by Cathy Glass
Standing, Pat crossed the sitting room and closed the door; then he returned to sit on the sofa, which was at right angles to the armchair in which I sat. He looked down, away from me, and concentrated on his lap. Although I appreciated Patrick wanted to talk to me alone, I had no reason to believe I should be fearful of what he was about to say. He seemed relaxed, just a little bit preoccupied.
‘Cathy,’ he said, finally raising his gaze to mine, ‘in the months we have known each other I have ays respected your honesty and integrity. I trust you will now respect mine. I need to speak to you openly and I hope you will understand the reason for my decision.’
I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Decision? What decision?’ I asked.
Pat took a moment and glanced down again, as though gathering his thoughts or summoning strength for what he was about to say.
‘Cathy, I think I’m right in saying we have grown very close in the time we have known each other and our families have grown close too.’ I nodded.
‘In a different place and time,’ Pat conyinued, ‘when circumstances would have been different, I think we could have built on this and possibly even made a future together, but I have to be realistic. Ironically, I wouldn’t have met you in a different place and time because my illness was the reason we were brought together: so that you could look after Michael while I was in hospital. Rightly or wrongly, we have become very close and part of each other’s lives. Don’t get me wrong: it’s been lovely. But I think we have both forgotten how ill I am. I’ve now had a reminder and as a result I’ve made some very difficult and painful decisions.’
Patrick paused to take a breath and the sinking feeling I had in the pit of my stomach exploded into fear. I didn’t say anything but sat motionless, concentrating on Pat and waiting for him to continue.
When he looked at me again I saw the pain of what he was about to say in his eyes, even before he spoke. ‘Cathy,’ he said slowly, ‘I am a dying man. That has always been so since I first met you and it remains true today. I intend making the most of the time I have left, but I don’t want you and your children hurt any more than you have to be. I blame myself for letting the three of you grow close to me, but it was so easy and so wonderful. I hope you will forgive me for wanting a last stab at happiness.’
I went to speak, but Pat raised his hand, gesturing for me to stay silent. ‘Please hear me out, love,’ he said. ‘This is so difficult, but I have to say it.’
I felt my heart pounding and panic gripped me. I looked at Pat as he took another breath before continuing. ‘I like to think that as you and your family brought added happiness to Michael and me, so I gave the three of you something, perhaps a warmth, a male presence that had been missing since John left. But I am acutely aware that Adrian and Paula have already lost a father, and you a husband. I do not want any of you upset by losing another family member, which is how I’ve come to view myself.’
He paused.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ He took a deep breath, ‘Cathy, I’ve made the difficult decision that it would be for the best if we no longer saw each other. I hope and pray you will still look after Michael but I will no longer be seeing you, Adrian and Paula socially. Michael doesn’t have a choice in losing his father, but your children do. I hope that by putting distance between us now, when the time comes you will not feel my loss so acutely. That is my decision. I hope you understand.’
The room was quiet. Nothing could be heard save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. I felt hot and cold at once and could#x2019;t speak for fear of bursting into tears. Pat looked sad but composed. I knew I should admire his selflessness – his wish to protect us – but I couldn’t.
‘So you are withdrawing from our lives completely?’ I said at last.
‘As much as I can. I know this has come as a shock to you, Cathy, but it is for the best. I’ve had plenty of time in hospital to think about it. It wouldn’t be right to continue as we were – nice as it has been.’
I rested my head on the chair back and looked at him. ‘Oh, Pat,’ I began but couldn’t continue as my eyes filled.
We were quiet again for some time; then I took a tissue from my pocket and wiped my eyes. My voice trembled as I spoke and I asked the question I didn’t want to hear the answer to: ‘What exactly have the doctors told you, Pat?’
‘That I have three months maximum and should go home and enjoy the time I have left. Which I intend to.’
I held my voice steady as I spoke. ‘And you can’t enjoy it with us?’
‘I could, very much, but I won’t. If you want to help me, Cathy, you can do so by looking after Michael whenever I have to go into hospital. Knowing he is being well looked after means everything to me.’
Although my heart screamed that Pat’s decision was wrong and we should continue as we had been – all seeing each other – a part of me knew he was right. I recognized the truth in what he said – we had all grown very close – and Jill’s warning came back to me.
‘Is that why you didn’t want me to bring Adrian and Paula to visit you in hospital?’ I asked at length. ‘Not because you didn’t feel well enough but because you were starting to put distance between us?’
Pat nodded.
I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes again and blew my nose. ‘Supposing you and I continued to see each other? Without Adrian and Paula? We’re adults. Surely we can handle this?’
Pat gave a small smile. ‘Let’s wait and see. It’s difficult for me too. For now I think we should try and get on with our lives and concentrate on our children. Please don’t think I’m being ungrateful.’
‘I don’t,’ I said.
Standing, I went to the sofa and sat next to Pat. I put my arms around him and we held each other tight. He didn’t resist. But as we hugged I felt just how thin and frail he had become; there wasn’t a bit of flesh on him. I could feel his bones jutting out, and I wanted to hold him and look after him and never let him go. I caught the faintest whiff of the soap he used, so poignant in its familiarity, felt the slight bristle of his chin on my cheek, and the rise and fall of his chest against mine. I knew there was nothing I could say or do to change Pat’s mind or alter the prognosis. We were all at the mercy of his illness, and Pat’s decision had been made selflessly – to protect me and my children.
‘You’d best be going now, love,’ he said quietly, after a few moments, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I need to get Michael ttled.’
I stood, and moved a little away from the sofa. Pat stood too. ‘Cathy,’ he said. I turned and met his gaze, his usually kind and smiling eyes were now full of pain and sorrow. ‘Tell me you forgive me and that you understand,’ he said, close to tears.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ I said quietly. ‘And yes, I do understand.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and lightly kissed my cheek.
‘Have you told Nora and Jack, and Colleen and Eamon?’ I asked.
‘Not yet. I will, closer to the time or when it becomes obvious, although little slips past Nora.’
‘And what will you tell Michael?’
‘That the two of us will be spending as much time as we can with each other. That’s all he need know for now.’
I gave a small nod. ‘Sorry,’ Pat said, touching my arm.
I took his hand. ‘Don’t be. If I regret anything, it would be that we didn’t meet sooner. You were right when you said you’ve given my children and me something. It’s something very special: you’ve restored my faith.’
‘In men?’ Patrick asked with a slight smile. ‘In one man,’ I said. Pat’s eyes misted and he waved for me to go before he broke down. I turned and began towards the sitting-room door.
Pat followed me down the hall to the front door. I paused at the foot of the stairs and, keeping my voice steady, called up: ‘Goodbye, Michael! I’m off now.’
‘Bye, Cathy,’ Michael returned, and then appeared on the landing. ‘Tell Adrian and P
aula I’m putting the Scalextric up ready for when they come.’
I glanced at Pat. ‘I’ll explain,’ he said quietly to me under his breath.
‘Night,’ I called to Michael.
‘Night, Auntie Cathy.’
Pat opened the front door and I went out.
I didn’t look back as I continued down the path. Concentrating hard, I looked straight ahead. I heard Pat close the door behind me, and taking my keys from my jacket pocket I opened the car door and got in. As I put the key into the ignition Nora came out of her front door carrying a cloth-covered tray, presumably Pat’s dinner. She saw me and smiled enthusiastically. I managed a small smile in return and she continued up Pat’s front path. I started the car and pulled away. I drove to the top of the street, out of sight of Pat’s house, and parked. I turned off the engine and wept. I cried openly as I hadn’t done in a long while: for Pat, our children and the unfairness of it all.
As I sat behind the steering wheel, my cheeks wet and my head lowered, shielding my face from any passer-by, my phoned bleeped with a text message. I mechanically took the phone from my pocket and opened it, fearing more bad news. I was surprised to see it was from Pat, and my heart skipped a beat wondering if he had changed his mind about us seeing each other. He hadn’t, but what he said helped a little. Agreat one for quotes, he texted: Stars are openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones shines through. Look to the stars Cathy and don’t be sad. Pat x
When I arrived home I put on a brave face.
‘Did everything go all right?’ Helen asked, coming into the hall.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.
Adrian and Paula were watching a video in the sitting room and called ‘Hi, Mum,’ as they heard me come in, and then goodbye to Helen as she prepared to leave.
I thanked Helen as I saw her out. ‘I’m so grateful for all your help.’
‘Any time,’ she said. ‘You’re more than welcome.’
Having said goodbye to Helen I went into the sitting room, where Adrian and Paula were watching the last five minutes of the film Beethoven, about a very large and mischievous St Bernard dog. I joined them on the sofa and when the film had finished I switched off the television and announced in a bright positive voice: ‘I thought we’d have a day out tomorrow at the zoo.’
‘Great!’ Adrian exclaimed.
‘Great,’ Paula cried, clapping her hands together.
‘Great!’ I said and hugged them hard.
I read the children a few stories and then began the bedtime routine. It was then that Michael’s absence became really obvious.
‘Is Michael staying with his daddy now?’ Paula asked as I tucked her into bed.
‘Yes, love.’
‘Is his daddy better?’
‘He’s well enough to go home,’ I said carefully. Then, preparing Paula for not seeing so much of Michael in the future, I said: ‘I’m sure Michael and Pat will want to spend lots of time with each other – just the two of them, to make up for all the time Pat was in hospital.’
‘Yes,’ Paula agreed. ‘I would if I was Michael.’
When I went into Adrian’s room he asked, ‘Is Michael coming to the zoo with us tomorrow?’
‘No, love. Pat isn’t up to it and Michael will want to be with his dad as much as possible.’ Which was reasonable and Adrian accepted.
Although I put on a brave face and remained positive in front of the children that evening, inside my heart ached and I was very sad. Once I’d said goodnight I went downstairs and sat on the sofa in the sitting room with the television on low. But my thoughts were a long way from the television programme and I repeatedly gazed past the screen and through the French windows, watching the sky slowly darken. It was nearly ten o’clock before the sky was dark enough to see the stars. Standing, I crossed the room and quietly opened the French windows. I stepped outside. The late June air was warm and heady with the scent of flower blossom. I stood on the patio and gazed up at the sky. It was a clear night and the stars were twinkling brightly. I remembered Michael’s first night with us, when he and I had stood side by sde at his bedroom window, and the comfort he’d found in seeing the night sky. He’d said the stars made him think of heaven and the angels that were looking after his mummy, and who would one day come to fetch his daddy. Now, as then, I felt a lump rise to my throat and was truly humbled by Michael’s strength and courage. I hoped Michael’s faith stayed with him and would see him through the coming months, for never would a child’s courage be tested more.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Staying Positive
We had a busy weekend. I had purposely made it so: a full day out at the zoo on Saturday and visiting my parents on Sunday. There was little time for wallowing in self-pity and Monday appeared very quickly; with it came the school and nursery run, only without the trip to Michael’s school. I wondered how Michael was going to get to school because I didn’t think Pat would feel up to taking him and neither would Pat let Michael go alone. I wondered if Nora and Jack might be helping out; retired and with a car, they had helped out Pat before, while Colleen and Eamon, in their forties, both had jobs so weren’t so easily available during the working week. I hoped Pat knew that if he needed my help he only had to pick up the phone and ask.
Jill telephoned mid-morning and her voice was sombre and subdued. ‘Cathy, Stella has spoken to Patrick earlier this morning and I’m afraid it’s not good news.’ I guessed what she was going to tell me but I let her continue. ‘The scan and X-rays Pat had in hospital have shown the cancer has spread. The doctors have sent him home with pain relief only. There’s nothing more they can do.’
‘I know,’ I said flatly. ‘Pat told me.’
‘I’m so sorry, Cathy.’ I could hear the heartfelt sympathy in her voice and I knew she was really feeling for me. ‘How are you and the children taking this?’
‘I haven’t told Adrian and Paula. There’s no need to yet.’
‘And how was Michael when you took him home?’
‘Pleased to be home. But Pat isn’t going to say anything to him until it becomes necessary.’
‘That’s what Stella said, although she thinks Michael has a good idea his father’s condition has worsened.’
‘Quite possibly. They’re very close.’
‘And how are you, Cathy?’
‘OK,’ I said with no commitment. ‘It’s Michael I feel for. He’s such a lovely lad, it’s so unfair.’
‘I know.’ Jill was silent for a moment. Sometimes silence can say more than hundreds of words. Then she said slowly, ‘Patrick is being very brave, and concentrating on the practical issues. Stella said he’s been in contact with St John’s Hospice. He wants to go there rather than hospital when the time comes. He plans on staying at home for as long as possible and Stella has put him in touch with the Marie Curie nurses.’
The mention of Marie Curie nurses confirmed the inevitability of the outcome for me; in the UK these nurses are usually brought in only when someone is terminally ill. I didn’t say anything as Jill continued: ‘Cathy, given Pat’s prognosis, we’ll obviously be keeping you on standby for Michael. Hopefully Michael will be able to stay with his father for some while yet, but when the time comes we will need to have you ready. Stella will be staying in close contact with Patrick and will monitor the situation. I’ll obviously keep you up to date. Do you and the children still see Pat regularly?’
‘No, not any more. It was Patrick’s decision.’
‘It’s probably for the best.’ And our conversation ended as it had begun – sombre and subdued.
I didn’t hear from anyone connected with Patrick and Michael for the rest of the week. Adrian, Paula and I continued as ‘normal’, although little time passed when I wasn’t acutely aware that a short drive away a father and son were making the most of their last weeks together. Adrian and Paula asked about Michael: when would they see him again? But they accepted my reply that he was busy with school and spending time with his father. H
aving not seen Patrick since before he went into hospital Adrian and Paula’s attachment to him was already starting to weaken a little, as Pat had hoped it would. They obviously asked about Michael, whom they had grown close to while he had lived with us, but not so much about Patrick, whom they hadn’t seen for some weeks. On many occasions I got close to phoning Pat just to see how he was and if he needed anything, but aware – from the conversation we’d had – that he wanted to put some distance between him and me as well as between him and Adrian and Paula, I didn’t. I thought that if Pat wanted to speak to me he would phone, and I was right.
On Friday morning while Paula was at nursery my mobile bleeped a text message. It was from Pat: Is it ok 2 phone 4 a chat?
I texted back: Yes x. Like me, Pat preferred to use the landline for chatting and kept his mobile for texting and for calls when he was away from the house.
I went into the sitting room and sat on the sofa. A minute later the phone ran and I picked it up.
‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully as soon as I answered. ‘How are you today?’
‘Good, thanks. All the better for hearing from you,’ I said lightly. ‘That’s what I like to hear. How are the kids?’
‘Fine. At school, unless they’re truanting,’ I joked. ‘How’s Michael?’
‘He’s doing all right.’
Patrick sounded bright and positive and I didn’t think it was an act put on for my benefit. He sounded genuinely in a positive and meaningful place. We chatted easily about the usual things: the children, school, the weather, etc., and then he asked after my parents and I said they were well. Although Pat had never met my family he’d seen photographs of them and I’d mentioned them when we’d talked in the past. Pat said Jack was taking Michael to school and collecting him, while Nora kept popping in with meals and snacks on a tray and generally fussing.
‘It’s so good of her,’ Pat aid, ‘but I keep telling her she’s spoiling me. I’m not so ill I can’t cook.’
It was the first reference Pat had made to his illness during our conversation and I took the opportunity to ask: ‘How are you?’
