Читать книгу The Night the Angels Came - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 12

Chapter Seven Comfortable

I wanted to rush over and take Michael in my arms and comfort him, but I felt inhibited by the presence of the priest and the formality of the head teacher’s office. Instead I said, ‘Are you all right, love?’ I crossed the room to where Michael sat, so alone.

He gave a small nod and I touched his shoulder reassuringly.

‘You’re going home with Cathy,’ the priest said, remaining by the door.

‘How’s my dad?’ Michael asked me.

‘He’s being well looked after in hospital,’ I said. ‘I’m expecting to hear more soon, love. Try not to worry.’

‘Can I go and see him now?’ Michael asked. I wasn’t sure. Jill had told me to collect Michael from school and take him home. I didn’t know if it was appropriate to take Michael to the hospital now.

‘Not straight from school,’ I said, ‘but I’ll find out when you can visit.’ Michael nodded.

‘Don’t forget your bag,’ the priest said.

Michael picked up his school bag, which was propped beside the chair, and slowly stood.

‘Will you be bringing Michael to school tomorrow?’ the priest asked. ‘I think it’s better for him to be in school than moping around.’

‘I’ll have to wait until I hear from Michael’s social worker,’ I said, ‘but I think she’ll probably say Michael should come to school if he feels up to it. What time does school start?’

‘The doors open at eight a.m. and registration is at eight fifteen sharp.’ Which meant I would have time to bring Michael to school before taking Adrian to his school for its 8.50 a.m. start, and then continue as usual to Paula’s nursery for 9.00.

Michael heaved his school bag on to one shoulder and the four of us crossed the room to where the priest waited by the door. We went out of the head’s office and then followed the priest down the corridor to the main entrance. He opened the inner and outer doors. ‘Take care, Michael,’ he said as we passed through the dark lobby and into the light and air. ‘I’ll visit your dad when I get a chance. He is in our prayers.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ Michael said respectfully. Adrian and Paula glanced at me and I knew I would have to explain later that priests in the Catholic Church were referred to as ‘father’.

‘When will I be able to see my dad?’ Michael asked as we crossed the playground.

‘I’m not sure yet. I’m waiting to hear from your social worker and I’ll tell you as soon as I do.’ I was hoping Jill or Stella would phone before too long so that I could reassure Michael, and I also needed to know what arrangements would be made to collect the clothes Michael needed for the weekend.

‘If you can’t take me I could go to the hospital on the bus,’ Michael offered.

I gave a small smile. ‘There’s no need for that, love. I’ll take you just as soon as I hear from Stella about visiting times.’ Of course I also needed confirmation that it was advisable for Michael to visit tonight – that Patrick was well enough – although I wasn’t going to alarm Michael by saying so.

‘You don’t have to keep to visiting times when someone is terminally ill,’ Michael said, and I was saddened that an eight-year-old knew this.

‘What’s a terminal?’ Paula asked innocently.

‘Terminally ill is when someone is very ill,’ I said. I guessed Michael probably knew the full definition but he didn’t say.

‘Have you visited your dad before in hospital?’ Adrian asked.

Michael shook his head. ‘Dad had to go to the hospital for chemo but he always came home again afterwards. Sometimes he was sick and I held his hand and got him a glass of water.’

My heart ached at the touching image of Michael caring for his father. ‘Chemo can make you sick,’ I said, and I wondered how long it would be before Paula asked what chemo was.

‘What’s a chemo?’ she said a second later.

‘It’s a very strong medicine that can help people get better,’ I said.

‘It hasn’t helped my dad,’ Michael said quietly.

I didn’t say anything and Paula and Adrian fell quiet too, and I thought how much Michael had had to cope with in his short life compared to the average child.

We arrived at the car and I opened the rear door and the children climbed in. The children were quiet on the journey home and I was deep in thought. Not only was I concerned and sad for Michael but I was also thinking about Patrick. How ill was he? Jill had said he’d collapsed and a neighbour had found him, which could mean anything from a faint to a coma. Would he be able to leave hospital after the weekend, as Jill’s comment had suggested, or was he going to need a longer stay? Patrick had been doing so well on the two occasions I’d met him and should have been coming to dinner on Saturday instead of being rushed to hospital. I knew I was going to have to be very strong for Michael, for if I was worrying goodness knew what Michael must be thinking as he sat silently next to Adrian staring through the side window.

It would be nice to say that when we arrived home Adrian’s and Paula’s naturally happy disposition took over and we all brightened up, but that didn’t happen. As I unlocked the front door and we filed into the house the cloud of Michael’s sadness came with us. Michael stood in the hall with his bag on one shoulder looking so very sad, lost and alone, while Adrian and Paula, who usually ran off playing before I’d closed the front door, stood subdued on either side of him.

‘Take your shoes and coats off,’ I encouraged. ‘Michael, you can leave your school bag here in the hall, love, or take it up to your room. It’s up to you.’

He dropped it where I pointed, in the recess in the hall; then he took off his shoes and jacket, which I hung on the coat stand. Adrian and Paula took off their shoes and coats and the three of them looked at me.

‘Adrian, would you like to get a game from the cupboard while I make dinner?’ I suggested.

He shrugged. ‘Can’t we watch television?’

‘Yes, if that’s what you’d all like to do.’

They nodded. ‘Does anyone want a drink and a snack first?’

They looked at each other and shrugged again; then Adrian led the way into the sitting room to watch television while I went to the kitchen to make dinner.

Not having any news of Patrick was in some ways worse than having bad news because my thoughts went into overdrive and I kept imagining the worst. I could hear the television in the background as I worked in the kitchen and I assumed the children’s thoughts were safely occupied with the programme. But after fifteen minutes as I was peeling potatoes Adrian rushed in.

‘Mum, come quickly,’ he said. ‘Michael and Paula are crying.’

I left what I was doing and flew into the sitting room. Michael was sitting on the sofa, staring blindly at the television, with tears streaming silently down his cheeks. Paula sat next to him, her little arms looped around his shoulders, trying to comfort him but also in tears.

‘Adrian, can you turn off the television for now, please?’ I said. I went over to the sofa and, lifting Paula to one side, positioned myself between the two of them. I linked one arm around Michael’s waist, who remained sitting stiffly upright, and my other arm around Paula, who snuggled into my side.

‘It’s all right,’ I soothed gently. ‘It’s OK to be upset. I understand.’

‘I miss my dad,’ Michael said. ‘I want to be with him.’

‘I know you do, love. If I haven’t heard anything from Stella soon I’ll phone and see if there is any news, and ask her when you can visit.’

‘My dad needs me,’ Michael said, his brow creasing. ‘We’re never apart.’ As well as hearing Michael’s deep sadness at their separation I heard his anxiety and sense of responsibility for his father.

‘Your dad is being very well looked after by the doctors and nurses,’ I reassured him. ‘You’ve done so much caring for your dad and now it’s their turn to help.’

‘Why didn’t they phone me instead of taking him to hospital?’ Michael asked, as though he was responsible for his dad being admitted to hospital. ‘I look after him when he’s unwell.’

‘I know you do, love, and you do a fantastic job, but sometimes people need what a hospital can offer. The doctors and nurses can do more there.’ Michael was still sitting upright and rigid, as though trying to keep his grief under control and accepting my hug would be a sign of weakness.

‘Are the doctors making Michael’s daddy better?’ Paula asked, still snuggled into my side. Her tears were subsiding now she’d had some reassurance from me.

‘The doctors are making sure Patrick is very comfortable,’ I said carefully, for in truth I’d no idea how Patrick was.

‘And you’ll phone?’ Michael asked.

‘Yes, I’m expecting your social worker to phone me but if she doesn’t by the time I’ve finished preparing dinner, then I’ll phone her.’

‘Mum will,’ Adrian confirmed. He was sitting in the chair opposite, sombrely watching us. ‘Mum always does what she says.’ Which I thought was sweet and showed Adrian had confidence in me despite my failings.

‘What time will you phone?’ Michael persisted.

I glanced at the clock. ‘If I haven’t heard anything I’ll phone at five thirty,’ which seemed to reassure Michael at little. He gave a small nod and then wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. ‘I’ll get you a tissue,’ I said.

Giving them both a little hug, which Michael resisted, I stood and fetched the box of tissues, and Michael and Paula took a few each.

‘Do you want the television on?’ Adrian asked Michael. ‘Or do you want to play something?’

Michael shrugged. ‘Don’t mind.’

‘Why don’t you and Paula take Michael to where all the toys are and the three of you can choose something?’ I said to Adrian. I thought that hunting through the cupboards, drawers and boxes of toys and games would provide a distraction and occupy their thoughts if nothing else.

Adrian stood, Michael and Paula followed, and the three of them went off to the conservatory-cum-playroom, where most of the toys were kept, while I returned to the kitchen to continue with the preparation of dinner. It was nearly 5.15 before the phone rang and I grabbed the extension in the kitchen. My stomach churned as I heard Stella’s voice.

‘Good and bad news,’ she said. ‘Patrick has regained consciousness but he doesn’t want Michael to visit him.’