The Night the Angels Came

by Cathy Glass

  At ten o’clock I settled Toscha in her basket for the night, switched off the downstairs light and went upstairs. I checked on the children who were all fast asleep; then I showered and climbed into bed. I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow and only woke when the alarm clock sounded at six o’clock the following morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Worry Mode

  The evening routine that had begun on the previous Thursday now continued on Monday and for the rest of the week, although I didn’t have the worry of finding a babysitter. In the afternoon Paula and I collected Michael and Adrian from school; I made an early dinner and then helped Paula into her pyjamas, ready for when Helen arrived at 5.40. Each evening Adrian and Paula had an ice cream after I’d gone, and I stopped off at the hospital shop to buy Michael a chocolate bar and Pat a newspaper. On Tuesday the young man in the bed next to Patrick was sent home for a few days and an elderly man who was very deaf took his place. Pat spent most of his day listening to the hospital radio, watching television or taking short walks up and down the ward to regain his strength in preparation for going home.

  During the week I saw Patrick steadily improve, each day growing a little stronger as his colour and stamina returned. On Wednesday he was sitting on the bed when we arrived, rather than lying on it, and on Thursday he said the doctors had said he could go home the following day.

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said, while Michael threw his arms around his dad and just hugged him hard. ‘Shall I collect you and take you home on Friday?’ I asked.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m sorted,’ he said. ‘Jack has offered to collect me. If you could bring Michael home in the evening that would be a big help.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Adrian and Paula will be pleased to see you again.’

  Patrick hesitated. ‘Cathy,’ he said quietly, turning slightly away from Michael. ‘Would you mind if you didn’t bring the children tomorrow? Could Helen look after them one more time?’

  ‘Well, yes, she could,’ I said, a little confused. While I appreciated Pat hadn’t wanted to see Adrian and Paula while he was very ill in hospital, I didn’t really understand why they couldn’t come with me when I took Michael home.

  ‘Perhaps you could stay for a cup of tea and we could have a chat,’ he added. ‘I’d like to speak to you alone.’

  I looked at him carefully but there was nothing to be read in his expression. ‘Yes, I can,’ I said. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said without meeting my gaze.

  Pat then stretched out on the bed with his head resting on the pillows and Michael took up his usual position, sprawled next to his father. ‘Looking forward to me coming home, son?’ Pat asked him.

  Michael nodded. ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘I’ll pack his things tomorrow while he’s at school, so we’ll be ready,’ I said. ‘What time shall I bring him home?’

  ‘As soon as Helen arrives, please,’ Pat said. ‘And Cathy, thanks for everything. It goes without saying I’m very grateful.’ Leaning forward he planted a little kiss on my cheek.

  I wouldn’t say there was an atmosphere that evening as we continued talking – mainly about the next day and Patrick’s homecoming – but something seemed to hang in the air. Perhaps it was my imagination but I thought Patrick wasn’t making eye contact with me as much as he usually did, possibly avoiding my gaze like someone who has a guilty secret. Michael didn’t notice any discrepancy in his father’s behaviour and chatted away happily. In fact Patrick spent most of the two hours talking to Michael, which was obviously fine – Michael was his son – except it now seemed that it was possibly to avoid talking to me.

  When the bell sounded at eight o’clock Pat and Michael got off the bed and Pat walked with us to the end of the ward. His walking and breathing had greatly improved and I thought once he was home he needed to try to put on some weight. We said goodbye at the doors leading from the ward; Pat kissed my cheek and then hugged and kissed Michael. ‘See you both row,’ Pat said. He then waved until we turned the corner and were out of sight.

  Michael bobbed along beside me as we crossed the car park, but once in the car and going home he fell silent.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I asked, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

  He nodded but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Sure?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I’m so pleased I’m going home with Dad, but I’m going to miss you guys. All the games I’ve played with Adrian and Paula, and not having to cook and clean. It’s like I’ve been on holiday.’

  I smiled sadly. While I couldn’t have wished for a better compliment – a child telling me that staying with me was like being on holiday – it was an indication of the high level of responsibility Michael felt when he was at home helping his dad.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll all get together again soon,’ I said. ‘After church on Sunday?’ Michael suggested.

  ‘We’ll see. Your dad is likely to be a bit weak, having just come out of hospital. He may not feel up to it, but I’ll ask him when I see him tomorrow.’

  When we arrived home Paula was still up, as she had been the last couple of evenings; I think Helen, with two boys, rather enjoyed playing with her and reading her stories. Michael told Adrian and Paula his good news – that his dad was going home – and I asked Helen if she could sit one last time the following evening while I took Michael home. She said she could and would arrive at the usual time. I thanked her and she left.

  I could see that Adrian and Paula had mixed feelings about Michael leaving, just as Michael had done in the car. ‘That’s really nice for you, Michael,’ Paula said carefully. ‘Will you come and stay again soon?’

  Michael shrugged. It was a difficult question for Michael to answer, for obviously if he did stay again it would mean his father was unwell again. I answered for him: ‘When Patrick feels well enough he and Michael could come for Sunday dinner like they did before.’ The children nodded.

  Adrian then asked me, ‘Will there be time for a game of Scalextric tomorrow before Michael goes home?’

  ‘I should think so, but I’ll have to pack away everything else so that we are ready to leave when Helen arrives.’

  ‘We’re not coming with you?’ Adrian queried. ‘No. Pat wants to get settled home first,’ which the children accepted.

  That night Adrian, Paula and Michael said a poignant and final goodnight to each other before going to their own rooms; tomorrow night Michael would be at home in his own bed. When Michael was washed and changed I went into his room to say goodnight. He knelt by his bed to say his prayers, which were touchingly full of thanks: ‘Thank you, Lord, for making my daddy well enough to go home. Thank you for sending Cathy to look after me. Thank you for all the fun time I’ve had with Adrian and Paula. Thank you for keeping my mummy safe in heaven. Thank you, Lord, for everything. Amen.’

  ‘And thank you for sending Michael to stay with us,’ I added with a smile. ‘He’s a great lad and a pleasure to look after.’

  Michael grinned and held his arms wide for a big hug before climbing into bed.

  ‘Michael,’ I said, as I tucked him in, ‘remember, if you and your dad need any help phone me, OK?’ He nodded. ‘I know you have Nora and Jack next door, and Auntie Colleen and Uncle Eamon, but don’t forget we’re here if you need us.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said with another smile.

  I kissed him goodnight and came out. I went downstairs, took the ironing board and iron from the cupboard under the stairs and set about the ironing so that Michael would have a case of clean and pressed clothes to take home with him. Once I’d finished, I watched some television before going to bed at 10.30. Any concerns I’d had about Patrick avoiding conversation with me during hospital visiting had faded, although I did wonder what he wanted to talk about alone. But Patrick and I often spoke in private – away from our children – as many parents do, discussing our children’s development, schooling, eating and sleeping, etc., pooli
ng knowledge and gaining reassurance from another parent’s point of view. I therefore had no sense or foreboding that what Patrick wanted to tell me in private was going to shake us all.

  On Friday morning as soon as I woke the children I could see that Michael was already taking on the responsibility that returning home would entail and with it the accompanying worry and anxiety. Even before he dressed he was worrying that he wouldn’t have enough time to pack his belongings after school and saying he should do it now instead of having breakfast, although I’d already told him I’d do his packing.

  ‘You get dressed and have your breakfast. I’ll pack all your things today while you’re at school,’ I said again.

  ‘But will you have enough time with everything you have to do?’ he asked, which was something Adrian and Paula would never have dreamed of asking, assuming, as most children would, that as a parent I would make time.

  ‘Yes,’ I reassured him. ‘Please don’t worry. I’ll have all your belongings ready, I promise.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I at least pack away the Scalextric?’ he persisted. ‘If you want to, but I thought you were going to have a quick game with Adrian and Paula this evening? It doesn’t take long to pack away.’ Which Michael finally accepted.

  He washed and dressed, ready for school, but over breakfast he started worrying again. ‘Cathy, perhaps we could stop at the shops on the way home. Dad might need milk and bread.’

  Adrian and Paula looked at Michael with a mixture of awe and incomprehension, but then they’d never been in the role of a child carer – taking on the responsibility for the household that was usually the domain of the parent or adult in charge.

  ‘Nora is seeing to that,’ I reassured him. ‘She’s restarted the milk and newspaper delivery and she will make sure there is enough food in your fridge for the weekend. She and Jack will look in on you both regularly and if you need anything you know to knock on their door.’

  Michael took a couple of bites from his toast and then said: ‘I hope the hospital gives Dad his tablets. Once before I had to go to the chemist with a prescription and they wouldn’t give me the tablets because I was under age.’

  ‘I’ll find out and if necessary I’ll go to the chemist, although I’m sure Nora or Jack will have checked.’

  Finally reassured – for the time being – Michael finished his breakfast and went upstairs to brush his teeth. A few minutes later he was downstairs again with his toothbrush and face flannel in hand. ‘Shall I pack these now? He asked. ‘I might forget them tonight.’

  ‘If you want to,’ I said. ‘Put them in your wash bag and leave it in your bedroom.’

  And in the car going to school Michael plagued himself with ‘what if’s and possible outcomes: ‘What if Dad doesn’t come home today?’

  ‘Nora will phone me,’ I said, ‘and you’ll stay with me for another night.’

  ‘I think we need some more oxygen,’ he said. ‘The tank was showing 25 per cent full before I left.’ Michael was referring to the oxygen cylinder his father kept beside his bed.

  ‘I’ll phone Nora and ask her to check it,’ I said. ‘Although your dad hasn’t needed oxygen recently.’

  ‘But he might in the night,’ Michael said. ‘OK. Don’t worry, I’ll ask Nora.’

  I hoped that being in school would take Michael’s mind off worrying.

  As soon as I arrived home I began Michael’s packing: emptying the wardrobe and drawers in his room and then checking under the bed and downstairs for any stray items. Once all his possessions were packed – apart from the Scalextric, which I left in his room – I phoned Jill to update her. She didn’t know Patrick was being discharged.

  ‘That’s excellent news,’ Jill said. ‘What have the doctors told Patrick? Do you know?’

  ‘That he is well enough to go home,’ I said. ‘He didn’t say any more, so I’m assuming his test results were fine.’

  ‘I’ll phone Stella on Monday when she returns to the office and make sure she’s aware Patrick is home. Have a good weekend and thanks for all you’ve done.’

  Once I’d collected Paula from nursery and we’d had lunch and she was playing, I phoned Nora. Jack answered and said they had collected Patrick from hospital and had arrived home about thirty minutes ago. Nora was with Pat now, making sure he had everything he needed.

  ‘Michael’s been worrying about his dad,’ I said. ‘Do you know if Pat has all the tablets he needs?’

  ‘He has,’ Jack confirmed. ‘He brought them with him from the hospital.’

  ‘I’ll tell Michael. And the oxygen cylinder? Michael seems to think it could need replacing.’

  ‘Pat normally orders a new one in plenty of time but I’ll check. If it’s running out I’ll order a new one. They deliver the next day. Tell Michael not to worry. We’re all looking after his dad. There’s food in the fridge and Nora’s doing him dinner.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell Michael. He can worry. Did Pat say anything to you about his test results or what the doctors said?’

  ‘Yes, they told him his blood-cell count was fine and he should go home and carry on as normal.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, and this confirmed for me that Patrick was well on the way to recovering, for I was sure Pat would have been honest with Jack and Nora who, together with Eileen and Eamon, were his oldest and closest friends.

  When I collected Michael from school that afternoon the first thing he asked was, ‘Is Dad home safely?’

  I smiled. ‘Yes, of course. Nora and Jack collected him this afternoon. And he’s got all the tablets he needs with him.’

  ‘Did you ask about the oxygen?’ Michael said, slipping into worry mode.

  ‘Yes. Jack was going to check it and order a new one if necessary.’

  ‘And have you’ve packed all my things?’

  ‘Yes, everything except your Scalextric and we’ll do that later.’

  ‘What about Dad’s dinner?’

  ‘Nora’s cooking it for him, and Colleen and Eamon are calling in tomorrow, so stop worrying. Everything is fine.’

  Michael grinned and taking Paula’s hand gave the back of it a big kiss, which made her giggle.

  The evening went as planned: the children played while I made dinner; then after we’d eaten we all helped pack away the Scalextric and carried it, together with Michael’s bags, downstairs. We were ready for 5.30, when Helen arrived, and the children said goodbye to each other. It wasn’t a lingering and emotional goodbye, just a simple ‘Bye, see you soon,’ for they believed as I did that if not this Sunday (as Michael had suggested) then very soon we would meet up again as one big family.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Night Sky

  I parked the car outside Patrick’s house at six o’clock, which was the same time we’d been entering the hospital all week and stopping at the shop in the lobby.

  ‘Hey, I’ve missed out on my chocolate bar tonight,’ Michael joked, in very good spirits. ‘I bet Adrian and Paula are having their ice creams.’

  ‘I bet they are too,’ I said, smiling. ‘I owe you one. Remind me if I forget.’

  ‘I will!’

  I got out of the car and then opened the rear child-locked door to let Michael out. He sprang on to the pavement and was up the front path and ringing the doorbell before I’d taken the first of his bags from the car. The front door immediately opened and Michael fell into his father’s arms. As he hugged his son Pat looked at me and winked and I smiled back. Apart from being very thin, Pat had a good colour and looked well.

  ‘Michael, go and help Cathy with your belongings,’ Pat said after a moment.

  Michael returned to the car and together we carried his bags and Scalextric box up the path while Pat held open their front door.

  ‘Good to see you home, Pat,’ I said as he closed the door and I put the bags down in the hall.

  ‘It’s good to be home,’ he said, and lightly kissed my cheek. ‘Let’s go into the sitting room. Nora’s just l
eft. She’s looking in again later with my dinner. Bless her.’

  I followed Patrick and Michael down the hall and into their sitting room. Pat’s breathing was good and he seemed to be walking very well. The house was warm and inviting now that Patrick was home, compared to the last time I’d come in with Michael and Nora when Pat had been in hospital. A large vase of fresh flowers stood in the hearth, and the newspaper which I guessed Patrick must have been reading prior to our arrival lay open on the sofa.

  ‘Sit yourself down,’ Pat said, folding the paper and dropping it into the magazine rack. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Can I get you anything?’

  Pat smiled and shook his head. He sat on the sofa and Michael nestled in beside him as I sat in the armchair. Pat put his arm around his son and kept it there, hugging him as the three of us started chatting. Michael told his father about the school assembly that morning which he, with his class, had presented to the rest of the school, and I told Patrick that Michael had had his dinner, and his washing was up to date apart from the school uniform he now wore. Pat thanked me for this and for all I’d done while he’d been in hospital, and I said there was no need to thank me as I was only too happy to help. Yet while we were talking, and although Patrick was his usual kind, caring and polite self, I sensed a certain reserve in his manner, a formality, as if he was preoccupied or was putting some distance between us. After a few minutes he said, ‘Michael, would you go up to your bedroom, please, and start unpacking, while I talk to Cathy?’

  Michael immediately scrambled down from the sofa and went out of the sitting room to do as his father had asked. We heard the large holdall which was full to bursting being bumped up the stairs and then Michael’s voice: ‘Dad, can I put up my Scalextric when I’ve unpacked?’

  ‘Of course, son,’ Pat said.