Colin McMillan had given me a number to call and David Cooper was very keen to talk. I don’t know what I was expecting but seeing the reality of Margaret Cooper’s disability up close shocked me. The house the couple lived in was a bungalow in Knightswood, ironically not far from Francis Fallon. Cooper was standing in the doorway, waiting for me, wearing a wine cardigan over a light blue shirt and dark trousers. Heavy stubble covered his jaw and his hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in a while. As I came towards him I saw the strain he was under in the dark hollows of his eyes and the way his shoulders rounded. He stooped like an old man, bent beneath a burden that had fallen from a blue sky on a clear day and irrevocably changed his universe. I was witnessing the body language of the defeated.
He shook my hand and went inside. Before we got to the lounge he paused. ‘Margaret’s sleeping.’
The significance of the statement escaped me. ‘Is she in bed?’
‘No, she’s in her chair. She falls asleep. I usually try to get some rest at the same time. At first I wanted her to stay awake; it felt better. More hopeful, you know? As if it was still the two of us. Now I just let her sleep. At least she isn’t suffering.’
‘Is she in pain?’
‘Not physical pain, no. She cries a lot. We both do.’
I nodded as if I understood. I didn’t. ‘What happened to Margaret?’
‘When the operation went wrong Maitland tried to save the womb so we would still be able to have children. He failed. He couldn’t stop the bleeding and Margaret was deprived of oxygen for eight minutes. Our baby died – a boy; I called him Thomas – and Margaret was left with severe brain damage. The medical term is anoxic injury. Everything she does is affected. She can’t dress or feed herself. I have to do it. She has no control over her bodily functions. In almost every respect she’s a child. Except a child grows and learns. My wife won’t get any better.’
The operation had been in September. This was the end of January. These people had been given a life sentence and were serving it together.
‘What age is she?’
‘Thirty-four.’
‘I’ll keep my voice down.’
‘No need.’ He paused again. ‘We can talk in the car if it’s a bit much for you. Although I don’t like to be too far away in case she wakes and needs me.’
His consideration was appreciated though, in the circumstances, impossible to accept.
‘Of course not. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Sure? If you change your mind…’
He opened the door. Cooper’s description of his wife and his offer to talk in the car should have prepared me for the tragedy on the other side. It didn’t.
Margaret Cooper sat in the centre of the room, wearing a blue plastic bib on top of her blouse. Her head hung to one side and her tongue lolled from her open mouth. The second finger of her left hand tapped a silent beat on the wheelchair’s metal frame – some involuntary muscle reflex perhaps – while her snoring filled the empty room like the sound of a muted trumpet. Thirty-four her husband had said. I would have put her at twice that and then some.
Cooper gave me a minute to come to terms with the scene in front of me. ‘We can sit in the kitchen if you like.’
I liked.
He made coffee while I perched on a stool, imagining the excited conversations they must’ve had about the arrival of their first-born, over breakfast in this room.
Before.
The coffee was barely drinkable; too little sugar and too much milk. And it couldn’t have mattered less. I began with where they were with their claim against Francis Fallon.
‘There was an enquiry, wasn’t there?’
Cooper laughed. ‘It concluded no one was to blame. So the bastard who performed the operation walked away scot-free. The director took me aside and told me to let him know if there was anything the hospital could do to help. Then left me to make my own way home.’
‘Did the surgeon speak to you after the operation?’
‘Not him. Mr Law took me aside and went through what had gone wrong. He brought Thomas to me. I held him in my arms; he was so tiny. Maitland didn’t appear until late on the following afternoon. He apologised and assured me he’d done everything in his power. Imagine it. The bastard apologised. How can you just apologise for taking away everything worthwhile?’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘At the time, of course. It didn’t occur to me he’d made a mistake. A hospital – well you trust them, don’t you? You just do.’
‘When did you realise?’
‘I think it was the day after. I started asking Maitland questions. Stupid questions about how long before Margaret improved. It must have been difficult for him knowing what he’d done and me, going on and on. Eventually he told me. This was it. “As good as it was going to get” was the phrase he used. Not in a cruel way. Just forceful enough to shake me out of my delusions. He succeeded.’
We’d both forgotten the coffee. Cooper remembered and took a sip from his cup. I left mine alone. Even if it had been the finest bean ever to come out of Colombia, I didn’t have the stomach for it.
‘And that’s when I knew.’
‘How?’
‘I’m not sure. Something in his eyes. In his voice, maybe. But I knew.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I got hysterical. Shouting. Screaming. Two nurses calmed me down and he left. The hospital went through the motions, swept it under the carpet and we were sent home with Social Services buzzing around. Reeling. I still am.’
‘And you haven’t spoken to either Maitland or Law since?’
‘I haven’t. Our lawyer has. Alison Cummings. She contacted, Mr Law, and pleaded with him to testify against Maitland and Francis Fallon. He was there. He’d seen Maitland make the wrong decision.’
Cooper stared at the floor.
‘At first he said he couldn’t. It would be professional suicide for him. Later we heard he’d lodged a formal complaint. Then, before Christmas, he changed his mind and agreed to speak out if the hospital didn’t re-open our case. We were delighted. Alison came round with a bottle of champagne. I poured a tiny drop for Margaret and helped her drink it. And now he’s disappeared and we’re back to square one.’
Words couldn’t describe what these people were going through. Unfortunately, words were all I had. And promises that would probably turn out to be empty.
‘If I hear anything I’ll let you know.’
He half-nodded and I could see he was sinking.
I did my best to reassure him. ‘I will. I understand what’s at stake here. Can I have Alison’s phone number?’
He took a card from a drawer under the table and handed it to me. A whining noise came from the lounge. Cooper jumped to his feet. ‘She’s waking up.’
‘I better go.’
‘Yes. Yes. You should.’
On my way out I said, ‘Do you blame Law for not coming forward sooner?’
He wasn’t bitter. ‘I’m disappointed, though not surprised. Nobody really cares. They sympathise. Say the right things. Then they all go home, because at the end of the day, it isn’t happening to them. It’s happening to us.’
‘What about Francis Fallon?’
David Cooper was distracted, anxious to see to his wife, yet the answer came easily and I knew he’d considered it many times.
‘Those bastards. I’d burn their fucking hospital down and everybody in it. But who would look after, Margaret?’