The Night the Angels Came (19 page)

‘Yes,’ Paula agreed. ‘I would if I was Michael.’

When I went into Adrian’s room he asked, ‘Is Michael coming to the zoo with us tomorrow?’

‘No, love. Pat isn’t up to it and Michael will want to be with his dad as much as possible.’ Which was reasonable and Adrian accepted.

Although I put on a brave face and remained positive in front of the children that evening, inside my heart ached and I was very sad. Once I’d said goodnight I went downstairs and sat on the sofa in the sitting room with the television on low. But my thoughts were a long way from the television programme and I repeatedly gazed past the screen and through the French windows, watching the sky slowly darken. It was nearly ten o’clock before the sky was dark enough to see the stars. Standing, I crossed the room and quietly opened the French windows. I stepped outside. The late June air was warm and heady with the scent of flower blossom. I stood on the patio and gazed up at the sky. It was a clear night and the stars were twinkling brightly. I remembered Michael’s first night with us, when he and I had stood side by side at his bedroom window, and the comfort he’d found in seeing the night sky. He’d said the stars made him think of heaven and the angels that were looking after his mummy, and who would one day come to fetch his daddy. Now, as then, I felt a lump rise to my throat and was truly humbled by Michael’s strength and courage. I hoped Michael’s faith stayed with him and would see him through the coming months, for never would a child’s courage be tested more.

W
e had a busy weekend. I had purposely made it so: a full day out at the zoo on Saturday and visiting my parents on Sunday. There was little time for wallowing in self-pity and Monday appeared very quickly; with it came the school and nursery run, only without the trip to Michael’s school. I wondered how Michael was going to get to school because I didn’t think Pat would feel up to taking him and neither would Pat let Michael go alone. I wondered if Nora and Jack might be helping out; retired and with a car, they had helped out Pat before, while Colleen and Eamon, in their forties, both had jobs so weren’t so easily available during the working week. I hoped Pat knew that if he needed my help he only had to pick up the phone and ask.

Jill telephoned mid-morning and her voice was sombre and subdued. ‘Cathy, Stella has spoken to Patrick earlier this morning and I’m afraid it’s not good news.’ I guessed what she was going to tell me but I let her continue. ‘The scan and X-rays Pat had in hospital have shown the cancer has spread. The doctors have sent him home with pain relief only. There’s nothing more they can do.’

‘I know,’ I said flatly. ‘Pat told me.’

‘I’m so sorry, Cathy.’ I could hear the heartfelt sympathy in her voice and I knew she was really feeling for me. ‘How are you and the children taking this?’

‘I haven’t told Adrian and Paula. There’s no need to yet.’

‘And how was Michael when you took him home?’

‘Pleased to be home. But Pat isn’t going to say anything to him until it becomes necessary.’

‘That’s what Stella said, although she thinks Michael has a good idea his father’s condition has worsened.’

‘Quite possibly. They’re very close.’

‘And how are you, Cathy?’

‘OK,’ I said with no commitment. ‘It’s Michael I feel for. He’s such a lovely lad, it’s so unfair.’

‘I know.’ Jill was silent for a moment. Sometimes silence can say more than hundreds of words. Then she said slowly, ‘Patrick is being very brave, and concentrating on the practical issues. Stella said he’s been in contact with St John’s Hospice. He wants to go there rather than hospital when the time comes. He plans on staying at home for as long as possible and Stella has put him in touch with the Marie Curie nurses.’

The mention of Marie Curie nurses confirmed the inevitability of the outcome for me; in the UK these nurses are usually brought in only when someone is terminally ill. I didn’t say anything as Jill continued: ‘Cathy, given Pat’s prognosis, we’ll obviously be keeping you on standby for Michael. Hopefully Michael will be able to stay with his father for some while yet, but when the time comes we will need to have you ready. Stella will be staying in close contact with Patrick and will monitor the situation. I’ll obviously keep you up to date. Do you and the children still see Pat regularly?’

‘No, not any more. It was Patrick’s decision.’

‘It’s probably for the best.’ And our conversation ended as it had begun – sombre and subdued.

I didn’t hear from anyone connected with Patrick and Michael for the rest of the week. Adrian, Paula and I continued as ‘normal’, although little time passed when I wasn’t acutely aware that a short drive away a father and son were making the most of their last weeks together. Adrian and Paula asked about Michael: when would they see him again? But they accepted my reply that he was busy with school and spending time with his father. Having not seen Patrick since before he went into hospital Adrian and Paula’s attachment to him was already starting to weaken a little, as Pat had hoped it would. They obviously asked about Michael, whom they had grown close to while he had lived with us, but not so much about Patrick, whom they hadn’t seen for some weeks. On many occasions I got close to phoning Pat just to see how he was and if he needed anything, but aware – from the conversation we’d had – that he wanted to put some distance between him and me as well as between him and Adrian and Paula, I didn’t. I thought that if Pat wanted to speak to me he would phone, and I was right.

On Friday morning while Paula was at nursery my mobile bleeped a text message. It was from Pat:
Is it ok 2 phone 4 a chat?

I texted back:
Yes x
. Like me, Pat preferred to use the landline for chatting and kept his mobile for texting and for calls when he was away from the house.

I went into the sitting room and sat on the sofa. A minute later the phone ran and I picked it up.

‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully as soon as I answered. ‘How are you today?’

‘Good, thanks. All the better for hearing from you,’ I said lightly. ‘That’s what I like to hear. How are the kids?’

‘Fine. At school, unless they’re truanting,’ I joked. ‘How’s Michael?’

‘He’s doing all right.’

Patrick sounded bright and positive and I didn’t think it was an act put on for my benefit. He sounded genuinely in a positive and meaningful place. We chatted easily about the usual things: the children, school, the weather, etc., and then he asked after my parents and I said they were well. Although Pat had never met my family he’d seen photographs of them and I’d mentioned them when we’d talked in the past. Pat said Jack was taking Michael to school and collecting him, while Nora kept popping in with meals and snacks on a tray and generally fussing.

‘It’s so good of her,’ Pat said, ‘but I keep telling her she’s spoiling me. I’m not so ill I can’t cook.’

It was the first reference Pat had made to his illness during our conversation and I took the opportunity to ask: ‘How are you?’

‘A bit wobbly sometimes, but I can stay upright most of the time,’ he said, laughing.

‘You sound good,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’m doing all right. As they say in AA [Alcoholics Anonymous] – which I would add I’ve never been a member of – “one day at a time”. Every morning I wake up and give thanks for another day and concentrate on making the most of it. Cathy, it seems to me there are two ways of approaching life when you are in my position. One is to become angry and depressed at the unfairness of it all, and waste what time you have left. The other way is to be grateful for the wonderful life you’ve had and make the most of every minute you have left. This way is far better. I’ve also had time to prepare myself and those around me so when I go it won’t be a shock and I’ll be organized and ready.’

I swallowed hard and tried to stay as brave as Pat was. He’d made it sound as though he was about to go on a journey, which I suppose in a way he was. He sounded so positive that there was little room for sorrow or regret, and I greatly admired his philosophy, dignity and self-respect. I think his faith helped keep him strong. We continued talking in the same positive and light manner for ten minutes or so. He told me he’d been out for a short walk with Jack the day before, and tomorrow, Saturday, Jack was taking him supermarket shopping while Nora stayed with Michael and played Scrabble. Then on Sunday Colleen and Eamon were taking him and Michael to church and giving them dinner afterwards.

‘That sounds good,’ I said. ‘Say hello to Colleen and Eamon for me, please.’

‘I will. They think you’re an angel. I’ve told them they don’t know the half of it,’ he joked.

A few minutes later I heard him become slightly breathless and he began to wind up the conversation. ‘Is it all right if I phone you again next week?’ he asked. ‘I’ll text first.’

‘Yes, of course. Any time. You know I’m always pleased to hear from you.’

‘Well, goodbye for now, then, Cathy. Send my love to the –’ I knew he was about to say children, but he stopped himself. Instead he said: ‘Love to everyone.’

‘And you, Pat. Take care. You and Michael are in my thoughts.’

‘You’re all in mine too, Cathy, more than you’ll ever know. Bye, love.’

‘Bye.’

After I’d hung up I sat for a few minutes on the sofa with the sound of Pat’s soft Irish voice and his gentle words still singing in my ears. I was pensive but not miserable. It would have been unjust to Pat’s positive attitude and dignity for me to feel sorry for him or be depressed. I greatly admired his courage and selfpossession and I knew that with the help and support of his oldest and dearest friends he was making the most of every day before he began the next stage of his journey.

That evening Colleen phoned and apologized for not phoning sooner – she and Eamon had had a very busy week at work. I said I understood and it was nice of her to call, although she didn’t really tell me any more than I’d learnt from Pat – that he was coping well and staying focused and positive. She said Nora and Jack were keeping an eye on Pat and Michael and making sure they had everything they needed, which I knew from Pat. Colleen also said that whereas previously Pat had been fiercely independent and rejected their offers of help he now recognized he needed help, which had resulted in some of the responsibility being taken from Michael. Colleen said Michael had had an invitation to go to tea at a school friend’s during the week and Patrick had insisted he went; Michael had enjoyed himself immensely. Colleen asked after my children and finished by wishing us a pleasant weekend. She said she’d phone again the following week, or before if the situation changed.

The children and I had a relatively relaxing weekend, with a trip to a local park on Saturday, and mainly in the garden on Sunday. John phoned to speak to the children on Sunday evening and when he’d finished talking to them he asked to speak to me. He confirmed the arrangements for the following Sunday, when he would be seeing the children, and then confirmed his solicitor had received a letter from my solicitor starting the divorce proceedings. ‘I’m pleased things are moving at last,’ he said conciliatorily.

I didn’t say anything. I suppose I could have agreed or even asked how he was but my generosity didn’t stretch that far. We said a polite goodbye and then Adrian realized he’d forgotten to tell his father that he’d come top in the spelling test at school, and couldn’t be persuaded to wait until the following Sunday to share the news, so I dialled John’s number. A woman answered and for a moment I thought I must have misdialled; then it dawned on me it would be John’s partner, Monica. I hadn’t spoken to her before, as John preferred to phone us when he spoke to the children and on the few occasions I’d had reason to phone him, he’d always answered.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ I said, recovering. ‘It’s Cathy. Could Adrian speak to his father, please? He’s forgotten to tell him something.’

There was a second’s pause and then, flustered, she said, ‘Oh yes, of course. Just a minute, I’ll get him.’ I guessed she felt as uncomfortable as I did. And it was strange hearing her call John to the phone and tell him his son wanted to speak to him.

I passed the phone to Adrian and he told his father his good news; and then Paula remembered something she’d forgotten to tell him, so once Adrian had finished speaking he passed the phone to her. Paula told her father she’d been to nursery and had played in the home corner with Natasha and Rory, which wasn’t ground-breaking news but just something she wanted to share with her daddy, which was nice.

That evening the children and I watched a video together; then I read them a story and they had their baths and were in bed at a reasonable time, ready for school the following day. I wondered if I should be writing up my fostering log notes, but there wasn’t really much to say apart from the phone calls from Pat and his friends, which weren’t directly relevant to Michael’s care. I decided to suspend the log until such time as Michael stayed with us again.

The week disappeared with the usual school and nursery routine and included Paula spending half a day in the reception class of the primary school she would join in September. It was the same school Adrian attended, so Paula was already familiar with it, as were some of her friends who had older siblings there. The weather was changeable and on clear afternoons the children played in the garden when they returned from school, and when it rained they played indoors. They both had a friend to tea on Thursday. Then on Friday evening shortly after nine o’clock I was in the sitting room, having another attempt at reading a novel I’d started a month before, when my phone bleeped a text message from Pat:
Can I phone?

Naturally I texted back:
Yes x

I closed my book and picked up the phone as soon as it rang. ‘Hi, lovely,’ Pat said brightly. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, and you?’

‘Good. Still here.’

I smiled. We swapped our news and then Pat said, ‘According to my calculations Adrian and Paula will be seeing their father this Sunday. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ I said, slightly puzzled as to why he had thought of that. ‘Cathy, if you’re not too busy I was wondering if you could pop over for an hour. It’s a while since you’ve seen Michael and I think it would be good for him.’

‘Yes, I’d be happy to. Is Michael all right?’

‘He’s fine. I just thought he should see you again before too long.’

‘You’re not being admitted to hospital again?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘No, not yet. But I don’t want Michael forgetting you. Is eleven o’clock on Sunday all right? We’ll go to church in the evening for a change.’

‘Fine. I’ll see you Sunday, then.’

We said goodbye and I slowly replaced the handset. I appreciated why Patrick wanted Michael to see me – so he wouldn’t lose the ease and familiarity he felt around me, gained from all the time he’d spent with us. But I would have to think carefully if and what I told Adrian and Paula of my visit. If I didn’t tell them I was going and they found out they might feel I’d sneaked off without them, and if I told them they would ask why I hadn’t timed the visit so that they could go. In the end I decided not to tell them I was going, and after I’d seen Patrick it was obvious what I had to tell them.