Madeleine (22 page)

The two officers talked openly about Robert Murat, who remained an
arguido
, and drip-fed us snippets of ‘evidence’ linking him to Madeleine’s disappearance. Not enough, apparently, to arrest and charge him. In some ways, I wish now they hadn’t done this. It served only to colour my judgement of Murat. They told us, for example, about a newspaper clipping they’d seized from his house, an article entitled ‘Lock up Your Daughters’, which claimed that Casanova had been a paedophile. It made us shudder. Back then we feared everything and, perhaps understandably, leaped to the worst conclusions without pausing to consider innocent explanations.

Nothing we were told by the police indicated that Murat took Madeleine or was in any way involved in her abduction. We had no context for the disconnected pieces of information Neves and Encarnação did pass on to us, which we assumed were all they were allowed to reveal. In isolation these suggested it was possible Murat was linked in some way to the events of 3 May, and for a long time we didn’t know what to think. Once we fell victim ourselves to the vagaries of the Portuguese police system, we soon discovered how easy it was for two and two to be put together to make five.

When I read through the PJ files in microscopic detail after their release to the public in 2008, I found nothing to implicate Murat. It is clear that the police never had any credible case against him. His
arguido
status was eventually lifted, no charges were ever brought and any apparent evidence they gathered was no more than circumstantial. Several witnesses, including Fiona, Russ and Rachael, reported seeing Murat near our apartment on the night Madeleine vanished. He has always categorically denied being there, and his mother confirmed that he was at home all evening.

On Friday 25 May, the day after our first meeting with Neves and Encarnação, we gave our first ‘sit-down’ interviews to the media in response to the incessant requests for an opportunity to speak to us. Sheree and Clarence had prepared for this event (Sheree had now had to leave us but had passed on the baton to Clarence), along with Hannah Gardiner of the Association of Chief Police Officers, who was helping us as a kind of police media liaison officer. They had held the press at bay until Gerry and I felt strong enough to handle it. The fact that so far the public had not heard from us directly, other than in our brief statements and appeals, together with the massive appetite for the ‘story’ and the scarcity of information available from the police, made these interviews very significant. I have to say that the prospect of doing them filled me with dread.

Before I faced the press, Anne-Marie and I went along, briefly, to a lunch in Lagoa to mark International Missing Children’s Day. A month before I’d never even heard of IMCD, which encourages people around the world to remember all missing children and their families and to express their solidarity with them. Now, of course, the date is engraved on my brain. We had been invited to this lunch by Susan, the wife of Haynes Hubbard, the new Anglican minister in Praia da Luz. The Hubbards had come to Portugal from Canada three days after Madeleine’s abduction and this was the first time I had met Susan. She was to become a very close friend and has been a real support to me ever since.

I had to be back to meet Gerry for the interviews at 3pm. When we arrived, I was asked by one of the television people if I could change my top as the colour ‘wouldn’t work well on camera’. I’d already been pretty bemused by all the instructions I’d received beforehand. I’m sure these are very useful if you are going on TV to present a programme or take part in a chat show, but to me this seemed insensitive, almost offensive. Surely in the circumstances what Gerry and I had to say mattered more than how we dressed and the overall look of the ‘media package’?

We did a whole lot of interviews, one after the other – Sky, BBC, ITV, the Press Association, Portuguese television and GMTV. In spite of my aversion to speaking in public and the anxiety it caused me, everything went much more smoothly and felt easier (or at least, less awful) than I’d expected. Each interviewer asked us about our decision to leave the children alone in our apartment while we ate. All we could do was answer this honestly, over and over again, as we have had to do on numerous occasions since. We love our children; we would never knowingly put them at risk; we were naive; it was the biggest misjudgement of our lives; we regretted it bitterly and we would have to live with the guilt we felt for ever. But at the same time, we knew that the person who had taken Madeleine was the real criminal, and he remained free and almost forgotten.

It was a huge relief when it was all over. But in truth it was just the beginning: I had no idea then of quite how many interviews we would be required to do in the weeks, months and years to come.

In the meantime, hope and comfort were at hand from an unexpected source. It was on Sunday 27 May that Clarence first mentioned the possibility that we might be invited to the Vatican (or ‘accepted’ there) to meet Pope Benedict XVI. The ‘relevant people’ in Rome, he told us, had already been making the necessary preparations. I didn’t dwell on whether this was unprecedented, as it was later described, or even unusual. I just remember thinking how important and wonderful this would be for Madeleine. For a Catholic, meeting the Pope is about as close as you can get to meeting God, and we certainly needed His help. I truly believed that if I was able to speak to the Pope, my pleas for Madeleine’s safe return would be channelled more efficiently and effectively to Heaven. I also believed that this meeting might lead to many more Catholics offering prayers for Madeleine. Surely if God received a bombardment like this, Madeleine would be returned to us?

Even so, I can say, hand on heart, that at that time I never thought our encounter with the Pope would be such big news. Although I was of course aware of the huge public interest Madeleine’s plight continued to generate, I was still in my own little bubble, detached to some extent from the outside world, and this proposed journey to Rome felt like a necessity rather than a privilege. To me it was the Church’s way of supporting a fellow child of God, a humane and compassionate gesture. Gerry, on the other hand, was able to see the wider picture, the massive global awareness it would bring, in addition to the spiritual benefits for our family.

Our audience with Pope Benedict XVI, as part of a public session at St Peter’s, was confirmed the following day and scheduled for Wednesday 30 May. Sir Philip Green kindly offered us the use of his private jet. But what would people say? That we were hobnobbing with celebrities and swanning around in the lap of luxury while our daughter was suffering? The unpleasant scrutiny we were under was soon to become an integral part of our lives whether we liked it or not. In the end we accepted Sir Philip’s offer for logistical and emotional reasons. The key factor was that it would dramatically reduce the period of time we’d need to spend away from Amelie and Sean.

Not for the last time, we agreed to a small group of UK and Portuguese journalists and photographers travelling with us on the plane. To this day, I wonder why on earth we did. We would have been under some gentle and well-meaning pressure from Clarence, a journalist himself until fairly recently, who was working so closely with the media that he was keen to maintain a friendly relationship with them. I know it’s the way politicians do things, but our situation was rather different. Obviously, the press were going anyway, and travelling with us made their lives much easier, but it meant we couldn’t relax or let our guard down for fear that something we said or did would turn up in the papers, spun to suit a particular story. From time to time, inevitably, we forgot that while on a personal level some of the journalists were lovely to us, they were there to do a job.

We were informed that we would need to wear ‘dark suits’ to meet the Pope. Clothes again! On the Tuesday morning Gerry and I went to a big shopping centre to buy something appropriate. As a woman who could not yet enjoy a snack in a café without feeling guilty, I could not get my head round this. My daughter was missing and here we were
shopping
! It was unthinkable. I moved randomly from rack to rack, from shop to shop, the tears rolling down my face. I longed for it all to go away.

Leaving Sean and Amelie behind in Portugal a few hours later was even worse. I just wanted to cling to them for ever. We faced a dilemma several times as we travelled abroad in the weeks to come. Could we take them? What would be fairer on them? I have no doubt that we did the right thing. It would have been nice for us to have the twins with us, their comforting cuddles on tap, but it would have been selfish. Being shuffled from meeting to meeting, buffeted by crowds and dazzled by flashbulbs, was never going to be fun for them. In Praia da Luz they were in the care of loving family and friends and could play in comfortable surroundings to their hearts’ content. There was no contest, really, not for a pair of two-year-olds.

I’ve never been great at take-offs and landings. In recent years I’d taken to squeezing Gerry’s hand tightly until we were safely in the air or back down on the ground in one piece. Since Madeleine was taken that anxiety has given way to something else: an aching sadness. Somewhere deep down it always seems wrong to be going anywhere, or returning from anywhere, without her. It’s such an awful feeling that nowadays I’d rather not fly at all unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.

We were warmly welcomed at the airport in Rome by Francis Campbell, the ambassador to the Holy See, and Monsignor Charlie Burns, who, like Gerry, was from Glasgow, along with several representatives of the British Consulate. We were taken to the ambassador’s residence, where we were to spend the night. That evening holds fond memories for us both. Francis, Charlie and Pat, the housekeeper and social secretary, were absolutely lovely to us and made us feel like family. They provided a wonderful dinner and great conversation. Francis is an amazing storyteller and must be one of the most talented impressionists I’ve ever come across. Listening to him I experienced the strangest sensation. I realized that, for the first time in nearly a month, I was
laughing
– not what I’d anticipated at all. As bizarre and inappropriate as laughter felt then, it helped both Gerry and me to relax and gave us a boost we sorely needed.

We couldn’t face much breakfast the following morning, however. Reality kicked in again: Madeleine was missing and we were going to meet the Pope. I was a bag of nerves. We left for St Peter’s at around nine o’clock, picking up Charlie en route. On arrival we were taken to our seats in the Prima Fila by the Vatican staff. Within minutes, the black clouds that had been looming overhead gave way to bright skies. The heat of the sun was uplifting, a good omen, perhaps? The only problem now was that we were sitting directly in its blazing rays, dressed in dark suits, very stressed and anxious, and growing hotter all the time. Charlie, sitting behind us, very sweetly held a parasol over our heads.

Amid an almost carnival atmosphere sat Gerry and I, at the front, vulnerable and sombre. For an hour and a half following the Pope’s arrival there were addresses in different languages, prayers, singing and blessings. Gerry’s intolerance of heat and his building apprehension edged him to the brink of fainting. Thankfully he just managed to hang on. It was shortly after midday by the time Pope Benedict started to move along the Prima Fila to greet people. He was much smaller than I’d imagined, a quiet and gentle man. I could feel my heart pounding. This was the moment. Madeleine’s moment.

The festival going on around me suddenly receded, the sights and sounds fading away, and I was aware of nothing and nobody but myself, Gerry, Madeleine and the Pope. He seemed about to turn back when one of his aides directed him to us. His eyes widened and it was evident that he knew who we were and recognized our sorrow. It was a brief but intense encounter. I said what I had planned and needed to say. Nothing earth-shattering: I simply thanked him for allowing us to be there and asked him to pray for Madeleine’s safe return. He held our hands and assured us that he would keep Madeleine, our families and ourselves in his prayers. I gave him a photograph of her. I’d intended him to keep it but instead he placed his palm softly over it and blessed Madeleine before handing it back to us. In a minute, perhaps less, it was all over and yet we felt we’d accomplished something enormous for Madeleine.

Clarence, who had been sitting behind us with Francis and Charlie, told me a little later that during the proceedings a butterfly had landed on the ribbon in my hair. It flew off, only to return a short while later, this time alighting on the lapel of my jacket. At the time we all wondered whether it was a sign, a harbinger of good news. Remembering that now makes me sad. Back then we still had so much hope, seeing omens in sunlight and butterflies. It’s not that we don’t have hope any more. Of course we do. We’ll always have hope, as long as we remain in this limbo. It’s just that it feels so far away. Everything feels far away: our last moment with Madeleine, any future moments with Madeleine. These moments are like the pot of gold at the end of a perpetually extending rainbow. They’re there, but still just beyond our reach.

It was so lovely to see Sean and Amelie when we returned to Praia da Luz. True to form, they appeared quite unfazed by our absence. Sean seemed more eager to tell us about a naughty doggy who’d weed on their sandcastle than to know where we’d been.

After feast comes famine, they say, and that evening, as the euphoria subsided, my spirits took a plunge:

Low point tonight . . . Despairing about the lack of information. Makes it appear like the police haven’t got a clue . . . Four weeks tomorrow since Madeleine was taken. Four weeks since we’ve seen our special little girl. Not sure we’ll see her again but I’m aware that we need to stay hopeful and strong. Love you so much Madeleine. Need you back! x