Читать книгу The Night the Angels Came - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 7

Chapter Two Proud of My Children

That afternoon when I met Adrian from school and then collected Paula from the friend she’d been playing with for the afternoon, I gave them an extra big hug and held them close. Life is so short and precious, but sometimes it takes a tragic reminder of just how fragile life is for us to really appreciate our loved ones and make the most of every day.

The April afternoon was still warm and I suggested we go to the park rather than straight home. Adrian and Paula happily agreed. Clearly other mothers had had the same idea, for when we arrived at the park it was busy, especially in the children’s play area. Adrian ran over to the large slide while I went with Paula into the gated area for under-fives. I stood to one side and watched her as she ran around and then had goes on the little roundabout and rocking horse; then she called me to help her into a swing. As I lifted Paula in I heard Adrian shout, ‘Look, Mum!’

I looked over to the adjacent play area, where Adrian was on the bigger swings, as usual working the swing as high as it would go. He wanted me to admire his daring feat. I smiled and nodded my appreciation of his courage, then called my usual warning, ‘Hold on tight!’, which made him work the swing even higher. But that’s Adrian, and I guess boys in general.

Paula liked a more leisurely and genteel swing and as I pushed her I kept an eye on Adrian. He had left the swing, having jumped off while it was still moving, and was now on the rope ladder that was part of the mini assault course. My thoughts went again to Michael, as they had been doing on and off all afternoon, since Jill’s phone call. Was Michael still able to enjoy simple pleasures like running free and playing in a park, I wondered, or had his life closed in to the illness of his father? With no immediate family to share the burden and help out, Michael’s life must surely centre around his father’s condition, especially now he was so very ill. I looked again at Adrian and for a horrendous second my thoughts flashed to a picture of him being told I was terminally ill. I shuddered and changed direction, and thought instead about the meeting Patrick had requested with the foster carer. I was sure I couldn’t do it. Not meet a dying man and discuss looking after his son when he was no longer able to. Perhaps if I’d had a strong religious faith and sincerely believed Patrick was going on to a better life it would have been easier, but my faith wasn’t that strong. Like many, I believed in something but I wasn’t sure what, and while I hoped for a life after death I wasn’t wholly convinced. Death, therefore, held a shocking finality for me and was something I avoided contemplating at all costs.

By the time we got home, despite a pleasant hour in the park, I was feeling pretty down and a failure for not being able to offer to look after Michael. Then something strange happened, portentous in its timing – a sign, almost.

Adrian and Paula were watching children’s television while I made dinner. I could hear the dialogue on the television from the kitchen. It was an episode in a drama series – the children’s equivalent of adult soap. It dealt with everyday issues as well as family crises. So far the series had covered a new baby in the family, a visit to the doctor, going into hospital, parents divorcing and a parent drinking too much. Now, to my amazement, it appeared to be dealing with the death of a loved one. I left the dinner cooking and joined the children on the sofa. Admittedly it wasn’t a parent dying but a grandparent, but the timing of this episode didn’t escape me. It showed the family visiting Grandpa while he was in hospital, him ‘drifting comfortably into an endless sleep’, followed by the funeral and him ‘being laid to rest’. While the relatives were upset that they would not be seeing Grandpa again they rejoiced in having known him. They shared their special memories and his adult daughter said, ‘He will live for ever in our memory’, so the programme ended on a very positive note.

I returned to the kitchen deep in thought and finished cooking the dinner. Despite the programme I was no more convinced I had what it took to see Michael through his father dying, and indeed if I should. As I’d said to Jill, Adrian and Paula didn’t need any more sadness after their father leaving, and it would be impossible that they wouldn’t become involved. Then, as we ate, I decided to reverse the decision I’d made earlier – not to discuss Michael’s situation with Adrian and Paula – and gently sound them out. It was, after all, their home Michael would be coming into and their lives he would be part of.

‘You know the fostering we do?’ I said lightly, introducing the subject.

‘Yes,’ Paula said. Adrian nodded.

‘Are you both happy to continue and have another child come to live with us for a while?’ It was a question I asked them from time to time and I didn’t automatically assume they wanted to continue fostering.

Adrian nodded again, more interested in his dinner than what I was saying, while Paula glanced up at me furtively, hoping I wouldn’t notice she was stacking her peas into a pile rather than eating them.

‘Have a few,’ I said, referring to the peas. ‘You need to eat some veg.’ Paula had recently gone off anything green (which obviously included most vegetables) after her best friend had told her caterpillars were green so they could hide in vegetables and she’d found a caterpillar on her plate hiding in some broccoli. ‘Good girl,’ I said, as she stabbed one pea on to her fork. ‘And you’re happy to continue fostering as well?’

‘Yes, I like it,’ Paula confirmed.

Now I knew that all things being equal they were happy to foster another child, I felt more confident in talking specifically about Michael’s situation.

‘I had a phone call from Jill earlier today,’ I began, ‘about a little boy called Michael who will be needing a foster home shortly.’

‘A boy, great!’ Adrian said, without waiting for further details. ‘How old is he?’

‘Same age as you – eight.’

‘Fantastic! Someone to play with at home.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Paula moaned. ‘I want a girl, my age.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t put in an order for a specific type of child,’ I said. ‘It’s a case of who needs a home,’ which they knew really. ‘And in the past you’ve all got along, whatever the age of the child, boy or girl, and even with the teenagers.’

‘When’s he coming?’ Adrian said, completely won over by the prospect of having a boy his own age come to stay, while Paula gingerly lifted another pea on to her fork and scanned it for any signs of wildlife.

‘I’m not sure he is coming to us yet,’ I said carefully. ‘Jill’s asked me to think about what she’s told me because it’s a difficult decision to make. You see, Michael’s father is very ill and he won’t be able to look after Michael for much longer, which is why he will need a foster home. But I’m not sure Michael coming to live with us is right for our family.’

Adrian looked at me quizzically. ‘Surely he can stay with us while his father gets better?’

I felt anxiety creep up my spine as I steeled myself to explain. ‘Unfortunately Michael’s father is very, very ill and I’m afraid he is not likely to get better. You know the programme you’ve just been watching?’ I glanced at them both. ‘About the grandpa dying? Well, I’m afraid that’s what is likely to happen to Michael’s father.’

Adrian had now stopped eating and was staring at me across the dining table, appreciating the implications of what I was saying. ‘His father is dying and Michael is my age?’ he asked. ‘His dad can’t be very old.’

‘No, he’s not. It’s dreadfully sad.’

‘His dad can only be your age,’ Adrian clarified, clearly shocked.

I nodded.

‘Can’t his mum look after him?’

Adrian asked. ‘Unfortunately Michael’s mother died when he was little.’ Adrian continued to stare at me, his little face serious and deeply saddened, while Paula, so innocent I could have wept, said, ‘Don’t worry: the doctors will make Michael’s daddy better.’

I smiled sadly. ‘Love, sometimes people get so very ill that the doctors do all they can, and give them lots of medicine, but in the end they can’t make them better.’

‘And sometimes doctors are wrong,’ Adrian put in forcefully. ‘There was a guy on the news last week who was told by his doctors he had only six months to live, and that was ten years ago!’

I smiled at him. ‘Yes, sometimes they do get it wrong, and make the wrong diagnosis,’ I agreed, ‘but not often.’

‘So the doctors might be wrong now,’ Paula put in, feeling she should contribute something but not fully understanding the discussion. Adrian nodded.

‘They might be wrong, but it’s not very likely. Michael’s father is very ill,’ I said. While I would have liked nothing more than to believe a misdiagnosis was an option, it would have been wrong of me to give them false hope.

We all quietly returned to our food but without our previous enthusiasm, and at that moment I knew I should have just said no to Jill and waited for the next child who needed a foster home. ‘Anyway,’ I said after a while, ‘I think I will tell Jill that we feel very sorry for Michael but we can’t look after him.’

‘Why?’ Adrian asked.

‘Because it would be too sad for us. Too much to cope with after … everything else.’

‘You mean Dad going?’

‘Well, yes, and having to be part of Michael’s sadness. I don’t want to be sad: I like to be happy.’

‘I’m sure Michael does too,’ Adrian said bluntly. I met his gaze and in that look I saw not an eight-year-old boy but the wisdom of a man. ‘I think Michael should come here,’ he said. ‘We can help him. Paula and I know what it’s like to lose your dad. I know divorce is different – we can still see our dad sometimes – but when Dad packed all his things and left, and stopped living with us, in some ways it felt like he’d died. I think because Paula and I have been through that it will help us understand how Michael is feeling when he’s very sad.’

It was at times like this I felt so proud of my children and also truly humbled. I felt my eyes fill.

‘And you think the same?’ I asked, turning to Paula.

She nodded. ‘We can help Michael when he cries about his daddy.’

‘Did you cry a lot after your daddy left?’ I asked.

Paula nodded. ‘At night in bed, so you couldn’t see.’

It was a moment before I could find my voice to speak. ‘You should have told me,’ I said, putting my arm around Paula and giving her a hug. ‘Thank you both for explaining how you feel. Now I’ve got to do some careful thinking and decide if I have what it takes to help Michael.’

‘You have, Mum,’ Adrian said quietly. ‘Thanks, son, that’s kind of you, but I’m not so sure.’