Madeleine Read Free

was). I’d also toyed with the idea of training as a vet. When choosing my A-level subjects I wasn’t sure initially whether to go with three sciences or maths, economics and French, and then, when looking ahead to university, whether to aim for medicine or engineering. At both crossroads I could have gone either way.
    Although I wanted a fulfilling and worthwhile career I have never been overly ambitious, except in one respect: it was no secret to anyone who knew me that my overriding goal in life was to be a mother, and preferably a mother to many. I certainly wasn’t one of those girls prepared to devote everything I had to climbing to the pinnacle of my profession if it meant sacrificing relationships and babies along the way. That might be viewed as lame by some, though not, I suspect, by most mothers. When I graduated from Dundee University in 1992 my entry in the university yearbook concluded with the line: ‘Prognosis: mathematician and mother of six.’ I achieved neither of these predictions, but I was extremely happy and proud to end up with the best prize imaginable: my three beautiful children.
    Dundee University might seem a surprising choice for a Scouse girl with no particular Scottish connections. But back then it was almost a rite of passage for students from English schools to choose a university a decent distance from home, and Dundee came into the equation when it was recommended to me by a good friend who knew somebody studying there. I went up to have a look at the university and was shown round by a very amiable bunch of fourth-year students. It was Guy Fawkes night, I remember, they were all going on to a party afterwards and they invited me to go along with them. There were so many student parties and other social events happening over the next few days that I wound up staying there rather longer than I’d planned. I had a ball and was made to feel really welcome.
    So Dundee it was for me. The social scene lived up to its initial promise (partying is practically obligatory for medical students, after all) and I made lots of friends. I had a fantastic time at university and did my best to achieve a balance between work and play, not always successfully. I kept myself fit by playing for the university netball team. After qualifying in 1992, the next step was to complete two six-month stints as a junior house officer, one in general medicine and one in general surgery or orthopaedics (I opted for the latter). On finishing my first six-month post, at King’s Cross Hospital in Dundee, I felt I was ready for a change of scene, and the bright lights of the big city – Glasgow – beckoned.
    It was in Glasgow in 1993 that I remember first meeting Gerry McCann. He says that we actually met in 1992, when we were both interviewed for the same job (neither of us got it), but I have no recollection of that. Sorry, Ger. He had qualified in medicine in the same year as me from Glasgow University (Scotland has a much stronger tradition of students going to local universities). Although we didn’t work together early in our careers we moved in the same circles and our paths often crossed in the course of the many social events so beloved of junior doctors, including the infamous doctors’ and nurses’ ‘pay night’ extravaganza at Cleopatra’s nightclub, affectionately known as Clatty Pats.
    Gerry was good-looking, confident and outgoing. He also had a reputation as a bit of a lad. But as I got to know him I discovered a natural warmth and honesty, especially when he talked about his family, that revealed an endearing sweetness and vulnerability beneath the potentially intimidating façade.
    We had quite a lot in common apart from our profession. We both came from ordinary, working-class Catholic families with Irish roots. Like me, Gerry had attended Catholic schools and gone to Mass on Sundays. Of course, when we first met we didn’t know this about each other and it wouldn’t have entered either of