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Haunted by the past: Kate McCann at a press conference for
the launch of Madeleine: Our Daughter's Disappearance and
the Continuing Search for Her last week, on her daughter's
eighth birthday. Photograph: Carl de Souza/AFP/Getty |
MEMOIR :
Madeleine: Our Daughter’s
Disappearance and the Continuing Search for Her By Kate
McCann Bantam Press, 392pp. £14.99
EVERYONE SAYS THAT Kate McCann has got very thin. “She looks gaunt,” a
woman said to me after her appearance last week on
The Late Late Show, with
her husband, Gerry. It is four years since their daughter, Madeleine,
disappeared while they were on holiday in Portugal. The McCanns are now
so saturated in public attention that their faces – well, Madeleine and
Kate McCann’s faces; Gerry McCann is less distinctive – are etched on to
our brains. And in that time our various obsessions about the adult
McCanns have remained remarkably constant.
“Reports of my weight loss were greatly exaggerated,” Kate McCann writes
of the period immediately after Madeleine’s disappearance. “In the first
week I did lose about 4½ pounds, which I could ill afford, and which it
took me months to regain, but nowhere near the stone removed from me by
some of the press. I have always been thin. It’s the way I’m made.”
This
is in several ways a terrible book. At its heart is a child who is
missing and quite possibly dead. It is written by a desperate mother and
was published on what is to be hoped was Madeleine’s eighth birthday,
lest she be forgotten. It recalls the media circus sparked by the
disappearance of Madeleine McCann in May 2007, from which no one emerged
very well except, bizarrely, Clement Freud.
At
the start the McCanns seem to have believed in the media. Even when they
were too traumatised to be interviewed they were watching the big guns
assembling: “Sky had three anchors in Praia da Luz. The BBC sent out Huw
Edwards. ITV dispatched Sir Trevor McDonald, who did a one-hour special
from the village.”
To
read this book is a strange experience. On the one hand you feel that
you have, literally, seen it all before. The writing is dull, and
injections of information about, for example, how the McCanns’ sex life
had to be revived after their daughter’s disappearance do nobody any
favours. “I have wondered,” writes McCann, “whether we haven’t already
given too much of ourselves and our family to the world.”
But
the hell the book describes is so grim – the missing child, the peculiar
police, the circling cameras, the crystals, the hoaxes, the cranks, the
psychics, the private planes, the visit to the pope, the flowers and the
teddies left by well-wishers – that you feel that you must respect it.
“To suddenly become the focus of such attention – fiercely acute, and
yet at the same time disconnected, impersonal, as if we were some rare
species in a zoo,” writes McCann, “was bewildering.”
Every decade has its celebrated case, the terrifying case, that becomes
a public spectacle. Madeleine McCann is ours. And eventually the
accusatory stares turned on the McCanns themselves. (They later won
£550,000 in damages from Express Newspapers.)
The
McCanns were criticised for leaving the children unattended in the
apartment, with the patio doors unlocked, although they explained that
they checked the children every 30 minutes and were having dinner
nearby. Kate McCann, besides being horribly guilty about this, observes
the criticism coolly. “I have come to understand that some of these
critics have been acting out of self-preservation. Holding us culpable
in some way makes them feel their own children are safer.”
Kate
Healy is an only child and an achiever. She works hard and is
determined, “a finisher”, as she says herself. The first weekend after
Madeleine’s disappearance she felt “a burning desire” to run up Rocha
Negra, a nearby mountain. In the coming weeks she and Gerry did run up
it. While running she would say a decade of the rosary. Her religious
faith is one of the few unusual things about her, and their shared
background, of working-class Irish Catholicism in Britain, was one of
the things that united the McCanns – combined with the fact that Gerry,
unsurprisingly, obviously fancied Kate Healy like crazy. The hymn
On Eagle’s Wings was
played at their wedding.
One
gets the impression that Kate McCann was always a very good girl.
Clement Freud, who had a house in Praia da Luz, gave her her first taste
of brandy at this time. He had sent them a letter saying he was ashamed
of the media’s intrusion into their lives and asking them for a meal. He
cooked for them and, with his mordant wit, was one of the few people
able to cheer them up in those terrible weeks.
You
feel that McCann is a woman who has always followed the rules. In her
relationship with the press her beauty was an asset, but her reserve was
not appreciated. She was willing to show her wounds in the marketplace,
if it got her daughter more publicity, but she refused to collapse in
public.
The
day before she vanished Madeleine said to her mother at breakfast: “Why
didn’t you come when Sean and I cried last night'” Kate McCann is now
convinced that an intruder had been in the apartment the night before.
The three McCann children were left in the apartment with the patio
doors unlocked for five nights in a row. This is a hard fact for the
McCanns to live with, although the length of their ordeal now places
them beyond criticism.
Kate
McCann acknowledges that from the start, along with the inadequate
Portuguese police investigation and the vicious rumours, people have
rushed to help them. The businessman Philip Green lent them his plane so
they could visit the pope. The British foreign office sent a former
journalist, now an official media handler, to help them deal with the
press. David Beckham appealed for Madeleine’s return. And now, on
publication of this book, the British prime minister, David Cameron, has
written that the McCanns’ ordeal is “every parent’s nightmare”,
responding to Kate McCann’s open letter to him, printed in the Sun.
This
is the unifying power of nightmare but also of sentimentality and of
standing knee deep in cuddly toys. The missing child is the stuff of
horror stories and of fairy tales. But most children who are abducted
are hardly missed, and few people go looking for them. For now the
tabloids are once more the McCanns’ friends. On the book’s publication
Cameron instructed his home secretary, amid some controversy, to let
officers from the Metropolitan Police review the case. No one would
begrudge the McCanns this, but in Britain it has been pointed out that
not all parents of missing children get that support.
As
for Madeleine , it
manages to be at once very sad and pretty monotonous. McCann is not the
person to do justice in book form to the tragedy and the mystery here,
even though they are her own. It is difficult to see why anyone would
buy it for anything but charitable reasons: all royalties go to
Madeleine’s Fund, to continue the search for her.
Ann
Marie Hourihane is an Irish Times columnist |