The Night the Angels Came

by Cathy Glass

  ‘When can I see him?’ Michael asked. ‘As soon as your dad is feeling a bit better. Auntie Colleen or Nora will phone later when they’ve spoken to the doctors.’

  ‘OK,’ Michael said, reassured and getting out of bed. ‘School today.’

  Leaving Michael to dress in his school uniform, I went to Paula’s bedroom to wake her.

  ‘Is Patrick better?’ Paula asked as soon as she opened her eyes.

  ‘The nurses are looking after him,’ I said, laying her clothes on her bed.

  ‘When’s he coming out of hospital?’

  ‘Soon, I hope.’

  ‘Good.’

  And when I went into Adrian’s room the first thing he asked was: ‘Any news?’

  ‘Nora phoned last night and said Patrick was comfortable. She will phone again later when the test results are back.’

  Leaving Adrian to dress, I checked on Paula’s progress and then went downstairs to make breakfast – toast and cereal. Despite my waking the children in plenty of time to wash, dress and have breakfast there wasn’t a moment to spare, and I had to remind them all to eat rather than talk at the breakfast table if we weren’t going to be late for school, which we weren’t.

  We arrived at Michael’s school at 8.05, ready for his 8.15 start. I saw him into the playground and then turned the car around and headed back to Adrian’s school for his 8.50 start. Then I took Paula to nursery for 9.00, and once I’d seen her in and said goodbye I went straight home.

  Although I knew it was probably too early for the test results and Nora’s phone call, as soon as I let myself into the hall my eyes went to the answerphone in the hall, which showed no messages. I slipped off my shoes and jacket and concentrated on the tasks in hand. There’s always plenty of clearing up to do on a Monday morning, after the weekend. I also wanted to fill in a job-application form that had arrived in the post on Saturday. With Paula starting full-time school in September I’d started searching the job section in the local paper for any position that would fit in with school hours. So, it appeared, had many others: the last post I’d applied for – a classroom assistant in a local school, hours 9.15 a.m.–3.00 p.m. – had had 175 applicants, and the one before that, a part-time clerical post, over 200.

  But as I sat at the dining table and began filling in this application form for part-time supermarket work my thoughts were a long way from what I was writing and I kept making mistakes and having to Tipp-Ex them out. At 11.40 I had to leave to collect Paula from nursery and when I returned at 12.15 there were still no messages on the answerphone. I made Paula and me a sandwich lunch and after we’d eaten she played while I had another attempt at the job application, still anxiously awaiting news. Surely the test results would be back from the lab now? I thought. Nora had said Colleen was going to phone the hospital in the morning and the morning had officially ended at twelve noon. I didn’t want to phone Nora and make a nuisance of myself, but I was desperate to hear and, without news to the contrary, I began to imagine the worst.

  When the phone did eventually ring just after 1.00. I pounced on the extension in the kitchen, nearly tripping over the chair leg.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Cathy, it’s Jill. Stella has just phoned. I understand Michael is with you?’

  Disappointed that it wasn’t Nora, I hoped that Jill might have more information. ‘Yes, I collected him yesterday. Have you heard anything?’

  ‘Stella phoned the hospital this morning and was told they were waiting for some test results,’ Jill said.

  ‘Yes, that’s all I know.’

  ‘How’s Michael? He’ll need his clothes.’

  ‘I collected them yesterday on the way back from the hospital. A neighbour let me in. Sorry, Jill, I should have phoned and updated you, but I’ve been so worried waiting for news. Didn’t the doctors give Stella any more details? Is Patrick still unconscious?’

  ‘All Stella said was that Patrick had collapsed, was in hospital, and they were running tests. What have you told Michael?’

  ‘Only that his dad is being well looked after and we should know more later today. He’s coping well, considering. Adrian and Paula have been keeping him occupied.’

  ‘Good. And how are you and the children?’ Jill asked.

  I appreciated her concern. ‘Worried, obviously. I’ll be happier when I know more.’

  I heard Jill’s silence. ‘Cathy,’ she said sombrely after a moment, ‘it may be that the test results are not what any of us want to hear. It may be we have to start preparing Michael for saying goodbye to his father.’

  ‘It’s only your optimism that keeps you going,’ I said curtly and unprofessionally. ‘Let’s wait and see what the hospital has to say tomorrow.’

  ‘I agree,’ Jill said, unperturbed. ‘But bear in mind what I said. Let me know if you hear anything further. I understand you are in contact with Patrick’s friends?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Cathy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The bereavement counselling that Michael will be offered will also be extended to you and the children if you want it.’

  ‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said stiffly. ‘I’ll remember that.’

  All manner of thoughts and emotions went through my mind as I said goodbye to Jill and hung up. While I knew she had Michael’s, my and my children’s welfare at heart, talking about bereavement counselling was unnecessary and unhelpful at present. Also, I thought, presumptive. Jill hadn’t met Patrick since that first meeting. She didn’t know him and hadn’t seen how well he’d been dong. Had she known him better, she would have realized that with his strength of character he wouldn’t let one setback get the better of him.

  Still anxious and now somewhat annoyed by Jill’s comment, I hid my feelings from Paula and put away the job-application form again; there was no way I could concentrate on it now. Jill hadn’t been able to tell me any more than I already knew and I was still waiting to hear from Nora. It was now nearly 1.30 and in an hour I would have to leave to collect Michael from school. I couldn’t arrive at the school gates without any news of his father, so I decided that if Nora hadn’t phoned by 2.00 I’d phone her. I played a few card games with Paula and then she went upstairs to play with her dolls’ house in her bedroom. Finally at 1.50 the phone rang and it was Nora.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked immediately on hearing her voice.

  ‘Much the same. Colleen has only just managed to contact someone at the hospital. I’ve just finished speaking to her. Patrick’s blood-cell count is very low, so they are giving him more blood, and a saline solution so that he doesn’t become dehydrated. Colleen and I are going to the hospital this evening, so hopefully he’ll be awake by then.’

  ‘Michael was hoping to see his father tonight but I’m not sure that’s a good idea, are you?’

  ‘No, I should wait. If he’s awake tonight then you can take him tomorrow. I’ll phone you either way when I get home.’

  ‘Thanks. And Colleen didn’t say any more?’

  ‘No, only that he’d had a comfortable night, and they may do another scan later today or tomorrow.’

  I thanked Nora again and we said goodbye. While it wasn’t the good news I’d been hoping for – that Patrick was sitting up in bed eating and joking with the nurses – it wasn’t bad news either. Aware that I should update Jill, I phoned her and told her what Nora had told me.

  ‘Thanks, Cathy, I’ll tell Stella. Let me know when you hear more. And Cathy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What I said earlier: obviously we’re all hoping Patrick gets over this, but I have to be practical.’

  ‘I know, Jill. Thanks.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Power of Prayer

  With Paula strapped in her seat in the rear of the car listening to nursery rhymes, I drove to Michael’s school for the 3.00 p.m. finish. As we waited in the playground with the other mothers and carers for the bell to ring and the children to come out, I considered what I should say to Michae
l about his father’s condition. He was a sensible, honest boy who was very mature for hs age, so he deserved an honest but age-appropriate response. Putting aside Nora’s feeling that Patrick’s illness had progressed further than he’d let on, which was simply her (and Jack’s) view, I was left with the fact that Patrick’s condition was unchanged from yesterday and he was still asleep, which is what I decided to tell Michael when he came out.

  The bell sounded from inside the building and the main doors opened and were then hooked back by the school receptionist-cum-secretary. A couple of minutes later the children began streaming out, going to their parents and carers waiting in the playground. When Michael appeared the priest whom I’d met when I’d first collected Michael from school was with him. The priest had his hand lightly resting on Michael’s shoulder and I saw a few of those waiting glance over and track Michael and the priest’s path to us.

  Paula gave my hand a little squeeze. ‘I don’t like that man,’ she whispered. ‘He’s scary.’

  ‘Sshh,’ I said.

  ‘Mrs Glass,’ the priest said as he drew near. ‘Hello, Father. Is everything all right?’ I smiled at Michael, who wasn’t looking sad, more embarrassed, which I guessed was as a result of the priest escorting him to me.

  ‘Michael tells me his father is in hospital again and he’s staying with you?’ the priest said.

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately Patrick collapsed yesterday and was taken to hospital.’

  ‘And how is he today?’ the priest asked. Michael looked at me.

  I spoke to them both as I answered. ‘Patrick’s still asleep,’ I said. ‘They’re doing some tests and also giving him a blood transfusion, which will help.’

  The priest frowned, concerned, while Michael’s face brightened.

  ‘Dad had a transfusion last time,’ Michael said. ‘And he was well again after.’

  ‘Let’s hope it works this time, then,’ the priest said cautiously.

  ‘It will, Father,’ Michael said. ‘I’ll ask for it in my prayers.’

  The priest smiled and ruffled Michael’s hair affectionately. ‘You’re a good lad, Michael. I’m sure God will hear your prayers.’ Turning, he headed off across the playground to talk to another parent, the hem of his cassock kicking up as he went.

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t do that,’ Michael said, flattening his hair, so that I thought he was referring to the priest ruffling his hair, which many adults do to children. But Michael added, ‘First he calls my name out in assembly and tells me to wait behind so he can ask me how Dad is. Everyone stared. Then he comes out here with me. Come on, Cathy, let’s go.’ Picking up Paula’s free hand, Michael began across the playground and towards the exit. I appreciated how Michael felt. Children hate being singled out, even if it is with good intentions as with the priest, who simply wanted to know how Patrick was. But at school Michael wanted to blend in with the other children and try to leave his worries behind, not be the boy with the sick father.

  Once we were in the car I explained to Michael that his father was still asleep, and Colleen and Nora were visiting this evening, but I thought we should wait until his dad was awake before we went. Although this was my plan, if Michael had really wanted to visit his father that evening I would have taken him. With his level of maturity and close bond with his father I thought Michael could make this decision, but he accepted what I said easily.

  ‘Yes. It’s better if we wait until Dad is awake in a few days,’ he said as though this would definitely happen. I had purposely been vague about the time-scale, for clearly we didn’t know when Patrick would regain consciousness.

  Michael and Paula came with me into the playground to collect Adrian from school and we then went straight home. Although the weather that morning had been clear, it was now showering, so the children amused themselves indoors while I made dinner. Despite the shadow of Patrick’s illness hanging over us they played happily, focusing on the present and their play, as only young children can. Over dinner Adrian and Michael even managed a few ‘knock-knock’ jokes, some of which were almost funny: Knock knock. Who’s there? Ben. Ben who? Been knocking so long I’ve forgotten. Then: Knock knock. Who’s there? Isabel. Isabel who? Isabel working? I had to knock. And: Knock knock. Who’s there? Justin. Justin who. Justin time for dinner. Then Adrian added with a crafty smile at Michael, ‘Or Just in right.’ The boys exploded into laughter.

  ‘That’s enough, thank you,’ I said over their laughing, aware we were now heading for the more smutty knock-knock jokes.

  ‘What does he mean?’ Paula asked innocently, aware she was missing out on something but not knowing what.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Adrian’s just being silly. Finish your dinner, good girl.’

  At seven o’clock I began the bath and bedtime routine, knowing that Nora and Colleen would now be at the hospital with Patrick. I thought that if Patrick was still unconscious then they might not stay the whole two hours, which meant that Nora would probably phone me earlier. So that as the evening wore on and there was no phone call from Nora I interpreted her silence as good news – that Patrick was awake and Colleen and Nora had stayed to the end of visiting at 8.00 p.m., although I didn’t voice these thoughts to Michael.

  I parted Michael’s bedroom curtains as he liked them so that he could see the night sky, and before he climbed into bed he knelt to say his prayers. He’d been in good spirits all evening and his prayer was light and chatty: ‘Dear God, as you know my dad’s in hospital. I know he needs to sleep to get better but could you wake him up in a few days, please? Wednesday or Thursday would be good, if that’s all right with you? God bless Mummy, Daddy, Nora, Jack, Colleen, Eamon, Cathy, Adrian and Paula. Amen.’

  ‘Good boy,’ I said, holding back the duvet so that Michael could climb into bed. I wondered if I should explain to Michael the difference between being ‘asleep’ and ‘unconscious’, which had become confused, but decided against it. There’d be time later if necessary to explain, for now Michael had put his faith in his God and it was helping him through this difficult time. We said goodnight and I came out; then I went into Adrian’s room and said goodnight to him before checking on Paua, who was fast asleep.

  It was nearly nine o’clock when I went downstairs and, believing that ‘no news was good news’ and that Nora would phone shortly to tell me Patrick was awake and recovering, I settled down in front of the television. When the phone rang ten minutes later it was Nora, but she didn’t have the good news I’d been anticipating.

  ‘No change, I’m afraid,’ she said, her voice subdued. ‘And they’ve finished giving him the blood plasma.’

  ‘So why’s he still unconscious?’ I asked. ‘Did they say?’

  ‘The nurse tried to explain that when the body is under trauma sometimes the mind shuts down to protect itself. Jack wondered if Pat had hit his head when he’d collapsed on Sunday but when I asked the nurse she said there was no sign of a head injury.’

  ‘So what is the trauma, then?’

  ‘His illness, I suppose.’

  ‘I see,’ I said slowly, not really understanding, but aware Nora didn’t know any more.

  ‘How’s Michael?’ Nora asked.

  ‘He’s all right. He firmly believes his dad will be awake in a couple of days. I hope he’s right.’

  ‘So do I,’ Nora said. ‘Or we’ll all have some adjusting to do, very quickly.’ I understood what she meant, for I was no better prepared to accept that Patrick might not regain consciousness than presumably she, Jack, Eamon and Colleen were, and certainly not Michael.

  Nora promised she’d phone again as soon as she heard anything and, if not before, then the following evening after she and Colleen had been to the hospital. We said goodbye and I went upstairs to check on the children, wondering if they’d been woken by the ringing of the phone. Adrian and Paula were asleep but as I crept into Michael’s room I saw his eyes were open; he was lying on his back and gazing towards the window at the darkening sky.

  ‘Are
you all right, love?’ I asked gently, moving closer to his bed. He gave a small nod. ‘That was Nora on the phone. She and Colleen have just returned from the hospital. Your dad is still asleep.’

  Michael gave another small nod. ‘He’ll wake up on Wednesday or Thursday,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘That’s what I asked for in my prayers.’ And while I was impressed by Michael’s faith in the power of prayer I was concerned that if Patrick didn’t regain consciousness Michael was going to find it even more difficult to cope. But for the same reasons I hadn’t explained the difference between being asleep and unconscious I decided not to shake his conviction now by suggesting the alternative.

  ‘I’m praying he’ll be awake soon too,’ I said, and left it at that.

  But when Tuesday and Wednesday came and went with no change in Patrick’s condition I began to start thinking the unthinkable: that I would have to prepare Michael (and Adrian, Paula and myself) for the possibility that Patrick might never regain consciousness. My eyes filled at the very thought. Nora phoned on Wednesday evening and couldck di019;t hide her sorrow and sounded very depressed. She said that officially, according to the doctor, there was no change in Patrick’s condition but she personally thought his colour looked even worse despite the blood transfusion. She said that if there was still no improvement in Pat’s condition by Friday or if his condition worsened then she thought I should take Michael to see his father at the weekend to say goodbye. Her voice broke, and she added that Jack and Eamon would be going with her and Colleen to the hospital the following evening,Thursday.

  On Thursday morning when I woke Adrian and Paula they asked me how Patrick was, as they had done every morning that week, and I again said there was no change and he was still unconscious. After Nora’s phone call I’d decided I’d better start using the word unconscious to make the distinction between Patrick’s condition and natural sleep. Adrian and Paula looked sad but didn’t say anything. When I woke Michael and told him he said forcefully, ‘Dad would never leave me without saying goodbye.’ I wasn’t sure if it was a statement, a sign of his faith, or a desperate plea.