on a bench in the hallway, her eyes red, her face wet. I tried to touch her shoulder. She shrugged me off.

'Sandy...'

The door of the courtroom opened, and out came Grant Ogilvy, accompanied by Tony's solicitor. Before I could stop her, Sandy was in his face.

'I'm going back to Boston in two days', she yelled, 'and the first thing I'm going to do is make certain everyone who counts in your profession knows what you did here today. You understand? I am going to fucking ruin you. Because you fucking deserve it'.

A court usher, hearing her raised voice, came running towards the scene. But Tony's solicitor shooed him away.

'It's over now', he whispered, and hustled a wide-eyed and deeply distressed Grant Ogilvy out of the building.

I turned toward Sandy, but she walked away from me. Maeve and Nigel were at the door of the courtroom, looking on.

'Is she going to be all right?' Maeve asked.

'She just needs to calm down. It's a dreadful shock for her'.

'And for you too', Nigel added. 'Are you all right?'

I ignored the question and asked Maeve, 'How much damage do you think he did?'

'The truth is: I don't know', she said. 'But the important thing now is: go deal with your sister, try to stay calm, and - most of all - get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow will be a very long day'.

I noticed Nigel had Sandy's roll-on bag beside him.

'She left this behind', he said. 'Anything I can do?'

I shook my head. He awkwardly reached over and touched my arm.

'Ms Goodchild... Sally... what you were just put through was so dreadfully wrong'.

Then, almost shocked by this show of emotion, he nodded goodbye to me.

As I went off to find Sandy, I realized that that was the one time Nigel Clapp had ever called me by my first name.

Fourteen

SANDY WAS WAITING outside the court, leaning against a pillar.

'Let's get a cab', I said.

'Whatever'.

In the ride back to Putney, she didn't say a word to me. She just leaned against one side of the taxi, exhausted, spent, in one of those dark states that I got to know during childhood. I didn't blame her for being in such a black place. As far as she was concerned, I had betrayed her. And she was right. And now I didn't have a clue about how I should (or could) make amends for such a huge error of judgment.

But I also knew enough about Sandy to realize that the best strategy right now was to let her get through the big monstrous anger phase of this freeze-out. So I said nothing to her on the way out to Putney. When we reached the house, I made up the guest bed and showed her where the bathroom was, and let her know that there was plenty of microwavable food in the fridge. But if she wanted to eat with me...

'What I want is a bath, a snack, and bed. We'll talk tomorrow'.

'Well, I'm going to take a walk then'.

What I wanted to do was knock on Julia's door and ask her to pour me a vodka and allow me to scream on her shoulder for a bit. But as I approached my front door, I saw a note that had landed on the inside mat. It was from her, saying:

Desperate to know how it went today... but had to go out to a last-minute business thing. I should be home by eleven. If you're still up then and want company, do feel free to knock on the door.

Hope you got through it all.

Love, Julia

God, how I needed to talk to her, to anyone. But instead, I took what solace I could from a walk along the river. When I got back I found that Sandy had indeed eaten a Chicken Madras and had taken her jet lag and her anger to bed early.

I picked at a microwaved Spaghetti Carbonara. I stared blankly at the television. I ran myself a bath. I took the necessary dose of anti-depressants and sleeping pills. I crawled into bed. The chemicals did their job for around five hours. When I woke, the clock read 4.30 am - and all I could feel was dread. Dread about my testimony today. Dread about yesterday's debacle with Sandy. Dread about the influence that Grant Ogilvy would have on the judge's decision. Dread, most of all, that I was now destined to lose Jack.

I went down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of herbal tea. As I walked by the living room, I saw that the light was on. Sandy was stretched out on the sofa, awake, lost in middle-of-the-night thought.

'Hi', I said. 'Can I get you anything?'

'You know what really kills me?' she said. 'It's not that you gave Dad that last drink. No, what so fucking upsets me is that you couldn't tell me'.

'I wanted to, but...'

'I know, I know. And I understand all your reasons. But to keep that to yourself for all these years... Jesus Christ, Sally... didn't you think I'd understand? Didn't you?'

'I just couldn't bring myself to admit...'

'What? That you've been carrying fifteen years worth of guilt for no damn reason? I could have talked you out of your guilt in a heartbeat. But you chose not to let me. You chose to keep stagnating in the fucking guilt, and that's what really staggers me'.

'You're right'.

'I know I'm right. I may just be a fat little suburbanite...'

'Now who's trading in self-hate?'

She laughed a cheerless laugh. And said, 'I don't know about you, but I've always hated my last name. Goodchild. Too much to live up to'.

She pushed herself up off the sofa. 'I think I'll try to get two more hours of sleep'.

'Good idea'.

But I couldn't sleep. I just took up her place on the sofa, and stared at the empty grate in the fireplace, and tried to fathom why I couldn't bring myself to tell her what I should have told her, why I dodged the absolution I so craved. And why every child wants to be a good child - and never can really live up to the expectations of others, let alone themselves.

Somewhere over the next few hours, I did nod off-and then found myself being nudged by Sandy, who had a mug of coffee in one hand.

'It's eight am', she said, 'and this is your wake-up call'.

I slurped down the coffee. I took a fast shower. I put on my good suit again. I did a little damage control with foundation and blusher. We were out the door and on the tube by nine-fifteen. It was a brilliantly bright, sun-dappled day.

'Sleep all right?' Maeve asked me as we settled down in the front left hand pew of the court.