The Night the Angels Came

‘Thank you. Did the social worker bring Michael’s clothes?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry. He’s fine. He’s got everything he needs. I’ll fetch him.’

‘Thank you.’

Replacing the receiver in my bedroom, I went on to the landing and called down to Michael, who was waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. ‘Pick up the phone on the hall table.’ I said. ‘It’s your dad.’ I waited until he had done so and had said hello, before I returned to Paula to say goodnight.

‘Is that Michael’s daddy?’ she asked. ‘Yes, love.’

‘Is he using the portable payphone?’

I smiled. ‘Yes. Now I want you to go to sleep. It’s getting late and you have nursery tomorrow.’

She snuggled down and we hugged and kissed each other goodnight; then I came out and hovered for a moment on the landing. I could see Michael in the hall below. He was standing with his back to me and was very quiet as he listened to his father on the phone. I couldn’t hear what Patrick was saying, but I guessed he was trying to reassure his son, for as I went downstairs and past Michael he was saying: ‘So you promise you will be home on Monday?’

Chapter Nine A Prayer Answered (#ulink_e6ab4968-3f54-57b5-a0a3-b8f0107ce84b)

I continued into the sitting room, where Adrian was reading a magazine. I pushed the door to so that Michael could speak to his father in private. There was no need for me to observe or monitor his father’s phone call, as I was sometimes asked to do by the social services with some of the children I fostered. Michael wasn’t an abused child who needed protecting from abusing parents – far from it: he couldn’t have been more loved and cared for, which made it all the more sad.

Michael was only on the phone for about five minutes before he joined Adrian and me in the sitting room. I could tell as soon as he walked in he was sad and anxious again. Gone was the little boy eagerly looking forward to swimming on Saturday and in his place stood the child carer weighed down with worrying and the responsibility of his father’s illness.

‘Dad’s very tired,’ he said, standing aimlessly in the middle of the room. ‘He couldn’t talk for long.’

I stood and went over and rested my hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘I know, love. He isn’t feeling so good right now, but once the blood transfusion takes effect he’ll feel much better.’

Michael gave a small nod but didn’t say anything. It was just after eight o’clock and I thought the best thing for Michael now was for him to try to get some sleep; as well as looking sad he was looking very tired. I told the boys I wanted them to start getting ready for bed. Adrian closed his magazine and I went with them upstairs. While Adrian showered I went with Michael to his bedroom with the intention of unpacking his bag, but as soon as I began taking out his clothes to hang in the wardrobe Michael grew more anxious.

‘Can’t my things stay in my bag?’ he asked, worried. ‘I’m only here for the weekend.’ Perhaps he saw finality in unpacking, as though it might prolong his visit, and possibly his father’s stay in hospital.

‘Yes, if you prefer,’ I said. ‘Shall we just take out what you need for tonight and tomorrow?’ He nodded. I took out his pyjamas, wash bag and a change of school uniform for the following day. As I straightened, Michael quickly zipped the bag shut, leaving his other things inside.

Adrian finished showering and I went with Michael to the bathroom, showed him how to work the control on the shower and made sure he had everything he needed. I came out, leaving him to wash and change into his pyjamas. I checked on Paula, who was fast asleep on her side, her little mouth slightly open, and breathing gently; then I went through to Adrian’s room. He was propped up in bed reading, as he did most nights. I kissed him goodnight and reminded him to switch off his light by 9.00. I then went in to my bedroom, which is next to the bathroom, and sat on the bed and waited for Michael to finish. A strange house with new routines can be very unsettling for any child, and it would be even more so for Michael, who was already very anxious about his father.

A few minutes later he came out of the bathroom, clutching his wash bag, and hesitated.

‘Do you want to leave your wash bag in the bathroom for morning?’ I asked.

Michael shook his head. ‘OK. I’ll see you into bed and say goodnight. If you need anything in the night, knock on my door. I’m in here.’ I pointed behind me to my bedroom.

Michael nodded and I led the way round the landing and to his bedroom. ‘It’s bound to be a bit strange on your first night,’ I said, ‘so if you wake and wonder where you are, call me. Do you sleep with your curtains open or closed?’

‘Closed,’ Michael said, unzipping his holdall and tucking in his wash bag before zipping it shut again. ‘But I usually have a gap in the middle of the curtains so I can see the stars. Can I have that here?’

‘Yes, of course, love.’ I drew the curtains, leaving a gap in the centre. It was pitch dark outside, but a clear night, so many of the stars were visible, twinkling and glowing brightly in the inky-black sky.

Michael joined me at the window and looked up. ‘My dad likes the stars,’ he said quietly. ‘He says they make him think of heaven.’

A lump immediately rose in my throat. ‘They are certainly very beautiful,’ I agreed. ‘And for me seeing something so wonderful and vast helps me put my own problems into perspective.’

‘Do you believe in heaven?’ Michael suddenly asked, turning to look at me.

I knew he was looking for reassurance. ‘I like to think there is a heaven,’ I said. ‘Do you believe there is?’

‘Yes,’ Michael said firmly. ‘My mummy is there. And when it’s my daddy’s turn the angels will come from heaven and take him to be with her. That’s what my daddy believes and I do too.’

I smiled sadly, and we stood side by side for a moment, looking up at the night sky, so vast, so unfathomable, while beside me stood a little boy who believed his daddy would be going to join his mummy in heaven. It was one of those moments that touches the soul and stays with you for ever.

Presently Michael moved away from the window and towards the bed. ‘I’ll say my prayers now and go to sleep,’ he said. I stood to one side as he crossed himself and then knelt on the floor beside the bed. Resting his elbows on the bed itself he said:

‘Bless this family that I love and comfort them each day. As daytime turns to night-time please bring them peace, I pray. When morning comes tomorrow, may all their cares be small. Guide us with Your wisdom, Lord. Bless us one and all.’

It was a very touching prayer that Michael knew by heart and I was moved by his sincerity. Michael paused and with his eyes still closed and his hands clasped together finished his prayer by saying: ‘Dear Lord, I know you want my daddy, but I’m staying at Cathy’s and haven’t said goodbye. So please don’t send your angels for him yet.’

Michael crossed himself again, stood and climbed into bed, while I had never before felt so humbled by a young child’s faith and courage. Michael was being so brave and I could see his faith was playing a big part in helping him through. It was then I realized I didn’t know if I was supposed to be taking Michael to church on Sunday as Patrick had asked at the meeting. I made a mental note to ask Stella if she phoned the following day or Patrick, when he phoned the following evening.

‘Good night, love,’ I said, tucking Michael in.

‘Night, Cathy. Thank you for looking after me.’

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ I said. ‘I’m very pleased to have you. Now try to get some sleep and I’ll wake you in plenty of time in the morning. If you need anything in the night, call me.’

He nodded. I kissed his forehead and began towards the door.

‘Cathy,’ he called.

I paused. ‘Yes, love?’

‘Where’s Adrian and Paula’s daddy? Is he in heaven?’

Not in a million years, I thought unkindly, but didn’t say. ‘No, he doesn’t live with us any more, although Adrian and Paula still see him.’

‘That’s sad. My friend at school lives with his mummy because his dad left them. They’re getting divorced.’

I gave a small nod, said goodnight again and came out. Michael had touched a raw nerve, for before long I too would have to start divorce proceedings so that I could draw a line under my marriage legally, as I’d had to emotionally, and begin to move on.

Michael must have been exhausted, for he didn’t wake or call out in the night and was still asleep the following morning at 7.00. I gently woke him and said it was time to get ready for school. He stretched and yawned, said good morning and got up straight away. He washed and dressed quickly and was the first one down to breakfast. He was also the first one to finish breakfast, brush his teeth, and be ready with his coat and school bag in the hall. I guessed he was used to getting himself ready on time in the morning, while Adrian and Paula, like many children of their age, still needed cajoling and reminding of the time if we weren’t going to be late.

Michael seemed relaxed and was quite chatty as I drove across town to his school. We arrived at 8.00, and I found a place in the street to park a little way past the main entrance to the school. We all got out and saw Michael into the playground, where we said goodbye. He joined other children, who were playing under the watchful eye of a playground supervisor until the bell went. Returning to my car, I drove back across town to Adrian’s school, which was only five minutes from our home. Paula and I waited with Adrian in the playground until the whistle went at 8.50, when Paula and I said goodbye to Adrian, and continued round the back of the school to where Paula’s nursery was housed in a separate building. I took Paula into the nursery, kissed her goodbye and returned to my car.

I drove to the high street, where among other things I bought a pair of swimming shorts for Michael. Fortunately, as it was April the shops had their swimwear in, ready for summer. Not knowing Michael’s choice I opted for a plain dark-blue pair of fashionable boxer-style shorts rather than anything bright or patterned. It was nearly 10.45 by the time I arrived home and I was looking forward to a cup of coffee before I had to return in an hour to collect Paula from nursery. But as I opened the front door the phone began ringing. Picking it up with one hand, I slipped off my coat with the other. It was Jill, asking how Michael had been.

‘He was a bit tearful to begin with, yesterday evening,’ I said, ‘but he brightened up and ate a good dinner. He slept well and seems more relaxed this morning.’

‘And he’s at school?’

‘Yes. Patrick wanted him to go in. Michael’s very good at getting himself up and ready in the morning.’

‘I expect he’s had to be with his dad being so ill,’ Jill said. ‘I’ve got the paperwork to cover Michael’s stay, so I’ll let you have a copy next time I see you. I’m treating this weekend as respite, so there’ll just be the one form.’ The paperwork Jill referred to was a legal requirement for all foster carers looking after a child. Because Michael was only with me for the weekend (on this occasion) Jill had classified his stay as ‘respite’, which was a single form, compared to the more extensive paperwork needed if a child was staying for longer. ‘Have a good weekend and I’ll phone on Monday,’ Jill concluded. ‘Obviously if you do need us over the weekend phone the emergency number, but I can’t see Michael causing you any problems.’