Your mum was well qualified. Jean had done an additional specialist rotation in child and adolescent psychiatry before finishing her GP training at the time of your discovery. You and your birth mother were both admitted to St Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, where I was Medical Director. A special unit was set up and I assigned a dedicated team of staff to look after you. Given the concerns about your development and physical health, I requested that Jean be seconded to work alongside me at St Mary’s and, because we were a married couple, it suited everybody. We worked as a team around the clock, living in the unit with you, along with the support staff.
I never gained Denise’s trust, though in my defence, I tried extremely hard, and if I had had longer with her, I am sure that I could have helped her to adjust. I don’t think she could ever have lived a ‘normal’ life, given all of the horrors she had experienced. My initial aim was to get her to a place where she could live in an open facility with access to the outside world and twenty-four-hour medical and psychiatric assistance. This facility would not have been an appropriate long-term place for you, however, and it was my strong suggestion then that you should be separated from your mother at some stage when Denise was ready. You were still being breastfed. Unheard of for a five-year-old. Jean showed Denise how to bottle feed you, but your birth mother strongly resisted. We failed, and you screamed and pulled your hair out, but eventually we had to make a drastic decision. One that I will always regret, but not in every way.
I feel now that it was a crude and possibly cruel thing to do, but we were concerned for your future. I was convinced that you were young enough to be retrained, as it were, and that you might have a chance at a normal life. You and your mother stayed in the unit for fourteen months together and, in that time, we were never able to separate you from Denise. It was a harrowing time and nobody who treated either of you could have been unaffected.
I saw you with your birth mother almost every day. She refused to talk about Conor Geary but strenuously denied that he had ever sexually assaulted you, or that you witnessed any of her abuse. You would be locked in the toilet when the assaults took place. Medical examinations also suggested that he did not sexually abuse you and I think you must assume that is the case. We cannot rule out that he may have physically harmed you, though, as he had definitely left your mother with physical as well as emotional scars. He removed her teeth as punishment. Conor Geary was a dentist.
Your mother took her own life in May 1981 after you had spent one night in a separate room with Jean. We made terrible mistakes, but there was no intention to harm either of you. Until my dying day, which will shortly come, I will feel responsibility for your mother’s death. There was a brief hospital inquiry and I was cleared of medical negligence, but I do hold myself accountable, Sally. I should have found another way.
Jean and I approached the Adoption Board and the Minister for Health together. We had not had any luck having children of our own. They agreed that a home with a psychiatrist and a qualified GP who intended to move away from Dublin was for the best. We felt that we could provide a safe and stable home for you and I hope that we did that and that you have always felt safe with us. Losing Jean so young was a tragedy, but I think we managed, you and I, did we not?
It is because of your very early experiences that you are sometimes socially and emotionally disconnected. Your tendency to take things literally is a hangover from your early years of social isolation in captivity. It is most fortunate that you have no memory of that time before we brought you home. I would strongly advise you to do nothing at all to try to revive those memories as I know they could only be traumatizing.
So, now you know. I agonized over writing this letter. I wondered if it were better that you never got to know these details. Nobody in Carricksheedy knows your background, not even Angela. Jean told her own family, but everyone else was sworn to lifetime secrecy. Your discovery in 1980 was huge news as you can imagine, and we did everything in our power to keep you away from the media.
Thankfully, my name was not released in the news coverage. The department agreed to put out a press release to say that you had been adopted in the UK. I moved us out of Dublin as soon as you could leave the unit.
So now I finally say goodbye, my love, leaving you with lots to think about. You are under no obligation to do anything at all with this information. But if you need to talk to anyone, you could show Angela this letter. She will be shocked, but will be of practical or emotional support if you need it.
I wish you good health and happiness and a peaceful life.
Your loving Dad
When I finally stopped reading, I noticed that Angela and Aunt Christine were muttering to each other.
‘Do you have any questions you’d like to ask us?’
I had so many questions that I didn’t know where to start. ‘May I have some whiskey, please?’
Aunt Christine looked to Angela and Angela nodded. She smiled at me.
‘I think we should all have a whiskey.’
‘This is the trauma Dad was talking about when he mentioned PTSD.’
‘Sally, do you think I might stay the night? Would that be okay with you?’ said Aunt Christine.
‘I think that’s a good idea, you should reconnect with the family you have,’ said Angela. ‘Christine can stay in your dad’s room. I’ll go and make up the bed.’
‘No need,’ I said. ‘I changed the sheets after the police were here that time. Yes, she can stay. But, Angela, Aunt Christine isn’t my real family.’
I had done the maths in my head. ‘If my birth mother was nineteen years old when I was born, what about her mother and father, my grandparents? Are they alive? Do I have any real aunts and uncles? What about cousins?’
Angela looked at Aunt Christine. ‘I’d like to know the answers to that too. I can’t believe I worked alongside Jean for eight years and she never told me any of this. She told me she had specialized in child psychiatry as part of her GP training, but never that she was involved in the Denise Norton case. I knew that Tom was a psychiatrist, but he no longer practised. I assumed he was writing academic papers and contributing to medical journals. Occasionally, Jean would bring him in to talk to a patient, but just to assess them for referral.’ She sighed before continuing.
‘Sally, I didn’t know any of this until I read the letters the day … the day the police came. I had to photocopy them and hand them over. Back in the day, the Denise Norton case was notorious but your identity was kept secret. The guards read your dad’s letters and they have copies of his files so someone then leaked the information that you are Mary Norton. That’s why the press and photographers were there at the funeral, and why they found the house and your phone number. Christine tells me they’ve been writing to you as well.’
‘There were pictures of you in the paper, Sally, at your dad’s funeral. That’s why I’ve been so worried about you,’ said Aunt Christine. ‘I always knew the truth. But Jean and Tom were desperate to protect your privacy. Jean wanted to tell you once you turned eighteen, but Tom … he disagreed. And then she died so shortly afterwards.’
‘You haven’t answered my question about other relatives?’ I stared at Aunt Christine as I sipped the whiskey and she took a large gulp of hers.