by Ruth Mancini
‘And what time was this exactly?’
‘I can’t recall, exactly. It would have been around nine or ten o’clock.’
I look up, sharply. ‘Nine or ten? So was that... the last time you went to check on Finn, before you went off shift? Or the time before?’
‘I think it was the last time.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
Mary is non-committal. ‘It was whatever time I told the police.’
I swallow down my instinct to grasp at her previous concession to uncertainty and pin her down on it. I’m not here to cross-examine her; I don’t want to alienate her. I decide to move on.
‘So, you went off shift at ten?’
Mary unscrews the cap of her bottle of pop and takes a sip. ‘I believe it was then.’
‘So, at some point between nine and... let’s say ten fifteen, when you returned to Peregrine Ward, you saw Ellie – the baby’s mother – standing at Finn’s bedside. And she was holding the baby.’
‘Yes.’
‘How close to her were you?’
‘I was just a few feet away, just outside the door. I saw her clearly.’
‘Did she see you?’
‘No. I decided not to go onto the ward.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she was there, with the baby. She was not someone I wanted to talk to.’
‘Why not?’
Mary shrugs but doesn’t reply.
‘And are you one hundred per cent sure that it was the baby’s mother?’ I ask her.
‘Of course I am. I knew who she was. I saw her every day.’
I look up. ‘Every day? You saw her every day?’
‘Every day. She was there all day, every day. She was always getting under my feet.’
‘You mean on the PICU ward?’
‘Ye-e-e-s.’
‘You saw here there on the PICU ward. Every day? When you were on the late shift?’
‘Ye-e-e-s.’ Mary’s eyes tell me that she thinks I really might be a little bit slow.
I think carefully for a moment. How can this be, when Liberty worked the same shift as Mary all week and had no idea who Ellie was?
‘Are you sure we’ve got the same person here?’ I ask. ‘Are you sure you’re talking about Ellie, the baby’s mother?’
‘You think I don’t know who the baby’s mother is?’ Mary looks exasperated. ‘She’s the only mother I know who is too posh to change her own baby’s nappy.’
I stare at her for a moment. ‘Mary! That’s not Ellie,’ I exclaim. ‘That’s not the baby’s mother. That’s his grandmother, Lady Barrington-Brown.’
‘She told me her name was Ellie,’ Mary insists, sulkily.
I glance back down at her statement. ‘But you describe her as a teenager, aged fifteen or sixteen?’
Mary throws her head back and explodes with laughter. I wait patiently for her to stop laughing. ‘I said that she was fif-tee or six-tee,’ she enunciates. ‘She was a lady, not a girl.’ She explodes into laughter again.
‘But, Mary, you said she was the baby’s mother!’
‘No, she told me she was the baby’s mother,’ Mary insists.
‘But, Mary!’ I exclaim again. ‘How can a woman in her fifties or sixties be the mother of a one-year-old child?’
Mary shrugs. ‘It happens.’
‘Not very often!’ I protest.
‘In Ghana – no,’ Mary says, sagely. ‘The women in Ghana have their babies when they are young and healthy. Women here – they wait until they are old. It is not good for the baby.’ She shakes her head sorrowfully.
‘But you signed a statement to say that the woman was “fifteen or sixteen”,’ I challenge her.
Mary looks at me for a moment. ‘The policeman, he read it back to me,’ she says, simply. ‘Then he asked me to sign it. I just did as I was asked.’
I stare at her with my mouth open for a long moment, unable to comprehend that such a monumental mistake could have happened, but knowing at the same time that it so easily could. Some of my clients don’t read and write so well, and it’s embarrassing for them to admit it; and besides, my handwriting’s not the best. I almost always just read their statements back to them, before asking them to sign on the dotted line.
‘But the CCTV operators and the night-shift staff on Peregrine ward all say that no members of the public other than Ellie went in or out.’ I’m thinking out loud. I know that this is not a question for Mary to answer.
‘I don’t know about that,’ says Mary. ‘But I know what I saw.’
I suddenly remember something. I scroll down through my emails until I find what I’m looking for: a photograph attached to Ellie’s résumé, sent to me by the escort agency along with a letter covering some of the dates she’d worked towards the end of last year.
I open up the résumé and scroll up so that the name of the agency is hidden and only Ellie’s head and shoulders appear. I turn my iPad around so that Mary can see it. ‘Do you know her? Have you ever seen her?’ I ask.
Mary shakes her head. ‘No. I have never seen this lady before. I would have remembered. She is a very pretty girl.’
‘She is,’ I agree, trying to contain my desire to jump up and fling my arms around Mary’s neck. Instead I look at her intently. ‘Mary, this is Finn’s mother. Not the other lady. This is the young woman who is accused of trying to kill her baby. Her name is Ellie.’
Mary looks surprised. ‘Her name is Ellie, too?’
I nod, slowly, suddenly conscious that I have no idea what Lady Barrington-Brown’s Christian name is. I close Ellie’s résumé and quickly tap on the electronic file that contains the statements in Ellie’s case and scroll through them. I find the family tree prepared by the social worker, and as soon as I see it on the page, I remember having read it previously. I want to kick myself. ‘Eleanor,’ I say out loud. ‘Her name is Eleanor.’
‘She said it was Ellie.’ Mary sticks to her guns.
‘Sure. Sure she did.’ I want to laugh out loud. Why on earth didn’t I notice this before? ‘So, Mary.’ I lean forward. ‘If I were to let you get on with your work right now and go away and put what you’ve told me into a handwritten statement, would you sign it?’
‘I would have to read it first,’ says Mary, wisely.
‘Of course. And then, would you come to court to give evidence?’
Mary looks doubtful. ‘I don’t know. When would that be?’
‘February,’ I tell her. ‘The beginning of February.’
Mary shakes her head. ‘I am sorry. I am going back to Ghana for Christmas.’
My heart sinks. ‘You’re not coming back?’
‘Not this time. I have a fiancé back home. We are getting married on Christmas Day.’
I try my best to hide my disappointment as I observe Mary’s evident joy. She smiles broadly, pretty dimples appearing in her cheeks.
‘Congratulations,’ I tell her. ‘Well, you know what, Mary? I hope your wedding day is wonderful. At least, if you’re willing to sign a statement about all of this, it will really help Ellie’s defence.’
‘OK,’ Mary agrees. ‘So, is that it? Can I go now? I need to get back to work.’
‘One more thing. When you went onto Peregrine Ward, did you notice a camp bed on the floor? With anyone sleeping in it?’
Mary looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I do not recall seeing that at all.’
I start to pack up my things. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much for your help, Mary. I really appreciate your time.’
Mary pushes her chair back and gets up. I follow her out of the canteen. My mind is racing. What does this mean for Ellie’s defence? Lady Barrington-Brown... Eleanor Barrington-Brown – not Ellie – was, in fact, the last person to be seen holding the baby.
In itself, it doesn’t mean a whole lot, I know. It doesn’t mean that they’ll drop the case against Ellie. They’ve still got the injuries and the sodium poisoning. And Ellie, not Eleanor, was th
ere when Finn was found bleeding to death. The prosecution will no doubt argue that it’s immaterial. The police have never spoken to Eleanor; I don’t suppose anyone has directly asked her the question: did she go onto Peregrine Ward after Finn was moved from the PICU, and did she pick him up? Eleanor might, in fact, openly accept that she’d been onto the renal unit to see Finn before she left the hospital that evening, possibly before Ellie even arrived. If Mary didn’t see the camp bed, then it probably wasn’t there and neither was Ellie. Mary was, after all, somewhat unsure of her times.
But what this does mean is that the case against Ellie is weakened significantly. This is going to be a new piece of evidence that will be impossible for the judge to ignore: nobody can testify to the fact that Ellie herself picked up the baby shortly before his tube was pulled out. Also, if the CCTV operators and ward staff missed Eleanor going onto the ward, then who else did they miss? Reasonable doubt, that’s all we need. In the meantime, we’ll make our own application to the judge to have Mary’s latest statement read in court. He can hardly refuse it, can he? With this new evidence before them, I seriously wonder if a jury would convict.
I say goodbye to Mary outside the canteen as she stops to wait for the lift. There are a number of other people waiting: doctors, patients, porters, and I decide to take the stairs. I plan to run down, check on Alex and Ben, write up Mary’s statement and get right back up to see her again as quickly as I can.
The lift pings and the doors to the lift open at the same time as my phone whistles repeatedly and a flurry of text messages arrives. Inside the canteen, I must have been out of range for a phone signal. I curse myself; I never realise when I’m out of range until it’s too late.
Mary steps away from me towards the lift.
‘Thank you so much,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll come back and find you on the ward before eight. Is that OK?’
She replies, obligingly, ‘That will be OK.’
I hurry down the stairs, checking my messages and trying not to trip as I go.
The messages are all from Alex. Oh no, I tell myself. This is going to be a disaster, I know it. Ben’s bored, or unhappy and he’s having a meltdown. Ben’s thrown up again. Alex can’t cope. Immediately, I visualise the scene: Alex crouching down and leaning through the back door of the car, coaxing Ben as he wails and bites himself, and kicks his feet against the seat. Or worse: Alex, sitting in the front seat of the car with his hands over his ears, stressed to the hilt and at a loss as to what to do, while Ben screams alone in the back.
This is all my fault. I’ve been too long. I have got some serious apologising to do.
But then I read the texts from Alex, and I realise that it’s far, far worse than that.
15
When I enter the Accident and Emergency department, Alex is nowhere to be seen. I follow the signs to the reception desk and wait for what seems like for ever. Eventually, it’s my turn and I give both mine and Ben’s details to the nurse at the desk, before being calmly directed to a side room, where Alex is talking to a doctor. He looks up as I enter and holds out one arm to beckon me inside.
‘Sarah, where were you?’ he says. ‘I’ve been texting you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry, I... What’s happened? Where’s Ben?’
‘Ms Kellerman?’ says the doctor. He offers me his hand and I take it. ‘I’m Kevin Cresswell. I’m the neurology registrar on duty this afternoon. Ben’s epilepsy seems to have worsened and we need your permission to run some tests.’
‘What do you mean, it’s worsened?’ My heart is pounding in my chest and my legs feel weak. I feel sick, sick to the stomach. I can’t believe this is happening, all over again.
‘Ben had a seizure,’ Alex explains. ‘When we were in the car.’
‘No! No, no, no, no... Not again. Please, tell me, not again.’ I know I sound hysterical, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Alex puts an arm round my shoulder.
‘What happened? Was it a proper fit? How long did it last? Where is he? Is he OK? I need to see him.’ My words tumble out, one after the other.
‘It lasted around ten minutes,’ Alex says.
‘Ten minutes? That’s ages!’ I shriek. ‘Are you sure? Did you notice it straight away?’
Alex shakes his head. ‘I was driving, unfortunately. I could see him in my mirror. I drove straight back to the hospital and ran in with him as quick as I could.’
‘He’s had ten milligrams of diazepam,’ the registrar tells me. ‘Along with twenty mils of sodium valproate. He’s sedated and he’s stable. We’re now running some blood tests.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, meningitis, encephalitis...’
‘Oh, God.’
‘It’s routine,’ the registrar reassures me. ‘We need to check that the seizure wasn’t brought on by an underlying condition. But we need to run some further tests: an EEG and an MRI. We need your consent.’
I take a deep breath. ‘OK.’
Once the forms are signed, I’m shown into a room where a nurse is taking Ben’s bloods. He is sleeping peacefully and doesn’t move or wake when I lean over and kiss his forehead. As soon as the blood is taken, a second nurse and a porter arrive and push his bed out of the room.
‘It’s best to do the EEG whilst he’s lying still,’ says the registrar, arriving in the doorway. ‘We’ll get a better reading.’
‘I just don’t understand,’ I tell him. ‘He hasn’t had a seizure for over a year.’
‘That’s why we need to have a look and see what’s going on,’ he says. ‘It’s difficult to say what’s happened at this stage, but sometimes seizures evolve and become unresponsive to medications. They can also be a result of side effects of those medications, or sometimes they are caused by infections in the brain – or head injuries.’
‘Head injuries?’ I say, with alarm. I look at Alex. ‘He hasn’t fallen, has he? He hasn’t banged his head?’
Alex frowns. ‘No. No, of course he hasn’t.’
The registrar says, ‘We’ll know more when we’ve done the brain scans and once the blood tests come back.’
I am allowed to lift Ben off the bed and hold him in my arms while the nurse attaches the electrodes to his head. The tests take over forty minutes to do and the weight of Ben’s head is heavy against my arm, but I am comforted by the rising and falling of his chest, by his heaving, shuddering sighs and the warmth of his body against mine. I lean over and kiss his little forehead and stroke his hand, while the nurse presses buttons and switches at a desk in the corner of the room.
After the EEG is done, Ben is sedated once again and taken for the MRI. I sit with Alex in the corridor while the doctors take pictures of Ben’s brain.
‘So, how did it happen?’ I ask Alex. ‘Tell me, from the start.’
He takes my hand. ‘After you left, we drove up the road. I thought I might find the University Parks. Something to do, somewhere to drive with Ben, you know? And then, when we were at the traffic lights, I looked in the mirror and tried to make eye contact with him, but he didn’t respond. I could see him looking to one side in a dreamy kind of way.’
‘Oh no. He was having absence seizures?’ I put my head in my hands. I cast my mind back to Ben’s demeanour when Alex had stopped the car earlier to let me out. I recall the characteristic dreaminess that is often present before a seizure. I mentally check Ben over for the signs that might have told me – should have told me – he was unwell.
‘Yes,’ Alex continues. ‘I pulled over and got out and opened the door and I could see straight away that he wasn’t with me. He was looking straight at me, but I knew he couldn’t see me. So I turned the car round and took him back to the hospital. About halfway back, I could see in the mirror that he’d gone from partial seizures into a generalised... into a full seizure. It was a medical emergency, Sarah. I had to bring him here.’
‘Oh, God.’ I clap my hand to my mouth. ‘Of course. Of course you did. Thank you, Alex. I’m so glad he was with
you, someone who would know what to do...’ I stop suddenly in mid-sentence, casting my mind back to a much earlier conversation with Alex, a conversation we’d had the day that I met him. ‘You know about seizures, don’t you? When I first told you about Ben’s absences, you knew what I was talking about.’
Alex nods and looks at the floor.
‘How?’ I ask. ‘How do you know?’
‘My brother,’ he says. ‘He had epilepsy. After I found out the truth about him, about how he died, I... I learned a bit about it. Head in medical books, you know.’
‘Did he have a seizure the day he died? Is that how he fell into the water?’
‘Yes, but...’ He tails off.
I need him to finish his sentence. I need to know if it could happen to Ben. ‘But what?’ I persist.
Alex blinks and looks at me sympathetically. He has that awkward look on his face, the look that people give you when they don’t want to tell you that everything is going to be OK, because they really don’t know that it is. He says, ‘Let’s just wait and see what the tests reveal.’
I swallow deeply and nod.
We sit in silence for a few minutes.
‘You were the one to give Ben his medication this morning,’ I accuse him, suddenly. ‘You did give it to him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. Of course I did.’
My heart sinks. I was hoping, perversely, that he’d forgotten, that this might be the possible cause – a random mistake, a missed dose of Ben’s medication. Nothing too serious – nothing that can’t now be put right.
‘OK. I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I just... I just had to check.’
‘I know.’ Alex puts his arm round my shoulder and draws me close. I feel him sigh, heavily, as I lay my head against his shoulder.
I turn over the events of the past few days in my mind, searching for clues. What did we do? Where did we go? What was Ben like?
I pull abruptly away from Alex and look into his face. ‘When you picked him up from nursery the other day... or the day after that, when he was sick... Did anything happen? Did he fall, or...?’
Alex colours a little, then shakes his head and frowns. ‘No, Sarah. Nothing happened. I swear...’