Authors: Kate McCann
In those final weeks I cut a bizarre figure, much to the amusement of my friends. I’d be the first to admit that my legs, though they serve their purpose perfectly well, have never been what you might call sturdy (pathetic might be a better word), and they looked even sadder poking out beneath the huge protuberance on top of them. An Easter egg on legs doesn’t do it justice. But I was very proud of my body and its achievements and, once again, in spite of all the tribulations and worries, I’d loved being pregnant. As with Madeleine, we’d asked not to be told the sex of the twins, but having had so many ultrasound scans we’d collected a lot of pictures of them which we couldn’t help poring over. To Gerry and me the evidence seemed clear: two more girls.
At thirty-nine weeks, the twins were induced, which brought a wry smile to my face, given that I’d just spent three anxious months trying to prevent them from arriving too soon. All the same, I wouldn’t have wanted to put their staying power to the test. If lying on my back for fifteen weeks meant our babies would be safer and stronger, every second was worth it.
Three days before I went into hospital, Gerry’s Uncle Pat and Aunt Alexis came up from Essex to see us – and within an hour of their arrival, Uncle Pat, an ex-professional footballer, collapsed with a heart attack. When he slumped on Alexis’s shoulder we thought at first he was just messing about. We soon realized he wasn’t. As Gerry phoned for an ambulance and I worried that I was going to need to begin CPR – which would have been pretty difficult given that my belly was the size of a small barn and I could hardly move – a delivery man came to the door with a Chinese takeaway we’d ordered. Amid the pandemonium, Madeleine appeared, pushing her Early Learning Centre medical trolley, placed her toy stethoscope on Uncle Pat’s chest and said, ‘Boom, boom!’ Talk about surreal.
Gerry was able to get hold of some of his on-call colleagues and explain the situation, so in spite of a slight delay with the ambulance, Uncle Pat was rushed straight through when he got to the hospital and the problem artery was unblocked. Thankfully, he was soon on the road to recovery. If you’re going to have a heart attack, perhaps a cardiologist’s house is not a bad place to have it.
On the afternoon of 1 February 2005, Sean and Amelie made their appearance in the world. I was lucky enough to be able to have a ‘normal’ delivery. Sean led the way with his head and his sister followed, preferring to flash her bottom first to all and sundry. We were totally taken aback to discover we had a boy, having fully expected two girls. How rubbish were we? Needless to say, neither of us have any plans to become obstetric ultrasonographers. Once again, being caught out made the birth a lovely surprise, and Gerry’s delight at having a son was clear from the big, cheesy grin he could do nothing to disguise. For my part, I was a little shocked initially by this boy of mine lying on my tummy. He wasn’t the prettiest, God bless him: he was squashed from the birth and his head was lopsided. But I loved him regardless and I’m glad to say he’s a really handsome chap these days, just gorgeous. Amelie was beautiful from the start – petite with a little rosebud mouth. Suddenly we were a family of five. How lucky we felt.
A few hours later, Gerry brought Madeleine in to meet her little brother and sister. Just twenty months old herself at the time, in she came in her cute lilac pyjamas and puppy-dog slippers. When she saw Sean and Amelie her eyes lit up, her mouth opened wide in astonishment and wonder and she lifted her arms in the air, her fingers splayed like little starfish. My heart was ready to explode at her excitement. After inspecting her two new prospective playmates, she joined me on my bed and together we were wheeled off to the postnatal ward. It was such a special moment, one of my fondest memories of Madeleine, and I cannot think of it now without breaking down.
Happily, Sean and Amelie were very easy babies, as babies go. They fed and slept, fed and slept. Madeleine adapted to the changes incredibly well, especially considering how young she still was herself. Obviously ours was a very busy household, but it was full of love and laughter. On weekdays my friend Amanda would come in for a few hours every day, which freed me up to get some of the household chores done and to collect Madeleine from nursery. It mattered to me that I was the one to pick her up. I wanted her to feel as important and as loved as she always had.
I breastfed Sean and Amelie, as I had Madeleine, so there were spells when I wished I had a few extra arms, usually mid to late afternoon when I was alone with the children and Madeleine would be getting tired. I would have to feed the twins one at a time when I was on my own, which meant that as I was feeding the first, the other one would not only be getting hungry and grumpy but would also be vulnerable to attack from a big sister needing attention. Sometimes I’d be feeding one baby and pushing the other’s rocker with my foot while a small girl clambered across my shoulders.
Overnight feeds were easier as then I could feed both babies at once, which cut the time it took by half. But I only managed that because my husband was an absolute star. He would get up with me, help latch the second twin on to my breast and then make me tea and toast while unloading the dishwasher. It was great teamwork, although thinking about it now, I wonder whether I had the better deal.
Only six weeks after Sean and Amelie were born, Gerry’s dad passed away. When Gerry’s sister Trish rang to tell us that Johnny was approaching the end, we threw what we needed into the car, gathered up the children and drove to Glasgow as quickly as we could, arriving at the hospital in the early evening. By the next morning, Johnny had gone. We’ll always regret that he never had the chance to see the twins, but it gives us some comfort that he was able to spend time with ‘baby Madeleine’ in his last few years, forging a bond that will doubtless have enriched both their lives.
The following two years were very happy ones. Gerry was appointed consultant cardiologist at Glenfield Hospital in Leicester soon after Sean and Amelie were born, and once they’d passed their first birthday I returned to work part-time, as a GP and also as a clinical tutor to medical students for a half-day every week. Gerry and I didn’t have much time to ourselves: the days of Friday nights in the pub with our colleagues were long gone – we couldn’t even manage to go for a run together now and had to take it in turns – but we didn’t mind at all. We were living the family life we’d always wanted and it was everything we’d dreamed it would be. On the rare occasion when we went out for a meal on our own or with friends, Uncle Brian and Auntie Janet would babysit.
The mews house in Queniborough was a bit cramped for five of us, especially as we often had family and friends to stay, and in the spring of 2006 we moved to a larger home in a quiet cul-de-sac in Rothley, the village where Uncle Brian and Auntie Janet lived. Here we had a post office and general store, a café, several good pubs and interesting shops, which gave my afternoon walks with the children more of a sense of purpose.
The most exciting destination by far for the children, though, was a farm in the neighbouring village that was open to the public, offering all sorts of treats like tractor rides and buckets of feed for the children to give to the animals. At Stonehurst Farm Madeleine loved feeding the sheep, talking to the donkeys and swinging on the rope in the hay barn. She would chat away to Farmer John all the while. She was intrigued by the fact that his wife had the same name as hers but – as Madeleine never ceased to remind us – it was spelled differently. The highlight of the afternoon would be a thrilling ride on the trailer towed by Farmer John’s tractor. He would lift Sean and Amelie in their double buggy on to the trailer, Madeleine and I would clamber aboard alongside the other visitors, and off we would go.
I have such wonderful memories of our first summer in Rothley. The new house really felt like home and the five of us spent many sunny, fun-filled days in the garden, on the swings and slide, blowing bubbles, painting ‘in the skud’, as Auntie Trisha would put it (that was just the kids, I hasten to add), or chatting in the paddling pool together.
It was fascinating watching how the children interacted with one another as they developed and how different their personalities were. When they were small, Sean and Madeleine were the closest in nature, and early on they formed a natural alliance, although later, Madeleine and Amelie began to do lots of girly things together. Amelie was confident, brave and a bit mad, and initially the one in whom I saw myself least but always admired. In the garden she would run up the steps of the slide and hurl herself down the chute with a crazed cry of exhilaration: ‘Ha, ha,
ha
!’ Sean – Cautious George to Amelie’s Fearless Fred – would often climb the steps carefully, then, on reaching the top, have second thoughts, turn round and come back down the same way. When they did jigsaws, Amelie would use brute force to wedge any old pieces together. Sean would meticulously study all the pieces before completing the puzzle unaided. He is probably the more academic and methodical of the twins; Amelie the more intuitive and artistic. They’ve changed a little now, of course. Sean has grown in confidence – the Gerry genes coming to the fore! – and his obsessive need for order has receded. Amelie has lost her mad edge (much to my relief ) although she’s still adventurous. She has also grown into the most loving, sensitive and caring six-year-old I know. And they remain the best of friends.
Madeleine has always been confident and independent. Like ‘shy’ and ‘Gerry’, ‘shy’ and ‘Madeleine’ are not words you would readily associate with one another. At three she was incredibly bright and extremely perceptive. As her mother I would say that, but many far more objective observers than I commented on it. She was always very aware of her surroundings, just as she had been as a baby. Entering a roomful of people, she wouldn’t just rush in obliviously, as toddlers tend to do, and make a beeline for me or Gerry. Instead she would be weighing up what was going on, apparently analysing everything and everyone, before asking intelligent and sometimes very pointed questions.
Madeleine loved Harry Potter. I remember her going out into the hall one afternoon at our house in Queniborough and knocking on the living-room door. ‘Hello! Come in!’ I called. In she came, smiling but looking anxious and preoccupied. She tilted her head towards her shoulder and whispered, ‘Mummy, Harry Potter’s next to me.’
‘Oh, hello, Harry. How nice to see you. Come in and join us for a cup of tea.’ A few minutes later, she went out again and returned with Hermione. And so it went on until I’d welcomed into our living room Ron Weasley, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Madeleine was brilliant at role play and I loved these games, too, even if whenever we played ‘Mummy and baby’ I was always the baby.
Gerry and I didn’t like the children to have too much in the way of sweets or chocolate when they were little. Auntie Norah used to tease me because I’d give Madeleine a Rich Tea biscuit as a treat. ‘Call that a treat? Big wow!’ I swear Madeleine could pick up the rustle of a biscuit or sweetie wrapper at five hundred yards. Grandad Brian is well known for being very partial to a chocolate biscuit. I don’t think he could manage a cup of tea or coffee without one. There have been many occasions when we’ve found him hiding behind a cupboard door, shoving a few biscuits into his mouth. But at the faintest fluttering sound coming from my dad’s direction Madeleine, the treat detective, would be on to him: ‘What have you got there, Grandad?’ Once he’d stopped laughing at her grave, suspicious expression he’d be obliged to share his booty.
It was on New Year’s Day 2007 that the idea of a spring holiday in Portugal was first raised. Fiona and David Payne, who had come with their children Lily and Scarlett to spend the day with us, were planning a week’s break at a Mark Warner resort in the Algarve, probably with two other couples and their families, and they asked us if we’d like to join them.
We’d been away with Fiona and David on several occasions and we’d always enjoyed ourselves. They favoured the same kind of holidays we did – we’ve never been interested in swanky hotels, preferring a reputable resort with good sports facilities and, since the arrival of the children, plenty for them to do, too. Gerry and I took the kids everywhere – in fact I’d only ever been apart from them for one night – so they were used to travelling. They had been on lots of family trips, to Glasgow, Liverpool, Stratford, Skipton and Crieff, Donegal, Guernsey and Spain, and they loved their ‘mini-holidays’, as we called them, to visit friends and family.
The other couples pencilled in for this trip were Russell O’Brien and Jane Tanner and Matt and Rachael Oldfield. Russell and Matt were also doctors. Jane, a marketing manager, was taking a break from work to be a full-time mum for a while. Rachael, a lawyer by profession, was working in recruitment. Although they were all originally friends of David and Fiona’s, we knew them quite well, too – in fact Gerry had worked in the past with both Russell and Matt – so we had no concerns about whether we’d all get along.
I’d never been to Portugal, although Gerry had been there on a couple of golfing trips a few years before. From people who had taken holidays in the Algarve I gathered that it was a quite upmarket, family-friendly destination. We had never been on a Mark Warner holiday, either, but the others had, to Sardinia and Greece. Everybody had been very impressed by the locations, accommodation and amenities.
Gerry was quite keen on the Portugal idea, attracted by the sporting facilities, children’s clubs and activities on offer. I was more reluctant. It wasn’t that I didn’t fancy the resort – and it certainly wasn’t that I had some kind of premonition, because I didn’t. My reservations were more practical. The holiday was quite pricey, and although Madeleine, Sean and Amelie were good travellers, I just wasn’t sure that it was worth all the packing and hassle involved in flying three children under the age of four to Portugal when there were plenty of alternatives in the UK. We’d had two great breaks to Center Parcs the previous year and I was sorely tempted to stick with something similar this time.