The Night the Angels Came (3 page)

Jill and Stella both wrote again. ‘Now, to the other question Michael has raised with me,’ Stella said: ‘hospital visiting. When Patrick is admitted to hospital or a hospice, will you be able to take Michael to visit him?’

‘Yes, although I do have my own two children to think about and make arrangements for. Would it be every day?’

‘I would like to see Michael every day if possible, preferably after school,’ Patrick confirmed.

‘And at weekends?’ Jill asked.

‘If possible, yes.’

It was obviously a huge undertaking, and while I could see that of course father and son would want to see as much of each other as possible I was wondering about the logistics of the arrangement, and also how Adrian and Paula would feel at being bundled into the car each day after school and driven across town to the hospital instead of going home and relaxing.

‘Were you thinking Cathy would stay for visiting too?’ Jill asked, clearly appreciating my unspoken concerns.

‘Not necessarily,’ Patrick said. ‘Cathy has her own family to look after and Michael is old enough to be left in the hospital with me. It would just need someone to bring and collect him.’

‘If Cathy wasn’t able to do it every day,’ Jill said to Patrick, ‘would you be happy if we used an escort to bring and collect Michael? We use escorts for school runs sometimes. All the drivers are vetted.’

‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be necessary for a long time, as I intend staying in my home for as long as possible, until I am no longer able to look after myself.’ Which made me feel small-minded and churlish for not agreeing to the arrangement outright.

‘It’s not a problem,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll make sure Michael visits you every day.’

‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Patrick said, then with a small laugh: ‘And don’t worry, you won’t have to arrange my funeral: I’ve done it.’

I met Patrick’s gaze and hadn’t a clue what to say. I nodded dumbly. Jill and Stella made no comment either, for what could we possibly say?

‘So,’ Stella said, after a moment, ‘do either of you have any more questions or issues you wish to explore?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘No,’ Patrick said. ‘I would like it if Cathy agreed to look after Michael. I would be very grateful.’

I was looking down again, concentrating on the floor. ‘And what is your feeling, Cathy?’ Stella asked. ‘Or would you like some time to think about it?’

‘No, I don’t need more time,’ I said. ‘And Patrick deserves an answer now.’ I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Especially Jill on my right, who, I sensed, was cautioning me against saying something I should take time to consider. ‘I will look after Michael,’ I said. ‘I’d be happy to.’

‘Thank you,’ Patrick said. ‘God bless you.’ And for the first time I heard his voice tremble with emotion.

U
sually, once I’ve made a decision I’m positive and just get on with the task in hand. But now, as I left the council offices and began the drive to collect Paula from nursery, I was plagued with misgiving and doubt. Had I made the right decision in offering to look after Michael or had I simply felt sorry for Patrick? What effect would it have on Adrian and Paula? What effect would it have on me? Then I thought of Patrick and Michael and all they were going through and immediately felt guilty and selfish for thinking of myself.

I switched my thoughts and tried to concentrate on the practical. At the end of the meeting we’d arranged for Patrick and Michael to visit the following evening at 6.00. I now considered their visit and what I could do to make them feel relaxed and at home. Although I’d had parents visit prior to their child staying before, it was very unusual. One mother had visited prior to her daughter staying when she was due to go into hospital (she didn’t have anyone else to look after her child); another set of parents had visited before their son (with very challenging behaviour) had begun a respite stay to give them a break. Both children were in care under a voluntary care order (now called a Section 20), where the parents retain all legal rights and responsibilities. This was how Michael would be looked after, but that was where any similarity ended: the other children had returned home to their parents. And whereas the other visits had been brief – I’d showed the family around the house and explained our routine – I thought Patrick and Michael’s visit needed to be more in-depth, to give them a feeling of our home life which would, I hoped, reassure them both. I decided the best way to do this would be for us to try and carry on as ‘normal’, and then tormented myself by picturing Patrick and Michael sitting on the sofa and Adrian and Paula staring at them in silence.

At dinner that evening I told Adrian and Paula that Patrick and Michael would be coming for a visit the following evening to meet them and see the house. ‘So let’s make sure they feel welcome and the house is tidy,’ I added, glancing at Adrian.

He looked at me guiltily, for even allowing for the fact that eight-year-old boys were not renowned for their tidiness the mess he managed to generate sometimes was incredible. It was often impossible to walk across his bedroom floor for toys, all of which he assured me had to remain in place, as otherwise his game would be ruined. I was never quite sure what exactly ‘the game’ was but it seemed to rely on all his toy cars and models – of dinosaurs, famous people and the planets – covering the carpet and being scooped up and then put down again in a different places by a large plastic dumper truck, which made a hideous hooting sound when it reversed. But the game had kept him, visiting friends and sometimes Paula occupied for hours in recent months, and had only been tidied away when I’d vacuumed.

‘Suppose I’d better tidy my room,’ Adrian muttered, understanding my hint.

‘That would be good,’ I said.

‘Is Michael coming to stay, then?’ Paula asked.

‘Yes, but not tomorrow. Tomorrow he and his father are just coming for a visit so that they can see what our home is like before Michael has to move in.’

‘When’s he moving in?’ Adrian asked.

‘I’m not sure yet. It will depend on his father. I met him today. He’s a lovely man. Sometimes he has to speak slowly to catch his breath.’ I thought I should mention this so that the children wouldn’t stare or, worse, comment. Adrian was old enough to know not to comment, but I could picture Paula asking Patrick, ‘Why are you talking funny?’ as a young child can.

‘Why does he speak slowly?’ Paula now asked.

‘Because he’s ill,’ Adrian informed her.

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Sometimes it takes all Patrick’s energy to talk, although he does very well.’

‘I see,’ Paula said quietly, and we continued with our meal.

The following day I took Adrian to school, and Paula to nursery, and then did a supermarket shop. I came home and by the time I’d unpacked all the bags it was time to collect Paula from nursery. The afternoon vanished in playing with Paula and housework, and it was soon time to collect Adrian from school. Those who don’t have children sometimes wonder what stay-at-home mothers (or fathers) find to do all day; and indeed I was guilty of this before I gave up work to look after my children and foster. Now I know!

At 5.40 p.m. the children were eating their pudding when the doorbell rang. ‘You finish your meal,’ I said, standing. ‘It might be Patrick and Michael arriving early.’

Although the children hadn’t mentioned Michael and his father since the previous evening, they hadn’t been far from my thoughts, especially when I’d prepared the spare bedroom that afternoon so that it would look welcoming when Michael saw it. Now as I went down the hall towards the front door my heart began pounding as all my anxieties and misgivings returned. I just hoped, as I had done prior to the meeting, I didn’t say anything silly or embarrassing that would upset Patrick and now Michael.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door with a smile. ‘Hello,’ I said evenly. ‘Good to see you both.’

‘And you,’ Patrick said easily. ‘This is Michael.’ Patrick was standing slightly behind his son and again looked very smart in a blazer and matching trousers. Michael was dressed equally smartly in his school uniform but looked as anxious as I felt.

‘Hi, Michael,’ I said. ‘Come in. Try not to worry. It’s a bit strange for me too.’

He gave a small nervous laugh and shrugged as they came into the hall. Patrick shook my hand and kissed my cheek, which I guessed was how he greeted all female friends and acquaintances. ‘Lovely place you have here,’ he said.

‘Thank you. Come on through and meet Adrian and Paula.’

I smiled again at Michael and then led the way down the hall and to where the children were finishing their pudding.

‘We’ve interrupted your meal,’ Patrick said, concerned.

‘Don’t worry, they’ve nearly finished. This is Adrian and Paula, and this is Michael and his dad, Patrick,’ I said, introducing everyone.

‘Good to meet you,’ Patrick said to Adrian and Paula.

‘Hi,’ Adrian said, glancing up from his pudding. Michael said nothing.

‘Say hello, Michael,’ Patrick prompted.

‘Hello,’ Michael said reluctantly.

‘Why can’t we have a girl?’ Paula grumbled.

Patrick frowned, puzzled, and looked at me. ‘It’s Paula’s little joke,’ I said, throwing her a warning glance.

Patrick smiled at Paula while I asked Michael, ‘Have you had a good day at school?’ I wasn’t sure who felt more awkward – the children or the adults.

Michael thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged.

‘Answer Cathy,’ Patrick said.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Michael said formally. ‘Your dad tells me you’re doing very well at school,’ I said, trying to put him at ease and get some conversation going.

Michael dug his hands deeper into his trouser pockets and shrugged again.

‘Take your hands out of your pockets,’ Patrick said firmly, catching his breath. Then to me, ‘I’m sorry, Cathy, the cat seems to have got my son’s tongue. He’s usually quite talkative.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit strange for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all thaw out soon.’ Adrian and Paula had finished their pudding and were now sitting staring at Michael, not unkindly, just eyeing the newcomer up and down. ‘Shall I show you around the house first?’ I asked Patrick. ‘Then afterwards the children can play together for a while.’

‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Patrick said with a smile. ‘That would be nice.’ Michael said nothing.

Adrian and Paula stayed at the table while I turned and led the way into the kitchen. ‘Very nice,’ Patrick said.

‘And through here,’ I said going ahead, ‘is the sitting room. From here you can see the garden and the swings.’ Patrick joined me at the French windows while Michael hung back.

‘Your garden looks lovely,’ Patrick said. ‘Do you do it all yourself?’

‘Yes, it keeps me fit,’ I said, smiling. ‘I usually garden while the children are out there playing. The bottom half of the garden with the swings is for the children. There are no plants or flowers there, so they can play and kick balls without doing any damage.’

‘Good idea. Come and have a look, Michael,’ Patrick encouraged. ‘What a lovely big garden!’

Michael took a couple of steps into the centre of the room, shrugged and stayed quiet. I saw how uncomfortable Michael’s sulky attitude was making Patrick feel and I felt sorry for him. Patrick was being so positive and I knew he would be wanting to create a good first impression, just as I did, but I also knew that Michael’s behaviour was to be expected. Clearly Michael didn’t want to be here, for this was where he would be staying when his father could no longer look after him. I wondered how much discussion Patrick had had with his son to prepare him for staying with me – it was something we would need to talk about.

‘There’s just the front room left downstairs,’ I said, moving away from the window.

I led the way out of the sitting room, down the hall and to the front room with Patrick just behind me and Michael bringing up the rear. Then we went upstairs, where I showed them our bedrooms, toilet and bathroom. Patrick made a positive comment about each room while Michael said nothing. When we went into what was going to be Michael’s bedroom Michael stayed by the door. ‘Very comfortable,’ Patrick said. Then to Michael: ‘Come in and have a look. You’ll be fine here, son.’

But Michael didn’t reply. He shrugged, jabbed his hands into his trouser pockets again and refused to move. I saw Patrick’s expression set and knew he was about to tell him off. I lightly touched Patrick’s arm and shook my head slightly, gesturing for him not to say anything. ‘Perhaps we could have a chat later?’ I suggested.

Patrick nodded.

‘Well, that’s the tour finished,’ I said lightly to Michael and Patrick. ‘Let’s go downstairs and find Adrian and Paula.’

I went out of the bedroom and as I passed Michael I touched his shoulder reassuringly. I wanted him to know it was all right to feel as he did – that I wasn’t expecting him to be dancing and singing.

Downstairs, Adrian had thawed out and Paula seemed to be over her pique about not having a girl to stay. They had taken some board games from the cupboard and Adrian was setting up a game called Sunken Treasure. It was a good choice: I saw Michael’s eyes light up. ‘Would you like to play with Adrian and Paula,’ I suggested, ‘while your father and I have chat in the sitting room?’

Michael nodded, took his hands out of his pockets and slid into a chair at the table. ‘I’ve played this before,’ he said enthusiastically. I looked knowingly at Patrick and he winked back.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked Patrick. ‘Tea, coffee?’

‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’

‘Of course. Michael,’ I asked, ‘would you like a drink? Or how about an ice cream?’

Michael looked up from the table and for the first time smiled.

‘Is it all right if I give Michael an ice cream?’ I asked his father.

He nodded.

‘Would you like one?’

‘No, just the water, please,’ Patrick said. ‘Thank you.’

I didn’t bother asking Adrian and Paula if they wanted an ice cream because I knew what their answers would be. I went into the kitchen, took three ice creams from the freezer and, together with three strips of kitchen towel, returned to the table and handed them out. I poured a glass of water for Patrick and we went into the sitting room, where I pushed the door to so that we couldn’t be easily overheard.

‘Sorry about that,’ Patrick said.

‘Don’t worry. It’s to be expected.’

As Patrick sat on the sofa he let out a sigh, pleased to be sitting down. ‘That’s better. It’s a good walk from the bus stop,’ he said.

‘You caught the bus here?’ I asked, surprised.

He nodded, took a sip of his water, and then said easily, ‘I sold my car last month. I thought it would be one less thing for Eamon and Colleen to have to worry about. Eamon and Colleen are my good friends who are executors of my will. I’ve been trying to make it easier for them by getting rid of what I don’t need now.’

Although Patrick was talking about his death he spoke in such a practical and emotionless manner that he could have been simply making arrangements for a trip abroad, so that I didn’t feel upset or emotional.

‘All that side of things is taken care of,’ Patrick continued. ‘What money I have will be held in trust until Michael is twenty-one. I have a three-bedroom house and I was going to sell that too and rent somewhere, but I thought it would be an unnecessary upheaval for Michael. It’s always been his home and he will have to move once I go into hospital, so I decided there was no point in making him move twice.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I think that was wise of you.’

There was a small silence as Patrick sipped his water and I watched him from across the room. I liked Patrick – both as a person and a man. Already I had formed the impression that he was kind and caring, as well as strong and practical, and despite his illness his charisma and charm shone through. I could picture him out drinking with the lads and chasing women in his twenties, as he’d said he had at the meeting, and then being a loyal and supportive husband and proud father.

‘I think you are doing incredibly well,’ I said. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t cope so well.’

‘You would if you had to, Cathy,’ he said, looking directly at me. ‘You’d be as strong as I’ve had to be – for the sake of your children. But believe me, in my quieter moments, in the early hours of the morning when I’m alone in my bed and I wake in pain and reach for my medication, I have my doubts. Then I can get very angry and ask the good Lord what he thinks he’s playing at.’ He threw me a small smile.

‘And what does the good Lord say?’ I asked lightly, returning his smile.

‘That I must have faith, and Michael will be well looked after. And I can’t disagree with that because he’s sent us you.’

I felt my emotion rise and also the enormity and responsibility of what I’d taken on. ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, ‘but I’m no angel.’