The Night the Angels Came (26 page)

T
he following morning the school routine took over, so there was little time for me to dwell on the funeral later that morning. But it was strange not waking Michael, hearing him in the shower, seeing him at the breakfast table or taking him to school. I wondered how he was feeling on his first morning in his new home and I consoled myself that Colleen and Eamon would be on hand to hug and comfort him. Without the need to take Michael to school first I now drove straight to Adrian’s school, where Paula and I waited in the playground until the bell rang and Adrian went in. It was the last week of the summer term, so on Friday the schools would break up for the long summer holiday. There wouldn’t be much work done this week in class but lots of fun activities. Already I could hear the excitement of the children who ran around me in the playground, which was a strange contrast to what I was feeling, about to go to a funeral.

It was the same at Paula’s nursery – lots of excited chatter as parents saw their children in for what would be their last week at nursery before they began ‘big school’ in September. I reminded Farah, the nursery assistant, that my parents would be collecting Paula; then, giving Paula a big hug, I said goodbye to her and that I would see her later in the afternoon.

It wasn’t until I returned home and was alone that I started to feel down and worried about how I was going to cope at Pat’s funeral. I hadn’t been to many funerals, fortunately, only my grandparents’ and that of a close friend, but I knew how upsetting I had found the services and the difficulty I’d had in controlling my emotions. Other mourners had seemed so brave and composed while I’d snivelled into a tissue and fought to hide my emotions and tears.

Reigning in my thoughts, I washed up the breakfast dishes and then wrote a note for Mum and Dad. They had keys to my house, so after they’d collected Paula from nursery they would let themselves in. Mum had insisted on cooking lunch, so my note said simply:
Thanks very much for your help. Take whatever you need from the freezer. See you later. Love Cathy. X
I propped it in front of the coffee jar and, steeling myself, went upstairs and into my bedroom, where I opened my wardrobe door. I took out my grey two-piece suit, light-grey blouse, new stockings and black court shoes and laid them on the bed. Concentrating on changing and not the reason why, I dressed in my smart outfit and then checked my appearance in the mirror. Looping my handbag over my arm, I went slowly downstairs and let myself out of the front door.

It was 10.40 when I arrived in the crematorium car park and parked in a bay by the hedge. I cut the engine, tried to silence my racing heart, and looked around. There were a dozen or so other cars parked; some of the cars were empty and others had occupants, presumably also waiting for Pat’s funeral. A group of about five men and women about Pat’s age stood together in one corner of the car park. I didn’t recognize anyone. Releasing my seat belt, I lowered my window a little for some air. It was a dry warm day, humid almost, but with a grey overcast sky. As I waited, other cars arrived and parked. I looked out of the window and concentrated on the neatly tended gardens awash with flowers, and listened to the birds singing in the trees overhead. My stomach churned. If I was feeling anxious, what must poor Michael be feeling? A lump rose to my throat.

Ten minutes later the cortège, led by a shiny black hearse, slowly pulled into view and on to the forecourt; I felt my eyes start to fill. Patrick’s coffin on display in the rear of the hearse seemed even more pronounced with no bouquets of flowers covering it and therefore shielding it partly from view. Pat had asked that donations be made to cancer research rather than sending flowers. The hearse drew to a halt in front of the chapel followed by two shiny black limousines carrying mourners. As I looked at the first car I saw Michael’s little face peer out of the side window. He looked so small and sad as he anxiously scanned the unfamiliar scene outside the car. Colleen was seated next to him and slipped her arm around his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Eamon was sitting next to her, and on the seat behind were Nora and Jack. There were other mourners in the second car but apart from Father Murphy from Michael’s school I didn’t recognize anyone.

Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I opened the door and got out. Other mourners were also getting out of their cars. Small groups gradually formed and then moved forward to wait a short distance from the hearse. I too went forward. Jack saw me and came over with Nora, and shook my hand warmly.

‘How are you, love?’ Jack asked.

‘All right, thank you, and yourselves?’

‘Not too bad,’ Jack said. I noticed Nora didn’t say anything and looked very close to tears.

My gaze went again to Michael, who was now out of the limousine and standing between Colleen and Eamon near the back of the hearse. Eamon had a reassuring hand on Michael’s shoulder and Colleen was holding Michael’s other hand. Michael looked so smart in his Sunday suit and I knew Pat would be proud of him.

The pall-bearers began raising the rear door of the hearse, and then slowly very slowly slid out the coffin. I felt my pulse quicken and I looked at Michael, who was staring at the coffin, his face sad and empty. With one movement the pall-bearers effortlessly lifted the coffin on to their shoulders and, turning, faced the chapel. The mourners moved forward in pairs, ready to form a procession and follow the coffin into the chapel. Jack offered me his arm so that I wouldn’t have to walk into chapel alone, which was thoughtful of him. Nora took his other arm, and Jack guided us to stand behind Eamon, Michael and Colleen. I felt touched and honoured that I was being included at the head of the procession with the other chief mourners.

Michael turned and looked at me and I managed a reassuring smile. What an ordeal for a child of eight to have to go through, I thought. I wanted to reach out and hug him. We waited in silence as the other mourners lined up behind us; then the chapel doors opened. Organ music came from inside and our procession began to move slowly forward. The coffin rode high in front and appeared to lead the way. We went to the front of the chapel and the pall-bearers placed the coffin on the raised plinth. Michael, Eamon and Colleen crossed themselves and then slid into the first row of chairs. Nora, Jack and I, together with Father Murphy, slid into the second row. Once all the mourners were in the chapel it was full, with some standing at the back. I estimated there were over a hundred people present: a sign of just how popular and liked Patrick had been. The organ music stopped and the service began.

Having never been to a Roman Catholic funeral before and therefore not knowing what to expect, I found I was soon caught up in the relative formality of the service, which placed emphasis on the resurrection of Christ. It wasn’t until the priest leading the service, who was also the priest from the Sacred Heart Church where Pat and Michael worshipped, began a tribute that I felt my eyes well and my lip tremble. Because the priest knew Patrick and Michael personally his words were warm and sincere as he spoke. He spoke of Pat as being an honest, kind and trustworthy person as well as a good practising Catholic. The priest praised the way Pat had brought up Michael and said he was a fine example of what a father could and should be. As he spoke I reached for my tissue; so too did Colleen and Nora, and I could hear other mourners behind me clearing their throats and blowing their noses. It was the personal tribute in an otherwise formal ceremony that stood out and was so poignantly touching.

Michael was very brave until near the end of the service when the priest gave the final blessing and Michael realized it would be the last time he would be with his father. He buried his head in Colleen’s side and sobbed; Colleen had her arm around him and held him close. The doors opened and mourners were starting to leave. Colleen said something to Michael and I saw him nod. With her arm around Michael the two of them took the few steps to where the coffin rested. Michael put his hands together and closed his eyes and his lips moved in silent prayer. Opening his eyes, he crossed himself and taking a stop forward he kissed the coffin. I felt my eyes well and Nora, standing beside me, cried openly. The image of Michael standing so small and reverent beside his father’s coffin is one I shall carry with me for ever.

I followed Nora and Jack out of the chapel and once outside I walked away to a corner of the shrubbed car park to compose myself. I wasn’t the only one; others were taking a few minutes out – walking or standing alone – and those who smoked had formed a small group and were lighting up and inhaling deeply.

Presently Jack came over to me. ‘Are you all right, love?’ he asked kindly, touching my arm.

‘Yes, thank you. Is Nora?’

‘She’s in the car waiting. You are coming back to Colleen and Eamon’s for refreshments?’

‘I told Colleen I would,’ I said.

‘Good. You know where they live?’

I nodded.

‘We’ll see you there, then.’

Jack went over to the limousine and climbed in beside Nora. Colleen and Michael were already in the car and Eamon was now getting in, having been talking to other mourners. I went to my car and waited inside for the two limousines to leave; then I started the engine and reversed out of the parking space. It was nearly 12.30 p.m. and Paula would be at home now, enjoying the attention of her nana and grandpa. I wished I was with them.

It was a fifteen-minute drive to Colleen and Eamon’s house and when I arrived their street was already full of cars. I found a place to park in the next road and, getting out, I straightened my skirt and then made my way round to their house. Arriving alone instead of in a couple was something I was having to get used to, but it was at times like this – when I could have done with a reassuring arm – that I really felt it. Had it not been for Michael I think I would have gone straight home.

I rang the doorbell and someone I didn’t recognize, but who clearly knew me, answered. ‘Hello, Cathy,’ the man said warmly. ‘Come in, love. I’m Sean, Eamon’s brother.’

We shook hands as I stepped into the hall. The house was teeming with people and the air buzzed with conversation. It was more like a party than a gathering after a funeral, and I guessed most of those who had been at the crematorium were now crammed into the house. Sean showed me through to the front room, where small groups of people with glasses in their hands were chatting and even laughing. A drinks table with bottles and glasses, and another table with a cold buffet, stretched round the bay window. Sean introduced me to his wife and grown son and daughter, and also to another brother and sister-in-law, who were together talking in one group. They all shook my hand warmly and said how pleased they were to meet me.

‘What can I get you to drink, love?’ Sean asked me.

I don’t usually drink at lunchtime but after the morning I felt ‘in need’ of a drink. ‘A small white wine, please,’ I said to Sean.

Sean poured me a generous measure and I stood chatting with him and his family. As with many people I meet, once they know I foster they ask about fostering, as often it’s something they’ve considered doing. We talked for a while about the ups and downs of fostering and children in general and then Colleen entered the room, and came to me. ‘If you don’t mind, Cathy,’ she said, ‘Michael would like to show you his room. Is that OK?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen him since I arrived.’

Leaving my wine glass on a coaster on the bureau, I followed Colleen out of the front room, squeezed past people standing in the hall, and to where Michael was waiting, near the foot of the stairs at the rear of the house. He grinned when he saw me, and was clearly relieved the ordeal of the funeral was over. He threw his arms around my waist and hugged me hard.

‘Good to see you again,’ I said, kissing the top of his head.

‘Come and see my room,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s great. I’ve got all my things here.’ Colleen, who was standing beside us, smiled with pride.

‘Lead the way,’ I said.

‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Colleen said, and went off to tend to her other guests as I followed Michael upstairs.

The house appeared to be a three-bedroom townhouse which had been extended into the loft to make a fourth bedroom. Michael’s room was at the very top, up two flights of stairs, but as we entered his room I gasped. It wasn’t so much a bedroom as a suite. Colleen and Eamon had never boasted about Michael’s room, but it was huge; the room together with the en-suite bathroom took up the entire top floor.

‘This is amazing,’ I said looking around the room. ‘Aren’t you lucky?’

Michael nodded.

As well as being a very big room it was light and airy, with a large dormer window overlooking the garden. The window was open and guests’ voices could be heard floating up from the garden below. Colleen had said Eamon was going to decorate Michael’s bedroom but it was already well decorated, although perhaps a little young for Michael now. The wallpaper, which matched the curtains and lampshade, were dark blue with cartoon characters from pre-school television programmes.

‘I used to stay here when I was little,’ Michael said, grinning. ‘I think I’m going to have Batman wallpaper now like Adrian.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ I said.

The wardrobe was in the same wood as the bed frame, as were the chest of drawers and work station, which would be ideal for Michael when he had homework to do. But what impressed me most wasn’t the size of the room, nor that it had its own bathroom, but that it was full of Michael’s belongings. Colleen and Eamon must have worked very hard to bring all Michael’s possessions here and arrange them, so that when Michael arrived he would feel at home and settle more easily. His Superman duvet was on the bed, two large teddy bears – clearly old favourites – sat on the pillow, and Michael’s dressing gown hung on a hook behind the door. As Michael proudly opened the wardrobe doors I saw his clothes hanging neatly on the rail, and likewise his drawers contained his underclothes, socks and T-shirts, all neatly folded. His books lined the bookshelves, and four large toy boxes at one end of the room brimmed with his toys. But most important of all, in the very centre of the room was his Scalextric – set up and with two cars at the finishing line. ‘Uncle Eamon’s been playing with me,’ Michael said. ‘But he’s nowhere near as good as Adrian. Will Adrian come over and play some time soon?’