The Perfect Mother (33 page)

It’s Meera’s turn. ‘I’m Meera Williams, solicitor. I’m representing Catriona.’

‘Not both parents—just Catriona?’ says Phil Hardy.

She nods.

‘OK,’ he says. He glances round the circle. ‘Right. Daisy Lydgate.’

People shuffle and settle and open their folders out on the table. Through the wide window behind him, there’s a blue glare of sky. My heart pounds.

‘Just to briefly summarise where we are now. I gather that a period of inpatient assessment in the Jennifer Norton Unit was recommended for Daisy, and that it was made clear to the parents that legal action might be taken if they refused to have Daisy assessed. I believe it was Catriona, not Richard, who objected to this course of action. That Richard was happy for Daisy to be admitted?’

Richard leans forward. ‘That’s correct,’ he says. Even he seems nervous here: he’s restless, shifting in his seat and smoothing back his hair.

‘As most of you will be aware,’ Phil Hardy goes on, ‘Catriona then took Daisy out of the country. Richard was concerned for Daisy’s safety and contacted Jane Watson. Jane immediately rang us. We had Daisy made a ward of court, which enabled us to bring her back to the UK. Daisy was then admitted to the Jennifer Norton Unit. Our purpose today is to establish a course of action for the future, and in particular to decide how far we consider Daisy to be at risk.’ He turns to Dr Carey. ‘I’d like to start with you, Geraldine—as the person whose involvement with the family goes back furthest.’

Dr Carey shuffles the papers in front of her. ‘I’ve been with the practice for six months. According to the notes, in the past Daisy has attended surgery with the normal childhood illnesses.’

‘Who usually brought her?’ says Phil.

‘Always her mother,’ says Dr Carey. Nervous blotches flower across her neck. ‘In January, Catriona brought Daisy complaining of a flu-like illness. This was the first
time I’d met Daisy and her mother. I was worried about Daisy’s weight, which was on the lowest percentile. I did suggest that Catriona might like some advice on appropriate diet—I felt she wasn’t giving Daisy enough protein—but she refused to see our nutritionist.’

I’m cold, so cold: the little hairs stand up along my arms.

Dr Carey carries on. ‘Catriona was also resistant to the idea that Daisy’s illness might be psychological in origin.’

‘Why did you think that yourself?’ says Phil. ‘That it might be psychological?’

‘There wasn’t any obvious pathology, and Daisy looked unhappy. As you will know, stress is a huge factor in the illnesses we see in the surgery. I did all the usual blood tests, and referred her to Graham McGuire.’

She looks up and aims a slightly obsequious smile in Dr McGuire’s direction.

‘Thank you,’ says Phil. ‘So, Graham, could you tell us about your involvement?’

Dr McGuire opens up the file on the table in front of him. ‘I saw Daisy and her parents twice, in my paediatric outpatient clinic,’ he says. ‘The mother said Daisy was suffering from nausea, stomach pains and joint pains. I began by investigating physically. There were very few positive findings. Her blood tests were all normal apart from a rather high IgE, suggesting a possibility of allergy. A barium meal showed she had reflux. In spite of the complaint of joint pains, there were no arthritic changes at X-ray.’ He leans forward as though confiding, his angular hands clasped together on top of Daisy’s file. ‘But
I did have great concerns about the mother’s attitude. She seemed extremely overprotective towards her daughter, she had failed to comply with the treatment, and when I suggested there might be psychological reasons for Daisy’s illness and recommended a psychiatric referral, the mother became quite belligerent, which I found worrying.’

To my surprise, Phil Hardy turns to me. ‘Catriona, d’you want to respond?’

The room is suddenly vast: the edges of things seem sharp and far away.

‘Yes, it’s true I was angry.’ I think what Meera said, I’m trying to speak boldly, but my voice sounds thin to me, like the voice of a child. ‘I thought that Dr McGuire wasn’t taking her illness seriously.’

But Dr McGuire moves on as though he hasn’t heard.

‘The mother’s attitude and the shifting and elusive nature of Daisy’s symptoms led me to believe that a diagnosis of MSBP or fabricated illness was one of the possibilities we should be considering here,’ he says.

Meera raises her hand. ‘If I could comment, Phil, at this point? What worries me is that a diagnosis with such serious implications was being suggested at this early stage.’

I see Phil nodding slightly.

‘Could I just briefly ask you, Geraldine, as Daisy’s GP,’ Meera goes on, ‘whether you at any point informed Catriona that she had a right to a second opinion on Daisy’s illness?’

‘Not as such,’ says Dr Carey.

‘So Catriona was unaware that that was her right?’

‘I can’t answer that,’ says Dr Carey.

The woman in the flowered dress is writing all this down.

‘Now, in spite of Catriona’s reluctance,’ says Phil, ‘Daisy and her parents were in fact referred to Jane Watson. Jane, could you tell us what you found?’

Jane Watson nods. She’s on the other side of the circle, but even from here I can smell her sandalwood scent. ‘As you know, Graham and I work very closely together.’ A brief, vivid smile in Dr McGuire’s direction. ‘I decided, in view of Graham’s concerns, to work with the parents, without Daisy. I saw Catriona and Richard for three sessions. I found Richard quite responsive, but Catriona…’ Her eyes that are green as leaves rest on my face for a moment and slide away. ‘It’s perhaps easiest if I read out some comments I made in my report.’ She takes a sheet from her folder and glances down. Sunlight falls on the paper in front of her, so it looks white, blank, as though the words are erased. She coughs slightly. “‘Mrs Lydgate is highly personable and appears co-operative and smiles frequently,’” she reads. “‘However, I find her evasive and distanced from her feelings. Also, she has chosen to hide certain salient facts from me, about her childhood and background, and I find this secrecy highly worrying.’”

‘What facts were these?’ says Phil.

‘Most notably, the fact that at thirteen she was abandoned by her mother and spent the years from ages thirteen to sixteen in a local authority children’s home,
which is of course exactly the kind of childhood history that can lead to dysfunctions of parenting. Because of this evasiveness, I was forced to conclude that Graham was right to be worried about this family, and to take seriously the possibility of some maternal factor in Daisy’s illness.’

Phil turns to me. ‘Catriona, d’you have any comments?’ he says.

I clear my throat. ‘I read about Münchausen’s in a book I bought.’

It sounds naïve. I think that people may laugh.

He nods and says, ‘Go on.’

‘It said parents who caused their children’s illnesses had often themselves been in Care.’ My mouth is dry; the words are hard to form. ‘I was very frightened about what was going to happen to Daisy. I didn’t want to tell Jane about The Poplars because I was worried what she might think if she knew.’

‘Thank you,’ says Phil. He turns back to Jane Watson. ‘So, how did your sessions conclude?’

‘In our final session, I told them my recommendation.’

‘Which was a period of assessment in the Jennifer Norton?’

‘Exactly,’ says Jane Watson.

‘I’d like to know how Daisy’s parents reacted,’ says Phil. ‘Richard, we haven’t heard from you on this.’

Richard clears his throat. Again that nervous gesture, smoothing back his hair.

‘What Jane was saying made sense to me at the time.’

His voice is guarded, careful, but I note the past tense
and feel a surge of hope—that he has changed his mind, in spite of everything; that he is on my side.

‘But you objected, Catriona?’ says Phil.

‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘I thought it was all wrong for Daisy. I felt she’d be unhappy among strangers, especially as she’s ill. It isn’t what she needs. What Daisy needs is for someone to find out what’s wrong.’

Phil turns to the man from the Jennifer Norton Unit. ‘Finally, Paul, can you tell us about your observations of Daisy since she’s been with you?’

‘Obviously it’s early days,’ he says. His voice is tentative, full of a studied empathy; I remember such voices from childhood. ‘She seems to display quite a lot of illness behaviour, especially around mealtimes. It’s our policy in the unit to be quite brisk about such things…’

I feel a flicker of fear, about what they are doing to Daisy.

‘We’ve noticed too,’ he says, ‘that she does seem quite distressed, but she’s also rather inhibited and can’t say why she’s upset. And we’re wondering why it’s so hard for her to make her feelings known. How far this is to do with troubled family relationships—just what is going on here.’

There’s silence for a moment.

I have Meera’s words in my head. I make myself look round at them, at Dr McGuire, Jane Watson, Dr Carey: at their faces, still, intent, all looking straight at me. I speak into the silence, fighting for Daisy.

‘I want you to tell me something.’ My words fall into the stillness like pebbles into water, irrevocable. ‘There’s
something I don’t understand, that nobody ever explains. Exactly what do you think I’ve done to Daisy?’

The surprise in the room is like a tremor of air on my skin. I have said something that was not meant to be said.

Phil gestures towards Dr McGuire. ‘Graham, perhaps you could answer that for us,’ he says.

‘A diagnosis of MSBP covers a number of different categories,’ says Dr McGuire. He speaks to Phil; he never looks at me. ‘For instance, there have been cases where parents have removed feeding tubes or put poison in their children’s food or tried to suffocate their children.’

‘But what you’re describing is child abuse,’ says Meera. ‘And surely no one has ever suggested my client is guilty of any of those things?’

‘If I could continue…’ Dr McGuire goes on.

‘I’d like you to answer Meera’s question,’ says Phil.

Dr McGuire is tapping a finger on the table. ‘No one is suggesting at this stage that Mrs Lydgate has done anything like that. But there have also been cases where women have fed allergenic children with allergens, or have fabricated symptoms in order to put their children through unnecessary medical procedures.’

‘So, can I be quite clear?’ says Meera. ‘Is this what you suspect Catriona of doing?’

‘Something along those lines—that or emotional abuse. Those are our concerns,’ he says.

Phil is frowning. ‘I have to say,’ he says, ‘this all seems rather vague.’

‘The fact remains,’ says Dr McGuire, ‘that when I first
saw Daisy, Mrs Lydgate’s behaviour greatly concerned me, and I immediately wondered about some form of MSBP or fabricated illness.’

Something has shifted; I know this. It’s there in the doubtful look on Phil’s face, and in the way Dr McGuire is talking—rapid, over-emphatic.

‘I’m aware this may seem a surprising diagnosis. But we know that these things happen; we have to be alert for them. And sometimes all you have is a hunch—a few clues. You have to listen to that. The life of a child may be at stake.’ He speaks with passion; on his forehead there’s a sheen of sweat. ‘I am,’ he says, ‘always and absolutely on the side of the child. This is my duty—not to avoid uncomfortable facts, not to avoid the truth, however shocking or painful. Parents have all the power. Children need someone to be unequivocally on their side. And if there is a suspicion that a parent might be in any way harming a child or impairing a child’s development, then my over-arching priority is to protect that child. That comes before everything.’

I turn to him. ‘I know this. I know you have to take this into account—that terrible things happen, that there are cruel parents.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I spent three years in a children’s home—how could I not know? But that has absolutely nothing to do with Daisy.’

He tries to interrupt. But Phil is looking at me; he’s nodding slightly. This gives me strength; my voice is confident and clear.

‘Daisy’s ill, and all I have ever wanted is to get her well
again. But whatever I try, it’s twisted and held against me. If I even bring a list of her symptoms to the clinic, that’s proof that I’m overprotective, as though it’s my worry about her that’s actually making her ill. But I love my child, and everything I’ve done has been to try and make her well.’

When I’ve spoken, it’s quiet, and fear floods me: that perhaps I have been too bold and destroyed everything.

‘Catriona,’ says Phil then. ‘Perhaps you could tell us why you feel so sure that Daisy’s illness has a physical origin?’

‘I learnt in Berlin that my father had similar symptoms,’ I tell him. ‘That’s made me still more certain—that whatever is wrong with her, it’s something that’s inherited.’

‘Right,’ says Phil. ‘Well, that definitely sounds like something to pursue. Does anyone want to comment?’

‘I’ve one thing to add,’ says Meera. ‘We’ve talked about the need to get a second opinion. I’d like to make clear that Catriona is now in a position to get that opinion.’

‘Excellent,’ says Phil. ‘OK. I think it’s time to tie all this up and decide where we go from here.’

My heart thuds. I try to read his face but his expression is opaque.

‘Now, I have to say that in view of the concerns that have been expressed here, we have no choice but to make Daisy the subject of a child protection plan—at least till we’re more certain where we stand.’

The cold is right inside me.

‘But I also want to say,’ he goes on, ‘that from what we have heard today there is no clear evidence to suggest
Daisy is in danger in her mother’s care—nothing that could possibly stand up in a court of law. And I don’t think we have any grounds for keeping Daisy in the Jennifer Norton Unit against the express wishes of her mother. Obviously the judge will need to be informed, but unless the hospital is a designated place of safety under the conditions of wardship, which I don’t think it is—’ the solicitor from the Civic Centre nods ‘—I don’t see any problem with discharging her. But I do need to check out with you, Richard, if you’d have any objection?’