The Night the Angels Came

‘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.’

Chapter Three Are You Going to Die Soon? (#ulink_68663f1d-3868-5b84-a31f-9a5c66f54d27)

The following morning, after I’d taken Adrian to school and Paula to the nursery where she went for three hours each morning, I phoned Jill. She was expecting my call, and said a quiet, ‘Hello, Cathy.’

‘Has a relative been found for Michael yet?’ I asked hopefully, although I knew it was highly unlikely from what Jill had told me.

‘No,’ Jill said.

I hesitated, my brain working overtime to find the right words for what I had to say although, goodness knows, I’d spent long enough practising it – during the night and as soon as I’d woken.

‘Jill, I’ve obviously given a lot of thought to Patrick and Michael and I also asked Adrian and Paula what they thought.’ I paused again as Jill waited patiently on the other end of the phone. ‘The children think we have what it takes to look after Michael but I have huge doubts, so I’ve got a suggestion.’

‘Yes?’ Jill said.

‘You know Patrick has asked to meet the carer so that he can discuss Michael’s needs, routine, etc.?’

‘Yes.’