The Night the Angels Came (9 page)

‘Thanks for everything, Cathy,’ Patrick said again, kissing my cheek. ‘I’ll phone you during the week and perhaps we can all get together?’

‘Yes, that would be nice, and it was good meeting your friends. I’ve enjoyed it. They are lovely people.’

‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ Patrick agreed.

Adrian and Paula said goodbye and then just as we were about to leave Colleen’s voice called from the sitting room, ‘Wait! You’ve forgotten the flowers.’

We waited in the hall as Colleen went into the kitchen and returned with the flowers. ‘Thanks,’ I said to her, and then to Patrick, ‘The flowers are lovely. It was very thoughtful of you.’

‘It was nothing.’

Colleen returned to the sitting room while Patrick opened the front door and then came with us down the path. He stood at his front gate, slightly leaning against it, as the three of us climbed into the car.

‘Drive safely,’ he called.

‘I will. Take care of yourself.’

We all waved as I pulled away, and seeing Patrick standing there so very healthy, albeit a little tired, I began to think that a little miracle might have happened and the doctors had been wrong in their prognosis.

J
ill phoned as promised on Monday for an update and I told her very enthusiastically of our weekend, culminating in my taking Michael home and meeting his family’s friends. ‘Patrick looks so well,’ I gushed, ‘I’m wondering if he’s gone into remission. I’ve read of cases of spontaneous remission, where the doctors had tried everything and given a person only a few months to live and miraculously the person is cured. There was a case in the paper a couple of weeks ago where a woman had an inoperable brain tumour and was only given weeks to live. That was ten years ago and she’s still alive today. When the doctors X-rayed her the tumour had completely gone.’

‘Really,’ Jill said doubtfully as I finished. ‘As far as I’m aware Patrick’s prognosis is unchanged.’

‘But doctors can be wrong. It does happen,’ I insisted.

‘Yes, but not very often, which is why these cases make news.’

Although I respected Jill as my support social worker and we had a good professional working relationship, I sometimes found her too practical and down to earth, pessimistic almost. I guessed her attitude had come from years of being a social worker and having to deal with child-abuse cases. They had taken the shine out of her. But I thrive on optimism and see my glass as half full whereas Jill sees hers half empty.

‘There’s always hope,’ I said. ‘In every situation.’

‘Agreed, and as long as it doesn’t affect your judgement there shouldn’t be a problem. As I said at the beginning of this case, when I first approached you about looking after Michael, it is very unusual and I don’t want you and the kids getting hurt more than you have to.’

‘No, I’ll remember what you said. Thanks, Jill.’ Although of course Patrick was no longer ‘a case’ but my friend and confidant, to whom I already felt very close.

Shortly after Jill phoned Stella phoned to see how the weekend had gone and I repeated what I’d said to Jill, omitting my hope that Patrick could possibly be in remission.

‘He looks well,’

I ended. ‘Yes, I phoned Patrick this morning and he said the blood transfusion had helped a lot and he felt better than he had done in a long while. I’ve also spoken to your support social worker, Jill, and explained I’m not sure when we will be needing you to have Michael again. It will depend on how well Patrick does.’

‘Yes, I understand that.’

‘Well, thanks for having Michael at such short notice,’ Stella wound up. ‘Hopefully next time he stays with you we’ll have a bit more notice.’

‘No problem,’ I said, and then hesitated. ‘Stella, I assume you have no objection if Patrick and I meet up with the children before Michael stays again?’

‘No, not at all. That’s very kind of you. Keeping the contact going now will make it easier for Michael if or when he does have to stay with you again.’

‘Good. That’s what we thought,’ I said. And in that ‘we’ – Patrick and I – I heard a unit, a small bond, of a couple, that I hadn’t heard in a long while, although, of course, as far as Stella was concerned I was simply a conscientious foster carer doing her job.

While Patrick had said he’d phone me during the week he hadn’t said when, so it was a complete surprise when shortly before 1.00 p.m. on that Monday I answered the phone to hear Patrick’s voice, bright and breezy with its sing-song Irish accent: ‘Hello, Cathy. How are you doing?’

‘I’m doing very well,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

‘Good. Very good indeed. In fact I’m feeling so well I was thinking of taking you out to dinner one evening this week, as a thank you.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh, I see. What, without the children, you mean?’

He gave a small laugh. ‘Yes. Will they let you out alone? Do you have a babysitter?’

I thought; not about finding a babysitter – I had plenty of friends I could ask – but that I hadn’t been out with a man since John had left; indeed I hadn’t been out socially in the evening without the children at all. I thought for longer than I should, which led Patrick to say, ‘It’s all right to say no. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ I said quickly. ‘I’d like to, really I would.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll let you choose which evening would suit you best and then I’ll ask Nora or Colleen to sit with Michael.’

I thought again. ‘I think Wednesday or Thursday will probably be best but I’ll need to check with my sitter first.’

‘OK. Speak to her and then give me a ring and we’ll take it from there.’

I said I would and, still reeling from the shock of being asked out and now struggling with the thought of trying to find something in my wardrobe to wear, I made conversation as best I could. Patrick asked me how Monday morning had gone and if we’d got to school on time, and then said Michael hadn’t stopped talking about his weekend with us.

‘You’d be surprised how much I know about you,’ Patrick teased.

‘Oh yes? What’s Michael been telling you?’ I laughed. ‘That you always go downstairs for a mug of coffee before you shower and dress in the morning. And when you stir your tea you give the spoon a little clink on the side of the mug to clear the droplet, just as I do.’

‘Michael noticed that?’ I said, surprised.

‘Yes. He also said you always try to be cheerful and look on the bright side but if something upsets you your eyes water as though you’re about to cry. And if you’re worried about something you don’t say anything but you chew your bottom lip, and your favourite expression is: “Come on, best foot forward,” as on the TV series
Dad’s Army
.’

I laughed again. ‘That’s not fair. I only say that when I’m trying to get the children to hurry up, if we have to be somewhere.’

‘I know. I told Michael I hoped you didn’t have to say it to him too often.’

‘No, he was great. They all were.’

We chatted for about another twenty minutes and then wound up. Patrick was going to the shops to buy Colleen and Nora a box of chocolates each to thank them for their help at the weekend, and I had things to do in the house before I collected Paula, who’d gone to a friend’s for lunch after nursery. We said goodbye and before we hung up Patrick reminded me to phone him as soon as I’d spoken to my sitter – as if I was likely to forget!

With a mixture of apprehension and excitement, as soon as we’d finished on the phone I ran upstairs and into my bedroom, where I flung open my wardrobe doors and confronted the rail of clothes. What should I wear for my dinner out with Patrick? What could I wear? Most of my clothes were practical everyday garments – jeans, trousers, tops and plain skirts. There were a couple of smart suits for meetings and I had two evening dresses which clearly weren’t suitable, plus what I called my Sunday best clothes for special family occasions, none of which seemed right for dinner out with Patrick. I hadn’t bought myself any new clothes in a long while and I decided now might be a good opportunity. Then I caught myself and thought that I’d better find a sitter for Adrian and Paula first – otherwise new clothes wouldn’t be necessary.

I had a couple of very close friends, Rose and Jenny, whom I could ask to sit. They were friends I’d known from before my marriage and whom I’d stayed in touch with. Rose and Jenny had been encouraging me to start going out in the evening and had offered to babysit before. I phoned Rose first but her line was busy, so I tried Jenny’s number and she answered after a few rings.

‘Hi, Cath. How are you?’ she said on hearing my voice. ‘Good. Are you?’

‘Yes, Ben and I booked a holiday to Egypt at the weekend.’

‘Fantastic. When are you going?’

‘Not until the October half-term break, another six months. But the boys are already very excited at the thought of seeing the pyramids and the pharaohs’ tombs in the Valley of the Kings.’

Jenny and her husband, Ben, had two boys aged eight and six. When Jenny had finished telling me about the holiday they’d booked I asked her if she could babysit: ‘Wednesday or Thursday would be good for me,’ I said.

‘Sure,’ Jenny said without hesitation. ‘Thursday would be best. Ben works in head office on Wednesday and doesn’t get home until late.’

‘Thanks very much,’ I said.

There was a small pause before Jenny laughed and then asked, ‘So who is he?’

I also laughed. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘No?’

‘No. You remember I said I was going to foster a boy called Michael whose father was ill?’

‘Yes. They came for a visit, didn’t they?’

‘That’s right. Then at very short notice Michael stayed last weekend when his father, Patrick, went into hospital. Well, he’s out now and wants to take me to dinner to say thank you.’

‘Great,’ Jenny enthused. ‘So he’s not as ill as the doctors thought he was?’

‘He’s very much better at present,’ I said.

‘Good. What time do you want me on Thursday?’

‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll phone Patrick and get back to you. Is that OK?’

‘Sure. Any time after six is fine with me.’

‘Thanks, Jenny.’

‘You’re welcome.’

With only a few minutes before I had to leave to collect Paula from her friend’s, I quickly dialled Patrick’s landline number, but he didn’t pick up, so I guessed he’d already left to go the shops. I hung up and, slipping on my shoes and coat, let myself out, texting Patrick as I went:
I hve a sitter 4 Thrsdy. Wht time? Cathy x

In the car I slotted my mobile into the hands-free attachment on the dashboard and started the engine, but before I’d reversed off the drive my phone bleeped with an incoming text message. Taking the car out of gear, I picked up the phone and pressed to read the text. It was from Patrick:
Great. 7pm ok? I’ll collect u by cab, save u drivn. P x

I texted back:
Thanks. Lookin 4wrd to it. C x

And the thought that Patrick was going to the trouble of arranging a cab so I didn’t have to drive made the evening even more special.

I’ve found in the past that good news is often tempered by bad and vice versa, as if the powers that be want to give you a reality check. Feeling good and looking forward to Thursday, I arrived home with the children shortly after 4.00 p.m. and the landline went. It was Jill. Having spoken to her that morning and updated her on the weekend, I knew she must be phoning with some news. I was right, and it wasn’t good news.

‘I’ve been speaking to Stella,’ she said. ‘You remember we were told that Patrick had an aunt living in Wales – his mother’s sister?’

‘Yes.’

‘Apparently Patrick has contacted her about the possibility of her looking after Michael long term if it becomes necessary, and she is adamant she can’t. I’m not sure of the reason. Patrick has told Stella that the only other relatives he has are two distant cousins in America and he hasn’t addresses for either of them, so they are non-starters. Stella has therefore explained to Patrick that when it becomes necessary the department will start family finding to find a long-term foster family for Michael.’

‘I see,’ I said slowly.

If a child cannot be looked after by his or her parents then a member of the wider family is usually considered to be the next best option; this is called kinship caring in fostering. If there is no suitable family member, then a long-term foster family is found. I was (and still am) a short-term carer, although the definition is flexible and children have stayed with me for years. However, if a child is placed permanently at the outset with a foster family, that has to be approved by the permanency panel, which also oversees adoption. This is to ensure the family is a good match for the child, which is vital if the child is to successfully integrate and bond with the family.

It was sad that there was no one in Michael’s family to look after him (when it became necessary, as Jill put it) and even sadder that Michael would be moved from us and have to get to know another foster family. However, I realized what a huge commitment it would be if I offered to keep Michael, and I also acknowledged that it might not be considered the best option for him. I was now a one-parent family, and had a son the same age as Michael, which isn’t usually considered ideal, but that didn’t stop me from staying: ‘Patrick is very well at present, but should Michael ever need a permanent family then I think we should be considered.’

‘I thought you might say that,’ Jill said, ‘but I think we will wait and see what happens in the short term first. See how Michael settles with you if Patrick has to go into hospital again. Stella won’t be starting family finding until nearer the …’ She stopped but I knew she had been about to say ‘the end’.

‘All right, Jill. I understand. Was there anything else? I’m just about to start making dinner.’

‘No, that’s all.’

I felt down after speaking to Jill: the talk of ‘when it becomes necessary’, and ‘near the –’, and knowing Michael was without relatives, made me so sad. I thought of my own family – my parents, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins and even, begrudgingly, John, all of whom would have given Adrian and Paula a home if anything happened to me. Yet Michael had no one apart from his father, and how dreadfully worrying must that be for Patrick in his situation.