The Night the Angels Came (20 page)

O
n Sunday, having seen Adrian and Paula off with their father, I arrived at Pat’s house as arranged at eleven o’clock and Michael answered the front door. He was as pleased to see me as I was to see him. ‘Hi, Auntie Cathy,’ he cried, throwing his arms around me and giving me a big hug.

‘Hi, love,’ I said. Then drawing back slightly so I could see him properly, I said, ‘I’m sure you’ve grown.’ Michael appeared taller now than when I’d last seen him – two weeks before – and I knew from Adrian that boys his age had sudden growth spurts.

‘Dad says I’ve grown too,’ Michael said proudly.

I smiled. ‘Where is Dad?’

‘In the living room.’

I followed Michael down the hall and into their sitting room. I probably should have read more into the fact that Michael had answered the door rather than Pat. But it wasn’t until I entered the living room and saw Patrick struggling to stand to greet me that I knew why he hadn’t gone down the hall to answer the door. He couldn’t. His health had deteriorated so much since I’d last seen him that it was now taking all his energy and concentration to get out of the chair. I hid my shock as he steadied himself against the arm of the chair and extended a hand to take mine.

‘Hello, love,’ I said, going over.

I took the hand he offered in mine and then put my arms around him and gently hugged him. We didn’t speak. I was too choked and I think he was too. After a moment he drew back and slowly eased himself down into the armchair again. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said with a small smile once he was settled.

I sat on the sofa next to Michael and looked at Pat and then Michael. Keeping a tight lid on my emotions, I said simply: ‘It’s good to see you both again.’ I put my arm around Michael and gave him another hug.

Pat smiled. ‘We’re very pleased to see you too,’ he said, his voice catching.

‘So what have you been up to?’ I asked lightly, looking at Michael.

‘Tell Cathy your news,’ Pat said slowly, resting his head on the chair back.

I looked at Michael as he began telling me that he’d been chosen to play for his school’s basketball team and I congratulated him. Then he told me about his friend Simon – the lad he’d had tea with – who was now planning a birthday party to which Michael would be invited. As Michael talked I stole a glance at Pat. He was so frail and depleted by weight loss he looked like an old man sitting in his armchair and I could have wept. He was concentrating on everything Michael was saying, clearly taking enormous pleasure in Michael’s achievements, and he was so very proud of his son. Pat returned my glance with a smile. I swallowed hard and knew I had to stay as positive and focused as he and Michael were.

Presently Pat interrupted Michael and said slowly, ‘Sorry, Cathy, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like a drink?’

‘Just a glass of water, please,’ I said. ‘Shall I get it?’

‘No, I’ll get it,’ Michael said, immediately jumping up. ‘Do you want a drink, Dad?’

‘Water, please, son.’

Once Michael had left the room Patrick looked at me in earnest. He spoke slowly and carefully, as though each word was an effort. ‘Thank you so much for coming, Cathy. I know how difficult this must be for you: seeing me like this.’

I gave a small nod and smiled sadly. What could I say? Yes, Pat, it’s absolutely dreadful seeing you like this and knowing there’s nothing I can do to help. But if I admitted to my feelings now I knew the lid I was keeping on them would burst open and I’d dissolve into tears. For Pat and Michael’s sake I wanted to be as brave as they were, so I smiled again and said, ‘I’m very pleased I came to see you both.’

Michael returned with the two glasses of water and placed one on the coffee table within reach of his father and handed the other to me. I thanked Michael and took a sip of the water; then I asked Pat if there was anything I could do: the washing or ironing, maybe?

‘No, love,’ Pat said. ‘Nora’s taking care of it. Thanks anyway.’

Then Michael asked if I’d like to play a game of knockout whist with him. I said I would, although I wasn’t very good at it, which he knew from playing while he’d stayed with me. Michael took a pack of cards from the bureau drawer and dealt us seven cards each and then placed the rest of the pack face-down on the sofa between us. Pat watched us playing, with his head resting on the chair back, smiling when one of us won a trick. Just after twelve noon, when I’d been there for nearly an hour and Michael had won three games to my two, the front doorbell rang.

‘That will be Nora with lunch,’ Michael said, leaping off the sofa to answer the door.

I smiled at Pat. ‘I’ll go and let you have your lunch, once I’ve said hello to Nora,’ I said. ‘Will you promise to phone if you need me?’

‘Of course,’ Pat nodded. ‘Thank you, Cathy.’

I heard Nora’s bright ‘Hello, Michael’ come from the hall. Then Michael’s voice eagerly asking what she’d made for lunch. ‘Homemade tomato soup, and egg salad rolls,’ Nora said.

‘That sounds good,’ I said to Pat. He gave a small nod.

Nora came into the sitting room carrying a tray covered with a white linen napkin.

‘Hello, Cathy,’ she said, smiling. ‘I thought that was your car outside. How are you, pet?’

‘Very well, and yourself?’ I stood and kissed her cheek; then I moved Pat’s glass of water to the side of the coffee table to make room for the tray.

‘I’m fine and Jack said to say hello,’ Nora said, setting the tray on the table and removing the napkin.

A mouth-watering smell of tomato flavoured with basil rose from the two bowls of soup. Michael was already drawing up the footstool to the coffee table, ready to begin.

‘Just a minute,’ Nora said to Michael. Then to Pat: ‘Are you eating in here or at the table?’

‘In here I think,’ Pat said with effort. ‘It’s easier than at the table.’

I watched Nora as she took one of the bowls of soup from the tray together with the plate of egg rolls and placed them on the coffee table in front of Michael. I supposed that having seen Patrick daily Nora had had time to adjust to the deterioration in his health and wasn’t as shocked as I was by his appearance but carried on as normal. Pat heaved himself further up the chair so that he was more upright and in a better position to eat. Nora spread the napkin on Pat’s lap and placed the tray with the soup and spoon on top of it.

‘Thank you, love,’ Patrick said gratefully. He steadied the tray with one hand and took a deep breath as though summoning the strength to begin eating. My heart ached. It was pitiful to watch – he’d always had such a good appetite – yet somehow even now his dignity shone through.

Michael, seated on the stool at the coffee table, was tucking into his soup. Pat looked at the soup and then at me. I wondered if he felt embarrassed eating like this in front of me. I thought I should leave now; I’d been here for over an hour.

‘I’ll be off, then,’ I said. Pat nodded. I stood and, careful not to unbalance the tray, leant forward and kissed Patrick’s forehead.

‘Bye, love,’ Pat said, smiling at me. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Take care and phone if you need me,’ I said again.

‘I will,’ Pat said.

‘Bye, Auntie Cathy,’ Michael said, pausing between mouthfuls.

‘Bye, love. I’ll beat you at whist next time.’

Michael grinned. Nora came with me down the hall to the front door. ‘I usually have a tidy-up while they eat lunch,’ she said. ‘Then I sort out their washing. When they’ve finished eating I take away the dishes and come back at three o’clock with tea and cake. Pat still likes his cake, especially my Victoria sponge. Then I bring them dinner about six thirty.’

‘You’re so good,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how they’d manage without you.’

‘It just allows Pat to say stay at home a bit longer,’ Nora said. ‘There’s a nurse looking in now too.’

I nodded. ‘I hadn’t realized how much Pat had deteriorated,’ I confessed. ‘Pat didn’t say on the phone.’ I felt my eyes well.

‘Don’t be upsetting yourself,’ Nora said quietly, touching my arm. ‘Patrick wouldn’t want you crying.’

‘I know, but it’s all so unfair. Why him? Why Michael? What have they done to deserve this?’

‘That’s what Jack says, but I suppose if you have a strong faith as they have, then leaving this world perhaps isn’t the worst that can happen. Not if you believe you are going to a better place.’

‘I suppose so,’ I said, unconvinced. ‘I can’t share their faith but I will keep strong for Michael.’

‘I know you will, love. We all will. Did Pat say anything to you about Colleen?’ I shook my head, guessing it was about taking Michael to church when he stayed again.

‘No worries,’ Nora said.

‘What are you two gossiping about?’ Patrick called jokingly from the living room.

‘We’re talking about you, not to you,’ Nora returned with a smile at me.

‘Bye!’ I called down the hall as Nora opened the front door. ‘See you soon.’

‘Bye, Cathy!’ Pat and Michael called together.

I kissed Nora goodbye and left, swallowing back tears, for to let them fall would have been a great disservice to Pat and Michael’s courage.

That evening when Adrian and Paula returned home from seeing their father and had finished telling me their news, I said briefly that I’d visited Pat, and Michael was fine. I said Nora was helping Michael look after his dad but I thought it wouldn’t be long before Michael came to stay with us again.

‘Goodie,’ Paula said, happy at the prospect of playing with Michael and not understanding the wider implications.

Adrian, that much older and understanding, more asked seriously, ‘Is his dad going into hospital again?’

I nodded. ‘I think he will, before too long.’

Clearly I needed to prepare Adrian and Paula, as Michael was preparing himself, so that when Pat required full-time nursing and had to go into the hospice it wouldn’t come as such a shock, but I would do it a bit at a time. What I didn’t know was that I hadn’t got much time to do it in.

Monday and Tuesday passed with the usual school and nursery routine and housework; then on Wednesday afternoon Pat phoned without texting first. I knew the moment I picked up the phone that change was happening.

‘Cathy, I’ve decided to go into St John’s Hospice for a few days,’ Pat said evenly. ‘Just for a rest. Stella, our social worker, will phone you soon with the arrangements but I wanted to let you know myself.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘Just for a few days?’

‘Yes. It’s all getting a bit much for me at present and they’re very good at sorting out pain relief. I’m going in this evening. Jack will bring Michael to you and then take me to St John’s. Is six o’clock all right? Nora will give us dinner first.’ Apart from sounding slightly out of breath, Pat was positive, matter-of-fact and practical in the way he spoke.

‘Yes, whatever suits you,’ I said. ‘Michael is welcome to have dinner here if it’s easier?’

‘Thanks, but I’d like to have dinner with him before he goes. We won’t call it the last supper.’ It was said as a joke but, worried as I was, I didn’t appreciate Pat’s flippancy. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t funny, was it?’

‘No,’ I confirmed.

‘OK. I’ll get off the line now. Stella will be phoning you soon to confirm the arrangements. Thanks for stepping in and helping out again.’

‘Text me if you need anything,’ I said quickly as Pat wound up.

‘Will do. God bless.’

I replaced the handset and almost immediately the phone rang again. It was Stella, phoning as Pat had said she would with the ‘arrangements’, which I assumed would include the visiting times for St John’s. However, from what Stella now said, I wouldn’t be needing the visiting times because Pat had told her he didn’t want Michael to visit him at all.

‘W
hat? Not visit him at all?’ I asked Stella, surprised. ‘Pat’s just phoned me. I must have misunderstood him.’

‘Pat’s said that as he is only going to be in for a few days he doesn’t want Michael to come to the hospice. He will be home again at the weekend.’

‘I see. Well, if that’s what Pat wants.’

‘It is, so we have to respect his wishes.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed reluctantly. ‘I understand Pat’s neighbour Jack will be bringing Michael to you?’ Stella confirmed.

‘Yes, that’s what Pat told me.’

‘Fine. And you’re all right to do the school run?’

‘Yes. We’ll continue as we did before. It worked out fine.’

‘Good. Well, thanks, Cathy. I’ll let you know if there is any change in the arrangements.’

‘Stella,’ I said carefully, ‘if Pat does stay longer – over the weekend – then I think Michael should see his father, don’t you?’

‘Absolutely, but Pat is adamant he will be out again on Saturday, and he’s such a fighter, I’m sure he will.’

I told Adrian and Paula that Patrick was going into a type of hospital for a few days. They were pleased to be seeing Michael, although sorry that his dad was unwell again. At six o’clock when the doorbell rang they came with me to answer the door and welcomed Michael, as Jack lifted Michael’s holdall into the hall. I offered Jack a cup of tea but he said he wouldn’t stay as he was going straight back to take Pat to St John’s. He gave Michael a hug, said goodbye to all of us, and left with a wave, saying he or Nora would be in touch. Michael only had the one holdall – enough for a few days – and hadn’t brought his Scalextric. I saw Adrian’s disappointment.

‘It wasn’t worth packing up the Scalextric just for a few days,’ I said. ‘It’s a nice evening, so why don’t the three of you play in the garden, while I unpack Michael’s bag?’

Disappointment vanished and they scampered off down the hall, through the sitting room and out of the French windows, while I took Michael’s holdall upstairs. Michael’s room was at the back of our house, overlooking the garden, so I could see the children while I unpacked. They had gone straight to the sand-pit, Michael’s favourite activity after Scalextric. He seemed relaxed and at ease as he played. Used to staying with us and assuming he’d be home again at the weekend, he was taking his visit in his stride.

I finished Michael’s unpacking, and went downstairs and into the garden, where I was met with a chorus of: ‘Can we have an ice cream, please?’

I went into the kitchen, took three Cornettos from the freezer and returned to the garden, where I handed them out. We stayed in the garden until just before seven o’clock, when I said it was time to come in and start getting ready for bed, as they had school the following day. I took Paula upstairs while Michael and Adrian covered the sandpit and put away garden toys. Michael was so familiar with our house now that he knew where most things were kept, just as Adrian did.

Later, when Michael was ready for bed and I went into his bedroom to say goodnight, he said: ‘Cathy, I was wondering if we could stop off at my church on the way home from school tomorrow, so I can light a candle for my dad? I know you’re not a Catholic, so you don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. But I’d like to light a candle for my dad.’

‘Of course we can,’ I said. ‘What a nice idea!’

I was very touched by Michael’s request, but I was also acutely aware of my ignorance in respect of the practice of lighting votive candles in the Catholic Church. The children and I occasionally went to our local Church of England, which like many Anglican churches didn’t follow the practice of lighting prayer or votive candles. However, I wasn’t going to let Michael go into church alone: it didn’t seem right.

‘I’d like to come into church with you, if that’s OK?’

Michael nodded. ‘We have to pay.’

I knew there was a small charge for the candle. ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I’ll remember to bring my purse when I collect you from school. And you can show me what to do.’

Michael smiled, drew his curtains together, leaving a gap in the middle so that he could see the sky, and then knelt beside his bed, hands clasped together, ready to say his prayers. As usual I lowered my head and looked away out of respect for his devotion. ‘Dear Lord,’ he began, ‘please take special care of my daddy. He’s in St John’s, you know. Please make him well so he can come home again at the weekend. I know you want him to be with my mummy, but please don’t send your angels yet.’

It was similar to the prayer Michael had said when he’d first stayed with me and now as then my heart went out to him. He seemed so small and vulnerable, kneeling humbly beside his bed, hands together and eyes closed, that I wanted to pick him up and hold him tight and never let him go.

After a moment he crossed himself, opened his eyes and stood. ‘Cathy,’ he said, climbing into bed, ‘I know Dad says he’ll be home by the weekend, but if he isn’t can we go and see him at St John’s?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

That evening I propped a note by my handbag to remind me to take my bag with me when I collected Michael from school the following day. Usually, if I was just popping to the school I took my keys and phone but not my purse, which I would need for the candles. I vaguely wondered what happened if someone didn’t have money with them: were they still allowed to light a prayer candle? I’d no idea. But that wouldn’t be our worry, for on Thursday afternoon as I entered Michael’s playground with Paula I had my bag firmly over my shoulder. Adrian was staying behind at school for a rehearsal for the end-of-year production in which he had a part, so I would collect him at 4.30 after we’d been to Michael’s church.

‘Have you had a good day?’ I asked Michael as he bounded out of school.

‘You haven’t forgotten!’ he said, seeing my bag on my shoulder.

‘Of course not,’ I said, smiling. ‘Mummy never forgets,’ Paula put in.

A mother who was standing next to me in the playground and must have overheard Paula’s comment looked at me and smiled. ‘I wish,’ she said.

‘Me too,’ I said, laughing.

I drove to the Sacred Heart Roman Catholic church, which was five minutes away and in the direction of home. The church fronts the main road and doesn’t have a car park, so I parked down the side street closest to the church. Michael, Paula and I got out of the car and then walked round the front of the church and to the main entrance. I’d already explained to Paula that afternoon what we would be doing and naturally she’d asked if she could light a candle too. I’d said I wasn’t sure, as we weren’t Catholics, but if it seemed appropriate then we would. The Sacred Heart was an imposing stone building built about 150 years ago in a traditional, almost Gothic style, with a tall bell tower, and huge arched stone doorway over which was a life-sized stone statue of Mary, mother of Jesus. The intimidating grandeur of the building, plus my unfamiliarity with the church and its practice, combined to make me feel slightly nervous – apprehensive almost – about going in. Paula must have felt the same, for as Michael turned the large metal door knob and pushed open the wooden door I felt her hand tighten in mine.

The door creaked and we stepped inside. Michael closed it again behind us. On the right was a stone font containing holy water. Michael dipped his fingers into the water and made the sign of the cross before moving forward into the main body of the church. Paula and I followed him in. To my surprise the interior of the church was bright and airy with sunlight streaming through the large stained-glass windows. Old combined with new, with rows of modern pews, and new wooden exposed beams in the high-arched ceiling, while round the walls of the church were ancient religious statutes and paintings. The church wasn’t empty; half a dozen worshippers were sitting in quiet thought or prayer in the first few rows of the pews at the front of the church. Paula looked at me and I put my finger to my lips to remind her to be quiet. Michael stood at the end of nave, facing the altar, and crossed himself; then, turning to me whispered, ‘The prayer candles are over here.’

Paula and I followed him silently across the rear of the church and to a walk-in stone alcove in the corner. It was like a little room in itself, only without a door. Rows of candles were burning on three stone steps, beneath a statue of Mary holding baby Jesus in a small shrine. I saw the box of new candles to the left, beside the donation box with a printed note on the front: ‘50p’. I took my purse from my bag and gave Michael the money. He dropped the coin into the donation box and took a fresh candle.

Although the main body of the church was lit by natural light, this alcove was lit mainly by the candles. There must have been about thirty prayer candles in various stages of burning. Their light stirred and flickered in the moving air, dancing over the stone walls and flagstone floor. Organ music played discreetly in the background, creating a particularly special atmosphere in this corner of the church. It was serene yet powerful, as though the prayers of all those who had gone before us had united and been enriched by the light of the candles. The feeling was palpable: light shining into the darkness of people’s souls, for without doubt those who had lit candles before us, like Michael, had been seeking extra help in a time of crisis.

Michael crossed himself again, lit his new candle from one that was already burning and placed it carefully on the stone step. Bringing his hands together he looked up to the statue of the Virgin Mary. I, too, drew my gaze up, for although I wasn’t a Catholic I could feel and appreciate the spirituality of the moment. Paula, standing close beside me and still holding my hand, watched Michael in awe. Keeping his eyes on the statue of Mary, Michael said a silent prayer; the light flicked on his face and I saw his faith and solemnity. After a moment he lowered his hands, crossed himself and turned to me. His expression was relaxed and peaceful, joyous almost. ‘I’ve finished,’ he said quietly. And we began to move away.

Paula and I didn’t light a candle. I felt that as I couldn’t share Michael’s faith it didn’t seem right to perform this ritual, and Paula didn’t ask. We made our way silently across the rear of the church towards the exit and before we left Michael faced the altar again and crossed himself.

We were silent outside as we walked down the path and joined the street, as though the peace and tranquillity of the church had come with us. Then Paula suddenly asked Michael: ‘Now you’ve lit a candle will your daddy get better?’

It was an innocent question, understandable in a child her age, but I inwardly cringed at her insensitivity, for I was sure having to answer would upset Michael. I was about to say something, though goodness knew what, when Michael turned to Paula and said quietly, ‘It won’t make my daddy well, but it will make us both feel better. We know God is with us and we have nothing to fear.’

My eyes immediately misted and a lump rose in my throat. I quietly slipped my arm around Michael’s shoulder and the three of us walked arm in arm and in silence to the car.

That evening, after I’d collected Adrian from school, the boys did their homework and Paula watched television while I made dinner; then the three of them played in the garden until it was time for bed. That night Michael’s prayer was simple: ‘God bless Mummy, Daddy, Colleen, Eamon, Jack, Nora, Cathy, Adrian and Paula, and all my friends. Amen.’ He crossed himself and climbed into bed. I said goodnight and went downstairs, wondering exactly how Pat was, for I hadn’t heard anything from anyone at all that day.

Shortly after nine o’clock the phone rang and it was Eamon. His voice was flat and emotionless. Having asked how we all were, he said, ‘Colleen can’t come to the phone, she’s too upset. She’s asked me to phone you. We saw Pat earlier this evening; we took Nora and Jack but we only stayed an hour. Pat is very poorly: he’s not in pain but he’s unconscious. It’s not looking good, Cathy.’

I was shocked, for it had only been the previous afternoon Pat had been well enough to phone me to say he was going into the hospice for a short rest and he’d be out by the weekend. Now it appeared he had deteriorated dramatically. ‘What did the nurses say?’ I asked, my mouth going dry and my heart pounding.

‘That he was being kept comfortable, and resting. They’re very nice. I suppose they must be used to it. They said we could visit any time. I told them Pat had a young son who was being looked after, which they were aware of, and I asked if we should bring him to see his Dad.’

‘What did they say?’

‘That the decision when to bring Michael should be made by him in conjunction with his family, which in effect is us and you.’

I hesitated, swallowed hard and asked quietly, ‘Are we talking about Michael visiting his dad to say goodbye?’ I heard the words and my eyes filled.

Eamon gave a small sigh. ‘I don’t know, Cathy. Pat’s rallied before. And he’s always been very protective of Michael – not wanting him upset unnecessarily. He won’t be pleased if he recovers from this and is home again at the weekend, but I’m not so sure.’ He paused. ‘Look, let’s see how things go tomorrow. The four of us will be visiting again tomorrow evening. Let’s make a decision about Michael then. The hospice will phone us if there is any change and we’ll phone you straight away. There will be time for you and Michael to get there if necessary.’

‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘Although I’m not sure what I should tell Michael when he asks how his Dad is.’

‘No, neither am I. Sorry, I can’t help you there, Cathy.’

That night, as I put the cat out for her night-time run, I stood on the patio and looked up at the night sky. There was no moon and it was cloudy, so there were only a few stars, dimly visible far away. What lay beyond those stars was anyone’s guess, but I could appreciate the comfort in believing, as Patrick and Michael did, that there was a better place waiting for us. And certainly if entry to heaven depended on leading a good life on earth then certainly Patrick would be there, at the front of the queue. A kinder, more thoughtful and selfless man I hadn’t met in a long while.