by Cathy Glass
Michael nodded and Jill agreed.
‘I’ll speak to Colleen about it when she phones,’ I reassured Michael. ‘She has the keys to your house.’
Jill stayed for another ten minutes while the children played in the garden. It was the first time Michael had felt like playing outside since we’d received the news of his father’s death, and I was pleased to see he was starting to enjoy himself again.
‘Once the funeral is over with on Monday,’ Jill said, standing, ready to go, ‘it should start to get a bit easier for Michael.’ I nodded. ‘You’re going to miss him, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and Patrick. He was such a good kind man. He was one of those people you feel better for knowing. I just wish I’d known him for longer.’
Jill called her goodbyes to the children and I saw her out and then went into the kitchen to make dinner. We were subdued over dinner, thinking, I suppose, of all that would be happening over the next few days. I was pleased we were going to visit my parents on Saturday; not only would it keep us occupied but it would also give them a chance to say goodbye to Michael, for although the children and I would be keeping in contact with Michael I wasn’t sure if it would be practical for my parents to keep in touch or see him again.
That night, Paula, who was aware Michael said his prayers every night, decided she wanted to say her prayers. After I’d read her a bedtime story she sat upright in bed and, clasping her little hands together, screwed her eyes tightly shut: ‘God bless Mummy, Daddy; Nana, Grandpa; my brother Adrian; Mummy’s brother Uncle Tom; Michael; Michael’s mummy and daddy; and Michael’s new mummy and daddy who are Colleen and Eamon. I hope they will be very happy together. Amen.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Heaven
F
unerals are never easy and I knew Patrick’s would be very upsetting and, as Jill had said, a hurdle to overcome, as well as a turning point for Michael. On Friday I told Michael’s school’s secretary that Michael wouldn’t be in school on Monday as it was his father’s funeral. The secretary said she’d inform the head, and that Father Murphy would be representing the s at the funeral. I also told Paula’s nursery that my parents would be collecting Paula on Monday; they had asked us to inform them in advance if a different person to usual collected a child.
In the past when children we’d fostered left us we had usually given them a small leaving party, but that hardly seemed appropriate given Michael’s bereavement. So on Friday evening the four of us watched a children’s video together, with microwave popcorn and an ice cream each; then Adrian and Michael played cards while I took Paula to bed. Later, when the boys were upstairs washing and changing, ready for bed, Colleen phoned. She asked how we all were and then clarified the arrangements for collecting Michael on Sunday.
‘Stella said one o’clock. Is that all right with you?’ she said.
‘Yes, fine. I’ll have Michael’s belongings packed and ready. He’d really like his Scalextric with him. I was going to collect it tomorrow but it hardly seems worth it as he’s moving to you on Sunday.’
‘No problem,’ Colleen said. ‘We’ll collect it. Eamon and I are going to the house tomorrow to bring back as many of Michael’s possessions as we can so that they are here when he arrives on Sunday. I’ve spoken to Nora and we both think that Michael will feel more at home if his things are here with him.’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ I agreed.
‘His bed is made up ready,’ Colleen continued, ‘but I might change the duvet cover and use his from home – the one with a picture of Superman; that’s his favourite. Eamon is going to redecorate Michael’s bedroom once he’s settled in, so Michael can choose the wallpaper; there are some lovely designs for boys’ rooms now.’
‘Yes, there are. He’ll like that.’
‘And I’ve been to the supermarket today and stocked up on all the food Michael likes. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ I reassured her.
I could hear Colleen’s tempered excitement, for while she and Eamon were obviously heartbroken at losing their dearest friend they were also excited at the prospect of beginning a new phase in their lives with Michael. As Michael would be gaining a two-parent family so Colleen and Eamon would gain the family they’d never thought they’d have. And I thought that Michael’s story would eventually have the happy ending I wished for all the children I looked after.
On Saturday the children and I spent the whole day at my parents’ house. We arrived at 10.30 a.m. and didn’t leave until after 7.00 p.m., so there was little time for fretting about Michael leaving or him worrying about the funeral on Monday. My parents, sensitive to Michael’s feelings, pitched the tone and mood of the day just right. My father kept Adrian and Michael occupied by having them help him with little jobs in the shed, garden, greenhouse and garage; while Paula, as usual, hardly left her nana’s side. I even had time to read the newspaper. It was a pleasant day, but I knew how difficult it was going to be for Mum and Dad to say goodbye to Michael, aware it would probably be their last goodbye to him.
‘Keep your chin up, young man,’ Dad said to Michael, shaking his hand and putting on a brave face, as we finally stood in the hall ready to go. ‘You’re a good lad and I know you’ll do very well for yourself. Send my regards to Colleen and Eamon.’
‘I will,’ Michael said.
Mum had tears in her eyes even before we’d begun to say goodbye; and she now hugged Michael as though she would never let him go. ‘Hopefully we’ll see you again one day,’ she said, and then gave him a wrapped present.
‘Thank you,’ Michael said, surprised. ‘Can I open it now?’
‘Yes,’ Mum said.
Michael tore off the paper and his eyes lit up. It was a copy of The Guinness Book of Records, which Mum knew Michael liked from reading Adrian’s copy. ‘Thank you so much,’ Michael said. ‘It’s just what I wanted! And it’s not even my birthday,’ which made Mum well up even more.
We said a last goodbye and Mum and Dad stood at their garden gate and waved until we were out of sight. I then drove home with the children in the back of the car, the book spread open between them, gasping at the pictures of the world’s biggest, fattest, tallest, longest record-breakers that filled the pages.
The children were late going to bed that Saturday night but it didn’t matter as we could all have a lie-in on Sunday. It was after 9.30 when I finally took Paula up to bed; she was exhausted after a full day at Nana and Grandpa’s. I gave her a quick wash and helped her change into her nightdress and climb into bed. She yawned, curled on to her side and was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. I came out of Paula’s room and went in search of Adrian and Michael, whom I had left to wash and change while I saw to Paula. I found them both in Michael’s room, in their pyjamas, standing by the window and gazing up at the night sky.
I went over and stood between them; putting an arm around each of their shoulders we looked out at the sky. Because we were late going to bed it was dark. It was a cloudless night and the stars were clearly visible, twinkling brightly in the night sky. There was also a waxing moon glowing in a perfect crescent shape. It was a beautiful image of the sky at night and for Michael it was heaven.
‘My daddy is with my mummy now,’ he said quietly after a moment, not taking his eyes from the sky. ‘And soon I shall be living with Colleen and Eamon. I’m going to miss you guys.’
‘We’ll miss you too,’ Adrian said. ‘But you can come and play here any time you like.’
‘And you can come to my new house,’ Michael said. ‘I’m sure Auntie Colleen and Uncle Eamon won’t mind.’
I agreed. ‘I’m sure they will be very happy for you to have your friends to play. We’ll look forward to it.’
It was after ten o’clock when the boys were finally in bed and asleep. I went downstairs and put Toscha out for her evening run, locked up and then went to bed myself. That night I had a strange dream: that Adrian and Paula and I were
living with Colleen, Eamon and Michael in a big house in an idyllic country setting and we were all very happy. I suppose it was my subconscious giving its seal of approval to Michaelߣs new family and expressing the hope that we would stay in contact for many years to come.
The following morning, as predicted, we all slept in, and then once we were up and showered and dressed, I cooked us a big brunch. No one mentioned Michael’s leaving but it hung unspoken in the air. When we’d finished eating I encouraged the children to play in the garden while I went upstairs and packed Michael’s bags. I took his toothbrush, flannel, sponge and towel from the bathroom and tucked them in; then I stowed the bags downstairs out of sight in the front room.
I gave the children a drink and snack at midday and then at exactly one o’clock the doorbell rang. The children were still in the garden and didn’t hear the bell, so were unaware Colleen and Eamon had arrived. Colleen and Eamon were both very smartly dressed, having come straight from church. I welcomed them in and we hugged and kissed in the hall. Then I showed them through to the sitting room, where the open French windows led on to the garden. We stood quietly for a while at the French windows, watching the children play; then Colleen said, ‘I hope we can make Michael as happy as you have. He’ll be an only child with us.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I smiled. ‘Michael’s already planning on asking you if he can invite friends home – including us.’
‘Of course he can!’ Colleen exclaimed happily. ‘That would be wonderful.
‘The more the merrier!’ Eamon agreed.
After a few moments Adrian spotted us and, pointing, said to Michael, ‘Look. Your auntie and uncle are here.’
Michael turned and the second he saw Colleen and Eamon he ran up the garden path and straight into Colleen’s arms. It was the first time he’d seen them since making his decision to live with them. It was a wonderful warm welcome and just what Colleen needed to give her confidence in her new role as Michael’s adoptive mother. I could see how touched she and Eamon were.
I offered Colleen and Eamon a drink but they said they really needed to be going, as they wanted to get Michael settled before tomorrow. Eamon loaded Michael’s bags into the boot of the car and then returned to the house. We kept our goodbyes brief. I would be seeing Colleen, Eamon and Michael the following day at the funeral and I didn’t think it would be long before we all met up again in happier circumstances. Adrian told Michael to phone him, and Paula gave Michael a big kiss, jumping up to reach his cheek. Then she said very cutely (and copying something she must have overheard an adult say): ‘You’re a nice boy, Michael. I’m sure your dad will be very proud of you.’ Which made Michael and Adrian giggle, Colleen and me misty-eyed, and Eamon clear his throat with emotion.
Eamon went out first, and Michael followed with Colleen, linking his arm through hers. On the pavement Eamon opened the rear door of the car for Michael to get in and then checked his seat belt was fastened, before closing the door. Colleen got into the passenger seat and Eamon gave a little wave before climbing into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and Colleen and Michael waved through their side windows as the car pulled away. The three of us stood on the doorstep and waved until they were out of view; then we went inside and I closed the front door. The children were looking very glum.
‘How about we tae a picnic up to the park?’ I suggested. They liked the idea, so the three of us went into the kitchen and put together an impromptu picnic, which we then carried to the local park.
The afternoon was pleasant and it passed. I wouldn’t say we were ecstatically happy but neither were we miserable or moping. Although we would miss Michael and feel sad for him at this time of loss, he was going to live with good people whom he already knew and loved. We bumped into some friends in the park and the children played together while I chatted to the parents, so it was after five o’clock before we returned home. I made dinner and then once we’d eaten I began the children’s bath and bedtime routine, ready for school and nursery the following day.
‘I like Michael,’ Paula said pensively, as I tucked her into bed. ‘He was like another brother to me.’
‘I know, love. But we’ll see him again soon. And you’ve got Nana and Grandpa collecting you from nursery tomorrow,’ I reminded her, which cheered her up.
When I went into Adrian’s room he wasn’t in bed but was standing at his window with the curtains parted, looking up at the night sky.
‘All right, love?’ I asked gently, joining him at the window. It wasn’t dark enough to see the stars, although the crescent moon was just visible.
‘Do you think Michael’s daddy is really in heaven with his mummy?’ Adrian asked thoughtfully.
I smiled. ‘If there is a heaven then I am sure they are there.’
‘You have to be good to go to heaven, don’t you?’ Adrian asked, not taking his eyes from the sky.
‘Yes, that’s what people believe.’
‘So will we go to heaven when we die?’
‘Yes. We’re good people, aren’t we? Or we try to be.’
‘What about Dad? Will he go?’ Adrian asked.
I should have seen this coming, I thought. ‘Yes, I’m sure he will. God is most forgiving, just as I will be one day.’
Adrian turned from the window and threw me a knowing smile; he was old enough to appreciate my sometimes dry humour.
‘Good,’ he said, jumping into bed. ‘I know Dad shouldn’t have left us but I wouldn’t want him burning in hell.’
‘No, he won’t,’ I reassured him, although there were times when I might have wished for it, I thought. ‘Your father loves you and Paula, just as I do.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Leaving Michael
T
he following morning the school routine took over, so there was little time for me to dwell on the funeral later that morning. But it was strange not waking Michael, hearing him in the shower, seeing him at the breakfast table or taking him to school. I wondered how old enofeeling on his first morning in his new home and I consoled myself that Colleen and Eamon would be on hand to hug and comfort him. Without the need to take Michael to school first I now drove straight to Adrian’s school, where Paula and I waited in the playground until the bell rang and Adrian went in. It was the last week of the summer term, so on Friday the schools would break up for the long summer holiday. There wouldn’t be much work done this week in class but lots of fun activities. Already I could hear the excitement of the children who ran around me in the playground, which was a strange contrast to what I was feeling, about to go to a funeral.
It was the same at Paula’s nursery – lots of excited chatter as parents saw their children in for what would be their last week at nursery before they began ‘big school’ in September. I reminded Farah, the nursery assistant, that my parents would be collecting Paula; then, giving Paula a big hug, I said goodbye to her and that I would see her later in the afternoon.
It wasn’t until I returned home and was alone that I started to feel down and worried about how I was going to cope at Pat’s funeral. I hadn’t been to many funerals, fortunately, only my grandparents’ and that of a close friend, but I knew how upsetting I had found the services and the difficulty I’d had in controlling my emotions. Other mourners had seemed so brave and composed while I’d snivelled into a tissue and fought to hide my emotions and tears.
Reigning in my thoughts, I washed up the breakfast dishes and then wrote a note for Mum and Dad. They had keys to my house, so after they’d collected Paula from nursery they would let themselves in. Mum had insisted on cooking lunch, so my note said simply: Thanks very much for your help. Take whatever you need from the freezer. See you later. Love Cathy. X I propped it in front of the coffee jar and, steeling myself, went upstairs and into my bedroom, where I opened my wardrobe door. I took out my grey two-piece suit, light-grey blouse, new stockings and black court shoes and laid them on the bed. Concentrating on changing and not the reason why, I dressed in m
y smart outfit and then checked my appearance in the mirror. Looping my handbag over my arm, I went slowly downstairs and let myself out of the front door.
It was 10.40 when I arrived in the crematorium car park and parked in a bay by the hedge. I cut the engine, tried to silence my racing heart, and looked around. There were a dozen or so other cars parked; some of the cars were empty and others had occupants, presumably also waiting for Pat’s funeral. A group of about five men and women about Pat’s age stood together in one corner of the car park. I didn’t recognize anyone. Releasing my seat belt, I lowered my window a little for some air. It was a dry warm day, humid almost, but with a grey overcast sky. As I waited, other cars arrived and parked. I looked out of the window and concentrated on the neatly tended gardens awash with flowers, and listened to the birds singing in the trees overhead. My stomach churned. If I was feeling anxious, what must poor Michael be feeling? A lump rose to my throat.
Ten minutes later the cortège, led by a shiny black hearse, slowly pulled into view and on to the forecourt; I felt my eyes start to fill. Patrick’s coffin on display in the rear of the hearse seemed even more pronounced with no bouquets of flowers covering it and therefore shielding it partly from view. Pat had asked that donations be made to cancer research rather than sending flowers. The hearse drew to a halt in front of the chapel followed by two shiny black limousines carrying mourners. As I looked at the first car I saw Michael’s little face peer out of the side window. He looked so small and sad as he anxiously scanned the unfamiliar scene outside the car. Colleen was seated next to him and slipped her arm around his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Eamon was sitting next to her, and on the seat behind were Nora and Jack. There were other mourners in the second car but apart from Father Murphy from Michael’s school I didn’t recognize anyone.
