The Night the Angels Came (16 page)

As we entered the ward Patrick was watching the door and spotted us straight away. He was propped on his pillows and gave a little wave. Going over we both kissed him and I asked how he was feeling. ‘Not bad,’ he said. And I thought he looked much brighter.

Michael sprawled on the bed next to his dad as he had the evening before, while I pulled up the chair. I was pleased to see that the young man in the next bed had a visitor – a young woman with a child, whom I took to be his partner and son. Patrick thanked me for the newspaper and biscuits and for buying Michael the chocolate bar.

‘I must give you some money,’ he said. ‘I know how much this lad eats.’

‘There’s no need,’ I said. ‘The social services give me an allowance.’

‘I know, but it doesn’t seem right. When I first approached the social services I offered to pay for Michael’s keep but Stella said they couldn’t accept it: that there was no provision to accept it, which seems daft.’

I agreed. I had sometimes thought that families with children in care should perhaps contribute to their children’s keep if they had the means. But then again, given that most children in care weren’t there on a voluntary basis, as Michael was, but had been removed from their parents (for abuse and neglect) it hardly seemed sensitive to take away the children and then ask their parents to pay to have them looked after. It was an uncomfortable issue and Patrick’s case was unusual, as was his offer to contribute.

We were the only visitors Pat had that evening and if I’m honest conversation flagged after the first hour. Patrick tired easily and while he was obviously happy that we were there he was largely content just to sit and listen. Michael exhausted all his news by seven o’clock and then snuggled into his father with one eye on the television which hung from a central point on the ceiling. It was therefore left to me to keep the conversation going and I searched for things to tell Pat that might be of interest and I hadn’t said already. After a while Patrick began to doze, his eyes closing and then suddenly opening with a start.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I must have dropped off. How rude of me!’

‘Have a sleep if you want to,’ I reassured him. ‘Michael is happy to just be with you.’

‘And you, Cathy?’ he said taking my hand. ‘Are you pleased to be with me?’

‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled.

Patrick dozed until eight o’clock when the bell woke him up. He came to with a start and apologized again; then said he’d make sure he was wide awake when we visited the following day. I told him again not to worry and then, checking he had everything he needed, Michael and I kissed him goodbye and came away. He waved until we went through the doors at the end of the ward and were out of sight.

When we arrived home all the children were in high sprits. Paula was in her pyjamas and still up and having so much fun she hardly noticed I’d returned. Michael immediately joined in the game of hide and seek while Jenny and I escaped to the kitchen, where I made a cup of tea. We told the children the kitchen was off limits in their game unless there was an emergency or we were needed. Then Jenny and I settled at the breakfast bar with our tea and a slice of cake each and had a good girly chat. It was nearly ten o’clock when Jenny finally said they should be going and called her boys. I thanked her again for helping me and gave her the box of chocolates.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ she said.

‘I’m very grateful,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t have managed without you.’ Which was true.

The four of us stood on the doorstep and waved goodbye to Jenny and her sons and I closed the front door. The children were exhausted, although they wouldn’t admit it, and I took them straight up to bed. The evening had made a pleasant end to a week fuelled by uncertainty and anxiety and I was now looking forward to the weekend. My parents were coming on Saturday, and then on Sunday I would be able to spend time with Adrian and Paula while Colleen and Eamon took Michael to church and the hospital. I could relax now I knew Patrick was recovering from the setback and would leave hospital before too long.

W
e all had a lie-in on Saturday morning and weren’t up and dressed until ten o’clock. After breakfast I suggested to Adrian and Michael that now would be a good time to do their homework.

‘There’ll be plenty of time later,’ Adrian said. Michael agreed.

‘So you’re going to do it while Nana and Grandpa are here?’ I asked Adrian. ‘And you’re taking yours to the hospital when you see your dad?’ I asked Michael.

They took my point. ‘Let’s do it now and get it out of the way,’ Michael said, and Adrian agreed.

‘Excellent decision,’ I said.

‘Hurry up,’ Paula said. ‘Then we can play outside.’

It was a lovely warm June day and I knew the boys wanted to play in the garden, which they could do once they’d done their homework. Adrian and Michael fetched their school bags from the hall and settled at the table. Adrian had maths and some spellings to learn while Michael had an essay to write entitled ‘Life in a Faraway Land’.

‘Do they mean the Isle of Wight?’ I joked to Michael.

He smiled. ‘Africa,’ he said. ‘The church has missionaries there. We’ve been learning about them in RE [religious education].’

‘What’s a missionary?’ Paula asked.

Michael explained: ‘A person from the church who goes to faraway countries. They do good work and try and convert the people who live there.’ So I thought he had been listening in his lessons.

‘What’s convert?’ Paula asked.

Michael thought. ‘Change people’s minds,’ he said after a moment.

‘What? Like we try and change Mum’s mind if we want more television?’

Michael and Adrian laughed. ‘No,’ Michael said. ‘The missionaries try to change their minds about religion so they worship our God.’

‘Are there lots of gods?’ Paula asked.

‘Possibly,’ I said, intervening. I could see this conversation going on all morning to the exclusion of homework, so before we entered a theological discussion I asked Paula to help me while Adrian and Michael did their homework.

An hour later all the homework was finished. I checked it through and then the boys took their school bags to the hall, where they left them ready for Monday. The children then played in the garden while I did some of the preparation for dinner that evening, so that I didn’t have it all to do when I returned from the hospital.

Mum and Dad arrived at 1.00 p.m. and as usual were overjoyed to see us. They hadn’t met Michael before, although they’d spoken to him on the phone.

‘What a lovely boy,’ Mum said to me as we ate a sandwich lunch in the garden. ‘He’s so polite and respectful. It’s so sad about his father.’

While I hadn’t told my parents all the details of Patrick’s illness – because of confidentiality and because I didn’t want to upset them – they knew enough to be worried and anxious for Michael.

‘What have the doctors said?’ Mum asked me quietly. ‘That he needed a blood transfusion,’ I answered, for this was as much as I knew.

At 1.40 Michael and I said goodbye to my parents, Adrian and Paula; Mum asked me to give Patrick her and Dad’s best wishes. We were about to go out of the front door when Mum called: ‘Are the children allowed an ice cream when you’ve gone? Paula is asking.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ I returned. Then to be fair I said to Michael: ‘I’ll buy you an ice cream or some chocolate from the shop at the hospital.’

We arrived at the hospital at exactly two o’clock and it was so busy it took me five minutes to find a free parking space. The lobby and the shop were busy too; clearly afternoon visiting at weekends was very popular, particularly for those with children. I bought the chocolate bar Michael wanted and a newspaper for Pat.

When we arrived on the ward Patrick was talking to the young man in the bed next to his. He finished as we neared and the young man said ‘Hi’ to Michael and me. I thought Patrick looked a bit sad as he greeted us and a few minutes later, when the young man had his earphones in and was listening to his music, Pat said quietly to me: ‘He’s only twenty-one and has a rare blood disease. He’s waiting for a bone-marrow transplant. He can’t work and has a baby to support. And I grumble!’

Pat didn’t grumble, never, but I knew what he meant. When acute illness strikes the young it seems even more unfair than in someone older. I was pleased when a few minutes later the young man’s partner arrived with their child; although they were young to be parents they seemed very responsible and loving.

I thought Patrick was gradually improving. His breathing seemed to be easier and he said he’d been out of bed a couple of times without help. ‘I’m planning a shower tomorrow,’ he said. ‘The high point of my day! The nurse said I have to be able to walk up a flight of stairs before they will discharge me.’

‘When will that be?’ Michael asked.

‘End of the week, I hope,’ Patrick said.

‘Is that what the doctors have said?’ I asked. ‘That you will go home at the end of next week?’

‘More or less,’ Patrick said, and changed the subject.

Patrick didn’t tire so easily that Saturday afternoon, perhaps because it was the afternoon and not the evening or perhaps because the blood transfusion had taken effect. He was no longer receiving the blood plasma and saline solution and the drip had been removed. There was a small plaster on the back of his hand where the needle had been. Conversation flowed between the three of us and Michael and I found plenty to say. I explained that Colleen and Eamon had offered to bring Michael the following day and Patrick said he thought it was a good idea. He wasn’t expecting any visitors that evening, Saturday, but assured me he didn’t mind. I then said my parents sent their best wishes.

‘That’s nice of them,’ he said, smiling.

‘I hope you’ll be able to meet them one day, when you’re out of hospital,’ I said. Patrick gave a slight, unenthusiastic nod, which I interpreted as lethargy brought on by being in hospital. I appreciated it must have been difficult for him to plan ahead when he wasn’t feeling well and have been incarcerated in a hospital bed for nearly a week.

Michael ate some of his dad’s biscuits and we continued talking about anything that came to mind: hospital food, the sunny weather, Michael’s school work, the babysitting my fostering agency had arranged for the following week. ‘Good, I’m pleased,’ Patrick said, relieved and ever-thoughtful. ‘I was wondering how you’d manage bringing Michael all next week.’

The two hours’ visiting time flew by and at four o’clock when the bell sounded Michael was telling his father about Father Ryan, who was a new and trendy teacher at school. ‘You’ll have to tell me the rest next time,’ Patrick said as visitors began to leave the ward.

We said goodbye and as Patrick kissed Michael he said: ‘See you tomorrow, son. Say a prayer for me in church.’ Then to me: ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow evening and see you Monday, Cathy. Thanks for everything. God bless.’

It was 4.30 when we arrived home and as soon as we entered Mum asked Michael how his dad was.

‘Getting better, thank you,’ Michael said politely, before scampering off to play with Adrian and Paula.

Mum helped me get the dinner ready while Dad pulled up a few weeds in the garden and kept an eye on the children. When we were alone in the kitchen Mum asked me if I thought Patrick was getting better as Michael had said. I said yes, and that he had seemed a lot brighter and he hoped to be out of hospital by the end of next week.

‘That is good news,’ Mum said. ‘It’s marvellous what they’ – meaning doctors – ‘can do now.’ Like me, my parents were always optimistic and saw the positive whenever possible.

Saturday dinner was a lovely family occasion with my parents, my children and Michael seated around the dining-room table, tucking into the roast; although I have to admit that more than once I thought of Patrick lying in his hospital bed and wished he could have joined us. It was still warm outside after dinner, so we took our pudding and coffee into the garden, where I chatted with Mum and Dad as the children played. Later Mum insisted on helping me to clear up the dinner things before they left. It was nine o’clock when we all kissed goodbye and waved my parents off at the front door. Paula was nearly asleep on her feet and I put her to bed first while the boys washed and changed. They were exhausted too – from the late night before and also from being on the go all day. Adrian had his lamp off when I went in to say goodnight and Michael was yawning and taking his suit from the wardrobe, ready for the following day.

‘I’ll see to that,’ I said. ‘You get into bed. You’re tired out.’ Yawning again, he went to the bed and before climbing in he knelt to say his prayers: ‘Dear Lord, thank you for making my daddy a bit better. Can you do the same tomorrow, please? Then by the end of the week he will be well enough to go home. Thank you. Amen.’

‘Perfect,’ I said.

Stifling another yawn, Michael climbed into bed and I said goodnight and kissed his forehead. ‘Straight off to sleep,’ I said. ‘You have to be up in the morning.’

‘Night, Cathy,’ he said, turning on to his side and snuggling down. ‘Thanks for a nice day. I like your parents. I wish I had a nana and grandpa. You’re very lucky.’

‘Yes, we are,’ I agreed.

The following day I was up and dressed by 8.30 and, leaving Adrian and Paula to sleep, I quietly woke Michael, as Colleen and Eamon were collecting him at 9.45. I suggested he showered and then came down and had breakfast in his dressing gown before he put on his suit ready for church. ‘Yes, that’s what I do at home,’ he said. ‘So it stays clean.’

We usually have a cooked breakfast on a Sunday and Michael said he’d like a bacon sandwich with tomato ketchup, so while he showered I went downstairs and cooked his bacon and my scrambled eggs. Presently Michael appeared in his dressing gown, followed by Adrian and Paula in theirs: they had woken to the smell of bacon cooking, so it was eggs and bacon all round.

Once Michael had finished he went upstairs to brush his teeth and change into his suit. He was downstairs again, ready and looking very smart, by 9.30. The suit, shirt and tie he was wearing were his ‘Sunday best’, and he’d been wearing them when he and Patrick had come to dinner straight from church the month before. I thought back to that day and the lovely time we’d all had with fondness. How well Patrick had been then. He certainly couldn’t cope with all that now; but he will again soon, I told myself, when he’s better and out of hospital.

Michael sat upright on the sofa while he waited for Colleen and Eamon. ‘Do you want to play until they come?’ Paula asked Michael from where she was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the farmyard set.

Michael looked at the game. ‘I’m not allowed when I’ve got my suit on,’ he said, which I hadn’t told him, so I guessed it was Patrick’s rule – to stop Michael spoiling his suit when he was ready to go to church, which seemed reasonable.

The doorbell rang shortly before 9.45 and Colleen was on the doorstep, looking very smart in a pale-blue matching skirt and jacket. Eamon was waiting in the car and gave a little wave. I knew they hadn’t time to come in, so I called Michael, who was in the sitting room. Adrian and Paula, still in their dressing gowns, followed Michael to the front door. Colleen said hello to all three of them and asked how they were. ‘Good,’ Michael said. Paula grinned shyly while Adrian answered for them both: ‘Very well, thank you.’

Colleen confirmed she would be returning Michael after hospital visiting at approximately 4.30 p.m. I thanked her, and Adrian, Paula and I waited on the doorstep as Michael got into the car and then waved as the car pulled away. I closed the front door and, telling Adrian and Paula they should wash and dress before they continued playing, I led the way upstairs. Adrian showered first and I then ran a bath for Paula. She played for a while in the water before I helped her out and to dress.

Sometimes, if I am fostering a child with behaviour problems who is very demanding and needs a lot of attention, I appreciate the time they are away and out of the house so that I can relax and also give Adrian and Paula some attention, but this wasn’t so with Michael. As soon as I closed the front door I felt someone was missing. It was similar to the feeling I had when Paula or Adrian were out at friends or with their father: while I was pleased they were having a nice time, I missed them and the house didn’t seem right without them. So it was with Michael, and I wasn’t the only one who felt this. ‘What time is Michael coming home?’ Adrian and Paula asked every so often, glancing at the clock.

When Colleen and Eamon returned Michael they came in for a cup of tea. Having come straight from the hospital, Colleen said she was gasping and was grateful for the offer. Michael changed out of his suit and into casual clothes, and then the children played with his Scalextric while Colleen, Eamon and I took our tea into the sitting room. Colleen and Eamon both said how much they’d enjoyed having Michael’s company and that he’d spoken fondly of us, which was nice. They said that at church the priest had included Patrick in their prayers and Patrick’s friends had asked Michael how his dad was. ‘So there was some point in going to church,’ Eamon put in, looking pointedly at his wife. I guessed Colleen was the more enthusiastic churchgoer and Eamon went along to keep her happy.

‘Do Nora and Jack go to the same church?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Colleen said. ‘They’re not Catholics.’

‘Lucky Jack,’ Eamon said, which Colleen ignored.

Colleen went on to say that Pat sent his love and best wishes to me, and she thought he had definitely improved since the last time she’d seen him. Eamon agreed. She said she was sure Pat would be home by the following weekend, but if he wasn’t then they would be happy to take Michael to the hospital on Saturday and to church and hospital on Sunday. I thanked them.

‘No need to thank us,’ Eamon said. ‘You’ll be doing us a favour. We’re pleased to have Michael any time.’ And again I thought it was sad they hadn’t had children of their own, as they were a lovely couple who would have made loving and caring parents.

I refilled their cups of tea and then at about 5.30 Colleen said they needed to be going, as they were going out later. I called the children downstairs to say goodbye and we saw them to the door. Colleen kissed and hugged Michael and he returned her affection. ‘Remember,’ she said again to me as they left, ‘if you need help taking Michael to see his father give us a ring.’ I said I would.