by Cathy Glass
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, not fully appreciating what he was trying to say. ‘You look after your toys and it’ll be safe up here. I know your dad won’t mind.’
‘Dad won’t mind,’ he said. ‘Dad wants me to play and be happy, but what about God? Will he mind?’
I was taken aback. ‘Of course not. God would want you to be happy too, not feel guilty about playing.’ I didn’t know where Michael had got his feelings of religious guilt from, it certainly wasn’t from Patrick, and I didn’t think it was healthy. I remembered Michael’s bedtime prayer when he’d stayed with us before: ‘Lord … I hope you don’t mind me being happy. I still love my daddy but it’s nice to play sometimes.’ Then there’d been his worry earlier at the hospital that his lack of devoti had caused his father to collapse on the way home from church; and now this comment. Although I didn’t know much about the Catholic religion, I was sure its faith wasn’t based on, or fuelled by, guilt.
‘I’ll say an extra prayer tonight,’ Michael said, obviously still thinking about it.
‘If you wish, and you can blame it on me,’ I said lightly. ‘Explain it was my decision to bring your Scalextric here and let you play with it, not yours. I take full responsibility,’ which seemed to help, as Michael grinned at me conspiratorially.
‘All right,’ he said, and more happily set the car on the track. Leaving Michael putting the finishing touches to the layout of the track, I went downstairs. I wondered if it was Michael’s school which had taught the children to fear God, or perhaps it was something he’d heard and had misinterpreted in the Catholic teachings at church. But either way I didn’t want him saddled with the added burden of guilt for being happy, and if my taking responsibility for his playing helped then I was more than willing to do so. I was sure the God who watched over me, whoever he was, would continue to forgive my transgressions, just as I hoped he had done in the past.
At five o’clock I was looking out from behind the net curtains in the front room, watching out for Adrian and Paula. Although I had faith in John’s ability to look after the children and keep them safe, I was always relieved when they were home again safely. Michael now had his Scalextric fully operational and I could hear the electric cars racing around the track upstairs. I’d offered to play with him but he’d said he’d wait for Adrian, although first I would have to explain to Adrian and Paula why Michael was here, preferably after John had said goodbye and I’d closed the front door.
A few minutes later John’s car drew up and parked outside the house. I still found it strange seeing him park and get out, knowing that he wouldn’t be coming in or staying. I watched him unseen from behind the net curtains and I wondered if he too felt uncomfortable returning to the house that had previously been his home. As the children began down the garden path I left the front room and went into the hall, ready to answer the door as soon as the bell rang.
‘Hi!’ I said, smiling at all three of them. ‘Have you had a good time?’
Paula as usual fell straight into my arms and gave me a big hug, while Adrian, more reserved in showing his emotions, nodded and grinned at me.
‘We’ve had a lovely time, haven’t we?’ John said to the children. They nodded.
‘Good,’ I said, smiling at John. ‘Bye, then. I’ll phone next weekend,’ John said to the children, who were now in the hall.
‘Say goodbye,’ I reminded them. This was always the most difficult part, and part of me felt sorry for John. I couldn’t have said goodbye to my children knowing I wouldn’t be seeing them again for another month, but that was his decision.
Adrian and Paula returned to the doorstep and hugged their father at the same time as Michael appeared on the landing and then began down the stairs. The staircase leads off the hall, so halfway down Michael was clearly visible from the front door.
‘Is Patrick here?’ John asked, quick as a flash. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t come in any more.’ Which seemed to defuse him.
‘Bye, kids,’ he called after Adrian and Paula as they scampered upstairs with Michael.
‘Bye, Dad,’ they called down.
‘Goodbye.’ I smiled politely.
John took a couple of steps down the path and then paused and turned. ‘Have you seen your solicitor yet?’ he asked.
‘I have an appointment next week.’
He nodded stiffly and then continued down the path as I closed the front door and breathed a sigh of relief. I hoped that once he had the divorce he wanted and was free to remarry our conversations would become easier.
I had wanted to explain to Adrian and Paula that Michael was here before they saw him but I hadn’t had the chance, so I now went upstairs and into Michael’s bedroom. The children were grouped around the Scalextric, with the boys working a hand-held control each and Paula watching and waiting for her turn.
‘Patrick’s had to go into hospital, so Michael is staying with us for a few days,’ I said redundantly, as it must have been obvious to Adrian and Paula why Michael was here.
Adrian nodded, intent on the game, while Paula said, ‘Don’t worry, Mum, Michael’s fine with us.’
‘I’m fine,’ Michael confirmed without taking his eyes from the cars.
I smiled and came away, pleased that as a result of all the time Patrick and I had spent together with the children they were relaxed in each other’s company and Michael felt ‘at home’. However, and I hadn’t given it much thought, the downside of this comfort and familiarity the children felt was that as well as bonding with Michael, Adrian and Paula had grown attached to Patrick, and would fret and worry that he was ill – although this didn’t come out until later, when they were tired and getting ready for bed.
I made a light supper at six o’clock and then at seven I began the bath and bedtime routine, ready for school and nursery the following day. As usual, I took Paula, the youngest, up first and helped her into the bath, and then washed her back while she did the rest. I thought she was quieter than usual; normally she loves her bath and there are usually lots of squeals of delight as she plays in the foaming bubble bath.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked her after a while.
‘Yes.’ But a moment later Paula suddenly asked, ‘Does Patrick sleep in a bed in hospital?’ Having never been in a hospital, she wouldn’t know.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There are beds in what are called wards. Each patient – that’s the name for someone who stays in hospital – has their own bed, just like at home.’
‘Will someone look after Patrick at night, while he is in bed?’ she asked.
‘Yes, the nurses. There are nurses on the wards to look after the patients during the day and the night. You know what a nurse is, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Is there a toilet in the ward?’
‘Yes, and a bathroom. You’re not worrying about Patrick, are you?’
‘No.’ But a few seconds later she asked,’
‘Will Patrick have dinner and breakfast there?’
‘Yes, love. Please don’t worry. He’ll have plenty to eat. Meals are brought to the ward on a special trolley that keeps the food warm.’
She thought about this, and then said, ‘I wish Patrick wasn’t in hospital. I wish he was at his house or here with us.’
‘I know, love, but sometimes people have to stay in hospital if they are poorly. He’s being well looked after by the nurses, so please stop worrying.’
She finished washing and I helped her out of the bath and wrapped a towel around her. As I helped her dry herself, she said more lightly, ‘When will we see Patrick again?’
‘In a few days. When he comes out of hospital.’
‘Good. I like Patrick. I mean I love Daddy but I like Patrick. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, love,’ I said, smiling. ‘That’s just fine.’
Adrian and Michael went up to get ready for bed together and then took turns in the shower. Once they were in their pyjamas and in their respective bedrooms I went in to say good
-night, Michael first. He seemed very relaxed and, with his clothes unpacked and in the wardrobe, and the Scalextric on the floor at the foot of his bed, quite at home. He was placing the racing cars in their pit stops for the night and I noticed he’d even taken the plug from the wall socket. Before climbing into bed he knelt and clasped his hands together, ready to say his prayers. I respectfully looked away as I usually did but Michael’s prayer was quick and light tonight: ‘God bless Mummy, Daddy, Nora, Jack, Colleen, Eamon, my friend David at school, Cathy, Adrian, Paula and their daddy. Amen.’ Opening his eyes, he sprang into bed.
‘That was nice,’ I said, pleased his prayers hadn’t been laden with guilt and asking for forgiveness for enjoying himself. ‘Night,’ I said, kissing his forehead and straightening the duvet.
‘Night, Cathy,’ he said, smiling. ‘Can you open my curtains a bit like you did last time, so I can see the stars?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I went to the curtains and parted them slightly in the middle, although the stars weren’t visible yet as the sky hadn’t fully darkened. ‘Is that all right?’ I asked.
He smiled and nodded. ‘Dad will be looking at the sky too,’ Michael said, clearly finding comfort in this. I said goodnight again and left him lying in bed, gazing towards the window with a contented smile on his face.
However, it was a different matterin Adrian’s room. He was changed and about to get into bed, but I knew immediately from his expression there was something worrying him. I also knew that unlike Paula, who voiced her concerns, I would need to coax whatever was worrying Adrian out of him.
‘You look a bit sad,’ I said as he got into bed and I perched on the edge. ‘Is there something bothering you?’
He gave a small dismissive shrug, which I knew translated as yes.
‘Can you tell me what it is?’ I asked. Adrian shrugged. ‘You know the saying,’ I persisted: ‘a problem shared is a problem halved. Telling me will help.’
There was a small pause when Adrian looked down and fiddled with the duvet before he admitted, ‘It’s Patrick. And you.’
I looked at him, puzzled. ‘Patrick and me? What’s the matter? Can you explain?’
He fiddled some more with the duvet, clearly finding if very difficult to say what he was thinking, while my thoughts worked overtime on what could possibly be worrying him about Patrick and me.
‘Adrian, love, can you try and explain what you mean?’ I tried again. ‘And then I can help.’
He took a small breath and without looking at me said, ‘Michael said his daddy has lung cancer.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ I hadn’t explained the exact nature of Patrick’s illness to the children – that he had cancer, which had begun in the lungs. It seemed enough for them to know that Patrick was ill with what I’d described as a nasty disease.
‘Michael said his dad’s lung cancer was because he used to smoke,’ Adrian said anxiously.
‘It’s possible,’ I said. ‘A lot more is known now about the dangers of smoking than when Patrick smoked in his twenties.’
There was another pause before Adrian said, without looking up, ‘Dad told me you used to smoke. Will you get lung cancer like Patrick?’
Thank you, John, I thought: I need help like that. ‘No,’ I said. ‘That was years ago, before I had you and Paula. And I didn’t smoke much. I’m fine, and it’s possible Patrick’s illness wasn’t caused by smoking. People who have never smoked sometimes get lung cancer.’ For I didn’t want Adrian to feel that Patrick was to blame for his illness and therefore Michael’s suffering. ‘When did your dad tell you I smoked?’ I asked, wondering why he had felt the need to tell the children.
‘A few months ago. We saw some boys smoking in the park and Dad gave me a lecture on not smoking. I told him I wouldn’t ever smoke. It’s disgusting and makes you smell.’
‘Good,’ I said and thought that my son was clearly far more sensible than I had been.
Then Adrian looked at me and said quietly, ‘Mum, Patrick will come out of hospital, won’t he?’
I took his hand between mine. ‘Yes, of course. Once the test results are back the doctors will give Patrick the medicinee needs and he’ll be out in a few days.’
‘Good,’ Adrian said, at last smiling. ‘I like Patrick and Michael.’
‘So do I, love.
Having spent some time reassuring Paula and Adrian, it was after 8.30 when I went downstairs. I tidied up and then went into the lounge with a cup of tea. I knew visiting at the hospital was 6.00–8.00 p.m., so I was expecting Nora’s phone call any time. In fact it was nearly ten o’clock before she phoned – when I’d been about to phone her. The poor woman sounded exhausted; I also knew straight away there was something badly wrong.
Chapter Eighteen
News and No News
‘Sorry I didn’t phone sooner,’ Nora began, her voice strained. ‘I’ve only just got in. Colleen and Eamon were at the hospital and we waited behind to talk to a nurse.’
‘How is Patrick?’ I broke in, eager for news.
She sighed. ‘The nurse didn’t really say more than we already knew – that they would know more when the test results are back in the morning – but I …’ Nora paused, trying to find the right words to voice her thoughts. ‘I know I can say this to you, Cathy, and obviously don’t say anything to Michael, but I have a bad feeling about this – about how ill Patrick really is.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, a cold chill running up my spine.
‘I think Pat’s illness could have progressed further than he’s been letting on. Jack does too.’
‘You think he’s purposely not told us?’
‘Yes. I could be wrong but Pat’s a great one for protecting others, especially Michael.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, searching for every reason to disbelieve her. ‘I’ve seen quite a lot of Patrick recently and he was fine until yesterday. What makes you think he’s worse than he’s been saying?’
‘
‘It’s difficult to explain. He was lying too still; he barely stirred in the whole two hours we were there, and his colour is dreadful. He wasn’t like that when he was ill before – even when he collapsed and was taken to hospital. Perhaps it’s the medication they’re giving him, but when I saw him, so still and pale, it reminded me of the last time I saw my father in the nursing home.’
I felt my stomach clench. ‘He didn’t wake at all the whole time you were there? I asked.
‘Once, sort of. He half opened his eyes and seemed to focus on us. I took the opportunity to tell him Michael was with you and you’d collected his things.’
‘Good.’
‘I don’t know if he heard me. He didn’t say anything and his eyes closed again almost imediately. The four of us stayed until the end of visiting but I don’t think he knew we were there. How is Michael?’ Nora finished.
‘All right, considering. He’s asleep now. He’s had a good evening. I’ll take him to school in the morning. What do you think I should tell him about his dad?’
Nora let out another small sigh. ‘Just reassure him for now, until we know more. Patrick wouldn’t want him being upset unnecessarily. Hopefully once the test results return they’ll be able to give Pat something to get him back on his feet.’
‘Will you phone me again as soon as you know anything?’ I asked. ‘It’s no good me phoning the hospital: they won’t tell me anything as I’m not family.’
‘Nor me. I’m just the neighbour as far as they’re concerned, although Jack and I have been close friends of Pat’s for twenty years. Colleen and Eamon are down as next of kin. Colleen is going to phone the hospital tomorrow morning, and then phone me. Either she or I will phone you.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thank goodness Patrick has friends like you.’
We said goodbye and I hung up. I remained where I was, sitting on the sofa, and stared into space. I ran through all Nora had said, which wasn’t a lot, still searching for hope. I knew what Nora had mea
nt when she’d said Patrick was very still and pale. I’d seen that earlier when I’d collected Michael from the hospital. Usually Patrick had a ruddy complexion but he’d looked almost grey. He was also an active man, even since his illness, and seeing him lying so still seemed unnatural. Whether or not his condition was worse than he’d let on, as Nora and Jack thought, I didn’t know. I’d have hoped Patrick would have confided in me – we’d shared a lot in the time we’d known each other. I also had no idea when Michael would be able to see his father again and I knew that that would be one of the first questions he’d ask in the morning. It was therefore with a very heavy heart that half an hour later I switched off the television and went up to bed, hoping the following day would bring better news.
I didn’t sleep. I thought of Patrick as I’d seen him in A & E, with the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, and poor Michael sitting beside his bed looking so very sad and alone. I thought of Patrick’s jacket hanging over the chair back and the scuff mark on the shoulder, which he would have immediately brushed off had he been able to. I pictured Pat unconscious in the street with Michael kneeling beside him waiting for help; then refusing to be parted from his dad until I’d arrived at the hospital. I also remembered Michael’s words when he’d stayed with me before and we’d looked out of his bedroom window at the night sky: ‘When it’s my daddy’s turn the angels will come from heaven and take him to be with my mummy.’ Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the way Michael had finished his prayer that night: ‘I know you want my daddy, but I’m staying at Cathy’s and haven’t said goodbye. So please don’t send your angels for him yet.’
‘No, don’t send your angels yet,’ I now said quietly, making the prayer my own. ‘None of us has said goodbye.’
The first thing Michael said when I woke him at 7.00 the followin morning was, ‘Did Nora phone? How’s my dad?’
‘Yes, Nora phoned,’ I said brightly. ‘She and Jack, and Auntie Colleen and Uncle Eamon, went to see your dad. Nora said he was having a good sleep but he woke once and Nora was able to tell him you were fine and with me. Dad sends his love.’ Which I knew Patrick would have done had he been well enough.
