Douglas Kennedy: A Special Relationship

'Not bad'.

'And how is your sister?'

'A bit better, I think'.

Just then Nigel showed up, accompanied by Rose Keating. She gave me a little hug.

'You didn't think I was going to miss this, did you?' she asked. 'Who's the woman in the back row?'

'My sister', I said.

'All the way over here from the States to support you? Good on her. I'll sit with her'.

'How are our last-minute witnesses?' Maeve asked.

'Due here this afternoon, as requested', she said.

'They know how to get to the High Court?' Maeve asked.

'It's all arranged. Nigel meeting's one of them at Paddington during the lunch break, and I'm going to Victoria for the other one'.

Tony and Co. then arrived - his lawyers nodding with their counterparts on this side of the court; their client and his new partner avoiding my gaze as before. Just as I also didn't want to make eye contact with either of them.

Then the court clerk stood up and asked us to do so as well. Mr Justice Traynor entered, sat down, greeted us with a brief 'Good morning', and called the hearing to order.

It was now Maeve's turn to present our case. And so she called her first witness: Dr Rodale.

She didn't smile at me from the witness stand. She seemed to be deliberately ignoring my presence - perhaps because that would give her testimony more weight.

Maeve got her to recite her professional qualifications, her long-standing association with St Martin's, the fact that she'd had two decades' experience of treating women with postnatal depression, and had written several medical papers on the subject. She then had her outline, briefly, the emotional and physiological roller-coaster ride that was this condition, how it sneaked up unawares on its victims, how it often caused those in its vortex to do uncharacteristic things like uttering threats, becoming suicidal, refusing to eat or wash, committing violent acts... and how, with rare exceptions, it was always treatable.

Then she detailed my clinical case.

When she had finished Maeve asked her, 'In your opinion, is Ms Goodchild fully capable of resuming the role of full-time mother?'

She looked straight at Tony and said, 'In my opinion, she was fully capable of that role when she was discharged from hospital nearly ten months ago'.

'No further questions, My Lord'.

Lucinda Fforde stood up.

'Dr Rodale, during the course of your twenty-five-year career, how many women have you treated for postnatal depression?'

'Around five hundred, I'd guess'.

'And, of these, how many documented cases can you remember of a mother threatening to kill her child?'

Dr Rodale looked most uncomfortable with this question.

'When you say "threatening to kill a child...?"'

'I mean, just that: someone threatening to kill a child'.

'Well... to be honest about it, I only remember three other reported instances...'

'Only three other instances, out of five hundred cases. It's obviously a pretty rare threat to make then. And let me ask you this: of those three cases... actually four, if you include Ms Goodchild, how many of those actually went on to murder their child?'

Dr Rodale turned to the judge.

'My Lord, I really find this line of questioning...'

'Doctor, you must answer the question'.

She looked straight at Lucinda Fforde.

'Only one of those women went on to kill her child'.

A triumphant smile crossed the lips of Lucinda Fforde.

'So, given that, one of those four women actually killed her child, there was a twenty-five per cent chance that Ms Goodchild would have killed her child'.

'My Lord' -

But before Maeve could utter anything more, Lucinda Fforde said, 'No further questions'.

'Re-examination?'

'Absolutely, My Lord', Maeve said, sounding furious. 'Dr Rodale, please tell us about the patient who killed her child'.

'She was suffering from extreme schizophrenia, and one of the worst cases of manic depression I've ever treated. She had been sectioned - and the murder happened on a supervised visit with her child, when the supervisor became physically ill and had to leave the room for no more than a minute to seek help. When she returned, the mother had snapped her child's neck'.

There was a long silence.

'How rare is this sort of case in postnatal depression?' Maeve asked.

'Rarer than rare. As I said, it's the one instance in five hundred or so cases I've treated. And I must emphasize again that, unlike all the other cases, this was one where the patient was essentially psychotic'.

'So there is absolutely no relation whatsoever with the condition suffered by the woman who killed her child, and that of Ms Goodchild?'

'Absolutely none whatsoever. And anyone who attempts to make that sort of comparison is guilty of a monstrous manipulation of the truth'.

'Thank you, Doctor. No further questions'.

Next up was Clarice Chambers. She did smile at me from the witness box and, under gentle, brief questioning from Maeve, told her how well I had 'bonded' with Jack, the grief I had displayed at our first supervised visit, and the way I had been able to establish a genuine rapport with him during our hourly visits each week. And then Maeve asked her virtually the same question she had posed to Dr Rodale.

'As you have been the one-and-only person to have watched the interaction of Ms Goodchild and her son over the past months, is it your professional opinion that she is a caring mother?'

'A completely caring mother, in whom I have the greatest confidence'.

'Thank you. No further questions'.

Once again, Lucinda Fforde played the 'I have just one question for you' game. And the question was, 'In your experience, don't all mothers who have been legally prevented from unsupervised contact with their child - due to worries about the child's safety - don't they always express terrible grief in front of you?'

'Of course they do. Because' -

'No further questions'.

'Re-examination?'

'Ms Chambers, is it true that, for the past six weeks, you have allowed Ms Goodchild to have unsupervised contact with her child?'

'That is completely correct'.

'And why have you permitted this?'

'Because it's clear to me that she is a normally functioning person, who presents no danger whatsoever to her child. In fact, I've actually felt that way about her since the beginning'.

'Thank you very much, Ms Chambers'.

Moving right along, Jane Sanjay took the stand. She explained that she had been my health visitor - and had seen me several times after I had come out of hospital with Jack. And she reported that she had no doubts about my competence as a mother. Maeve asked, 'However, this was before the full-scale effects of the postnatal depression had afflicted her, is that correct?'

'Yes, that's true - but she was, at the time, obviously suffering from exhaustion, postoperative stress, not to mention ferocious worry about her son's condition. The exhaustion was also exacerbated by sleep deprivation, and the fact that she had no help at home. So, under the circumstances, I thought she was coping brilliantly'.

'So, there was nothing in her behaviour to indicate a woman who could not deal with the day-to-day business of child care?'

'None at all'.

'You know, of course, that she did accidentally breastfeed her son while taking a sedative. Is that, in your professional experience, a rare occurrence?'

'Hardly. We must have a dozen of those cases a year in Wandsworth. It's a common mistake. The mother isn't sleeping, so she's on sleeping pills. She's told, "Don't breastfeed while taking the pills." The child wakes up in the middle of the night. The mother is befuddled. She breastfeeds the child. And though the child goes floppy for a bit, he or she simply sleeps it off. And in the case of Sally... sorry, Ms Goodchild... the fact that this happened didn't have any bearing whatsoever on my opinion that she was a thoroughly competent mother'.