The Night the Angels Came (10 page)

B
y Tuesday morning I was back on course. I find you can’t stay down for very long when you have young children around you. I took Adrian to school and Paula to nursery and then went into town to shop for something to wear for Thursday. Although it was only the end of April, the shops were full of summer clothes to the exclusion of all else: swimwear, beach-wear, shorts, T-shirts, sandals, brightly patterned cotton dresses and lightweight knee-length combat trousers. I went from shop to shop and was beginning to think I’d forget about buying new and find something to wear in my wardrobe when I spotted a rail of ‘new season’ linen dresses. Mindful I had to collect Paula in half an hour, I grabbed four, quickly tried them on and came out triumphant with a pale-yellow dress. Paying, I drove straight to Paula’s nursery with a minute to spare. On returning home I spent the afternoon doing what I should have done in the morning – housework and clearing up after the weekend – while Paula amused herself with puzzles and games.

We collected Adrian from school at 3.30 and then the children watched some television while I made dinner. During the meal I told them I would be going out on Thursday evening.

‘Patrick is taking me to dinner,’ I said, ‘as a thank you for looking after Michael at the weekend.’

‘Can we come?’ Paula asked. ‘We helped look after Michael too.’

I smiled. ‘I know you did, love, and it was nice of you. But it’s too late for you and Adrian: you’ll both be in bed.’

‘Is Michael going?’ Paula asked.

‘No, just Patrick and me. Adults go out in the evening sometimes without their children,’ I added, and was about to illustrate the point by saying, ‘Your father and I used to,’ but decided against it. It would have been an unnecessary reminder of the past and Paula had been too young to remember her father and me going out in the evening. Instead I said: ‘You go to your friends without me and when you see your dad.’

‘Can you come with us when we see Daddy?’ Paula asked, as she had asked before.

‘No,’ Adrian put in, slightly embarrassed, ‘Mum and Dad are getting divorced.’

My heart ached for them and I wished things could have been different.

‘Michael’s Scalextric is whiz,’ Adrian said, changing the subject. ‘I was thinking that perhaps I could have one for my birthday or Christmas?’

‘Yes, good idea,’ I said.

Adrian grinned.

That evening I phoned Jenny to confirm the time for Thursday and she said she’d be with me by 6.50 p.m. Then a while later Patrick texted:
I hope u and the kids had a good day? P x
I texted back:
Yes thnks. And u? C x
He replied:
Yes. Very good. P x

The evening continued as normal with the children’s baths, bedtime stories, and hugs and kisses goodnight; then before I went to bed I tried on the new dress with a pair of heels – I’d been wearing trainers in the shop. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought the dress had been a good choice. The few extra pounds around my stomach which I’d been carrying since the birth of Adrian and Paula didn’t show, and with a bit of make-up I’d look quite presentable, maybe even attractive, I thought.

I consider myself a level-headed, sensible person but it is true to say that for the next few days – the Tuesday and Wednesday leading up to Thursday evening – I was like a schoolgirl about to go on her first date. It wasn’t only that I was looking forward to spending time with Patrick but also the novelty of getting ready to go out socially in the evening, which I hadn’t done for so long.

On Thursday I made dinner early for Adrian and Paula, and while they were eating I showered and washed and dried my hair. When they’d finished their meal I helped Paula change into her nightdress, ready for bed, and she went downstairs in her dressing gown; Adrian, four years older, would get himself ready for bed later, after I’d gone. I then returned upstairs and carefully put on new stockings, the new dress, make-up and the heeled shoes, and giving my hair a final brush I was ready to answer the front door when the bell rang at 6.45 p.m.

‘Hi, Cath,’ Jenny said as I opened the door. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Doesn’t your mum look nice?’ Jenny said to the children, who’d come with me to the door.

They both looked at me and nodded, and then Paula said: ‘Mummy’s going out with Patrick tonight. Adults can go out without their children sometimes, you know.’

Jenny and I both smiled. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Jenny said. ‘And your mum should be doing it more often.’

The children came with me as I led the way through to the kitchen and showed Jenny where the tea, coffee and biscuits were kept. ‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ I said. ‘If you can’t find it, Adrian knows where things are.’

‘So do I,’ Paula put in.

‘I know, love, but you’ll be in bed,’ I reminded her.

We went into the sitting room and chatted for a while, although my mind was only partly on the conversation and more on the clock as I anticipated Patrick’s arrival. At exactly 7.00. the bell rang and I stood. ‘Can I say hello to Patrick?’ Paula asked, also standing. ‘Yes. Come on, but quickly: Patrick has a cab waiting.’ Adrian and Paula came with me down the hall while Jenny took a magazine from the rack and waited in the sitting room.

‘What a welcome party!’ Patrick exclaimed as I opened the front door with a child either side of me. ‘Hello, Cathy, you look very nice,’ he said, kissing my cheek.

‘Thank you.’ I felt myself blush.

‘Is your sitter here or shall I tell the cab to wait?’ Patrick asked.

‘No, she’s here. The children just wanted to say hello.’

Patrick nodded to them. ‘You be good for your sitter,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after your mum and I promise she won’t be out too late.’

‘She’s allowed a late pass,’ Jenny called from the sitting room.

I laughed. ‘Come in and say a quick hi to my sitter,’ I said. ‘She’s one of my oldest friends.’

‘Not so much of the old!’ Jenny called, appearing in the hall. Patrick met her halfway down the hall. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, shaking her hand and kissing her cheek.

‘And you,’ Jenny said; then to Adrian and Paula, who were rooted either side of me, ‘Come on, let’s say goodbye to your mum and Patrick and we’ll find some stories to read.’

Jenny took Paula’s hand and the three of them came with Patrick and me to the front door. I kissed the children good-night, thanked Jenny again and then followed Patrick down the path to the cab waiting at the kerb. Like a true gentleman, Patrick opened the rear door for me to get in and closed it again before going round and getting in the other side.

‘Have a good time,’ Jenny called.

‘I will.’ I waved.

But as the cab pulled away and I looked at Jenny standing on the doorstep I felt a sudden stab of sadness mingled with anger and regret. It reminded me of the last time Jenny had babysat for me: it had been for John’s office party the Christmas before he’d left. Jenny had said then as she had now how nice I looked and wished us a good time. And I’d had a good time, but some months later I found out that a girl John had introduced me to – his new PA – was the woman he’d been having an affair with and subsequently left me for.

‘You OK?’ Patrick asked, lightly touching my arm.

‘Yes.’ I looked at him. ‘Just remembering.’

‘As long as they are good memories. You know what the Irish say: “May you never forget what is worth remembering, nor ever remember what is best forgotten.”’

I laughed. ‘Perfect! That is so true.’

P
atrick had reserved a table at a very nice, but pricey, restaurant called the Old Manor. It was a seventeenth-century manor house and retained many of its original features, including exposed beams, a huge inglenook fireplace and little alcoves with ornate lattice windows.

‘This is lovely,’ I said to Patrick as the waitress showed us to our table, nestled in one of the alcoves.

‘I’m glad you like it. Have you been here before?’

‘Not for a long while.’

Each table had a starched white tablecloth with a centrepiece containing a lit candle and flowers. Exactly the type of place you avoid with young children for fear of staining the cloth or them overturning the flowers and candle.

The waitress handed us each a menu, pointed out the chef’s specials which were chalked on a blackboard and then asked us if we’d like a pre-dinner drink. I ordered an orange juice and Patrick had a scotch with ice.

‘How’s Michael?’ I asked after the waitress had left to fetch our drinks and we studied the menu.

‘Good. I’ve left him playing Scalextric with Nora. I don’t think she knows what she’s let herself in for.’

I smiled. ‘Adrian is asking for a Scalextric for a present for his birthday or Christmas.’

Patrick nodded. ‘I think all boys have an electric train set at some time in their childhoods. I did.’

‘My brother still has his,’ I agreed. ‘It’s in the loft at my parents’ house with his Matchbox cars. He was talking about those the other day: he thinks they might be worth something now.’

‘They could well be. Matchbox cars are collector’s items. He should get them valued.’

We returned to the menu. ‘So have you decided what you would like to eat?’ Patrick asked after a few moments. ‘The steaks used to be very good here, if you’re a meat eater.’

‘I’m not really but the salmon sounds nice.’

‘Yes, it is. Kathleen used to like that.’

I glanced up. ‘Did you and Kathleen come here often?’

‘Only for special occasions: birthdays, wedding anniversary, etc. Eamon and Colleen came with us a few times. The last time was to celebrate the birth of Michael. Kathleen became ill soon after and didn’t feel up to restaurants and eating out.’

The waitress returned with our drinks and took our orders. Neither of us wanted a starter, so Patrick ordered the steak – medium rare – and I ordered the poached salmon; both came with new potatoes and a selection of vegetables. Patrick asked for the wine menu and chose a bottle of Sauvignon, which he said would go with my salmon. ‘We’re not driving, so we may as well have some wine,’ he said, and I agreed.

As we sipped our drinks and waited for the food we talked, as parents often do, about our children. Patrick said Michael was good at maths but didn’t like reading or writing. He said he hoped Michael would start enjoying books soon because he (Patrick) could sit for hours with a good book, lost in a different world. I said I could too, given the time. Patrick liked science fiction and one of his favourite authors was Arthur C. Clarke. We then spent some time talking about
2001: A Space Odyssey
and the film, which had become a classic, and whether robots could ever become so sophisticated that they could think and feel for themselves.

The food arrived and with it the wine, and we continued talking as we ate. We covered many subjects – the weather, unemployment, holidays, our schooling compared to our children’s, etc. The only topic we didn’t touch on was Patrick’s illness – until we neared the end of the meal. We’d finished eating and, having refused the sweet menu, we were finishing the wine while waiting for the coffees to arrive, when Patrick said: ‘I phoned my aunt last weekend. She lives in Wales. She was my mother’s sister.’ I nodded. ‘The last time I saw her was at Kathleen’s funeral. Strange woman.’

I looked at him questioningly.

He shrugged. ‘She’s a devout Presbyterian and tries to convert everyone she meets. It’s difficult holding a conversation with her with all that hellfire and damnation.’ He gave a small dismissive laugh. ‘Stella suggested I contact her, to see if she would be willing to look after Michael long term. She didn’t, and to be honest I was quietly relieved. I’d prefer Michael going to a long-term foster carer than her. Do you know she actually told me I should have remarried when Michael was little and then I wouldn’t have this problem?’

‘What!’ I gasped, amazed. ‘You’re not serious?’

He laughed. ‘I am. What was I supposed to do? Place an ad in the Classifieds: wife and mother wanted in case I pop my clogs.’

We both laughed, and then I said more seriously, ‘Your aunt doesn’t sound like the type of person I’d want to look after my children.’

‘She’s not,’ Patrick said bluntly. ‘And I don’t.’

Despite Jill’s advice and warning, I now knew I had to say what was in my heart. Setting my glass on the table, I leant slightly forward. Patrick was gazing into the candlelight, deep in thought.

‘Pat, I don’t want to talk about your illness tonight. We’ve had a lovely evening, but I do want to say one thing.’ He looked up and met my gaze questioningly. ‘If you ever become too ill to look after Michael and he has to come and live with me, I would make it permanent if that is what you and he wanted. You mustn’t worry; I would look after Michael.’

There was a moment’s pause before he said, ‘Would you, Cathy? Would you really? What a good kind woman you are!’ I saw his eyes mist and he looked away.

‘Anyway,’ I said quickly, ‘let’s talk about something more cheerful. If you’re not doing anything this weekend, would you and Michael like to come for that dinner you missed when you took yourself off to hospital?’

‘Love to,’ he said, brightening. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

We drank our coffees, refused the offer of a liqueur from the waitress and then Patrick said if we’d finished he’d call for the bill.

‘Can we split the bill?’ I asked as he took out his wallet.

‘Certainly not,’ he said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘Well, thank you very much,’ I said. ‘I’ve really enjoyed myself.’

‘So have I. Thank
you
.’

We stood and he helped me into my coat.

Outside two cabs were parked on the far side of the restaurant’s carriage driveway with their engines off but lights on, waiting for diners who might need a cab. Patrick signalled to the first to come over, and when it had pulled round he gave my address to the driver and then opened the rear door for me to get in.

‘Nice restaurant,’ the cab driver remarked as Patrick climbed in beside me and we pulled away.

‘Very,’ Patrick and I agreed.

‘It changed owners a while back but the standard hasn’t dropped,’ the driver said and then continued making intermittent conversation during the fifteen-minute drive to my house. But as he spoke I noticed he seemed to be looking more at me in his rear-view mirror than at Patrick. Then as we turned into my road he said: ‘I know this road. I thought you looked familiar.’

Patrick and I both met his gaze in the interior mirror.

‘You looked after my neighbour’s kiddie for a few weeks,’ he said to me. ‘It was a couple of years ago when she went through a bad patch.’

‘Did I?’ I said, taken aback.

‘His name’s Carl. Mum is Chrissie. He’d have been three then.’

‘Oh yes, I remember,’ I said, wondering how the cabbie knew me. ‘How are they?’

‘Very well. They still live next door to me. I gave his mum a lift when she came to collect him from you.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a good memory.’ For while I remembered Carl and his mother I certainly wouldn’t have recognized the cab driver who had collected them.

‘I’ll tell Chrissie I saw you.’

‘Yes, please do and give them my love. I’m so pleased they’re doing well.’

We drew up outside my house and although I was tired I felt I should ask Patrick in for coffee. I was quietly relieved when he refused, saying it was after eleven o’clock and we both had to be up in the morning to get the children to school. Patrick told the cab driver to wait and he got out and opened my door and then walked with me down the path to my front door.

‘Thanks again for a lovely evening,’ I said as we stood on the doorstep and he kissed my cheek.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said. ‘Sleep tight and I’ll phone you tomorrow, if that’s all right?’

‘Of course.’

He kissed my cheek again and then returned to the cab as I quietly let myself in so that I didn’t wake the children. Closing the front door, I slipped off my shoes and padded along the hall and to the sitting room, where Jenny had the door open and the television on low so that she would hear the children if they woke.

‘Good evening?’ she asked quietly as I went in.

‘Perfect. We went to the Old Manor.’

‘Oh yes, very nice. Ben and I took his parents there last year for his mum’s birthday.’

I sat on the sofa as Jenny told me Adrian and Paula had been fine and had gone to bed on time and fallen asleep straight away. She said there’d been one phone call – from a double-glazing salesman whom she’d had difficulty getting rid of, despite telling him she wasn’t the homeowner. He’d said he’d phone back. Jenny then stood and said she’d go and let me get to bed. I thanked her again and went with her to the front door. I waited until she was safely in her car before I closed and then locked the door.

Switching off all the downstairs lights, I went upstairs, exhausted but with my thoughts still full of the evening. I was pleased I’d said what I had to Patrick about looking after Michael permanently should it ever be necessary. Hopefully Patrick would continue to stay well and my offer wouldn’t be necessary, but I knew it had reassured him and he’d appeared relieved. However, I also knew that when Jill found out I’d receive a ‘ticking off’, for although Patrick and I had become friends, I was still a foster carer and my offer should have been approved by the fostering agency first.

It was nearly midnight by the time I finally climbed into bed and it was a real struggle to get up when the alarm went at 6.00 the following morning. Hauling myself from under the duvet, I showered and dressed before waking Adrian and Paula at 7.00. Over breakfast they asked if I’d had a nice time with Patrick and when could they see Michael?’

‘Sunday,’ I said. ‘I’ve invited them for dinner. They’re coming after they’ve been to church.’

‘Can we go to church with them?’ Paula asked.

‘No, love,’ I said. ‘They go to a Catholic church.’

‘What’s a Catholic church?’ Paula predictably asked. ‘Don’t they believe in Jesus?’

‘Yes, they believe in Jesus but they put more emphasis on Mary, the Virgin Mother.’ I knew the moment I’d said it that it was the wrong thing to say.

‘What’s a virgin mother?’ Paula asked.

Adrian smirked.

‘The lady who had baby Jesus, but without a husband,’ I said.

Adrian smirked some more. ‘You haven’t got a husband now,’ Paula said innocently. ‘Are you a virgin mother?’

Adrian exploded into laughter, sputtering a mouthful of half-chewed cornflakes back into his bowl.

‘Enough!’ I said to Adrian. Then to Paula: ‘No, I’m not a virgin mother. There is only one and she was the mother of Jesus. Now, we haven’t got time to talk about this now, so please get on with your breakfast – otherwise we’ll be late for school and nursery.’ Apart from which, if I was honest, I was slightly hung over and didn’t feel up to explaining exactly what a virgin was, which doubtless would have been Paula’s next question. One glass of wine with my dinner on a Sunday is my maximum and last night I’d had half a bottle.

On Saturday morning we went shopping at the supermarket, where I bought what I needed for Sunday and also topped up on essentials – bread, milk, fruit and toilet tissue, which seemed to vanish before my eyes. On Saturday afternoon we visited my parents, whom we usually saw every two weeks. I’d always been close to my parents, but since John had left we’d become closer, with my father providing a male role model for the children as well as simply being a loving grandpa.

Before I went to bed that night I took the chicken from the freezer to defrost, the best china and cutlery from the top cupboard, and the linen napkins from the drawer. I was up again by eight o’clock the next morning to begin the preparations for when Patrick and Michael arrived at one o’clock. As it was Sunday, the children weren’t up and dressed until after nine, and when they’d had breakfast I suggested to Adrian he might like to tidy his room, as I’d noticed Michael’s bedroom was very tidy. He said he would, without argument, and thirty minutes later called me up to have a look. I gasped with admiration as I entered his room. ‘Fantastic!’ I said. ‘Well done. I am impressed.’ Paula then wanted me to look at her bedroom, which I did and admired, although it was always reasonably tidy.

Just before eleven o’clock the phone rang and for a moment I thought it might be Patrick cancelling, but it was John to speak to the children. He’d seen them at the beginning of the month and was due to see them again the following Sunday. I said a courteous if a little stiff hello and then called Adrian and Paula to the phone. I left them speaking to their father while I went into the kitchen to continue the preparations for dinner. The doors were open, so I could hear them if they called but not their actual conversation. They both spoke to their father for about ten minutes each and then, having said goodbye, came through to find me in the kitchen.

‘Dad says to remind you he’ll be taking us out next Sunday,’ Adrian said.

‘Yes, don’t worry: I won’t forget.’ Although why John couldn’t have said that to me when I’d answered the phone instead of sending a message with the children I didn’t know.

At one o’clock when the doorbell rang we were ready for our guests. The house was clean and tidy, the chicken was roasting in the oven and the vegetables were prepared and ready for cooking in their pans.

‘Don’t you two look the smart pair!’ I exclaimed as I opened the front door. Having come straight from church Patrick and Michael were wearing suits and ties.