by Cathy Glass
‘A bit wobbly sometimes, but I can stay upright most of the time,’ he said, laughing.
‘You sound good,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’m doing all right. As they say in AA [Alcoholics Anonymous] – which I would add I’ve never been a member of – “one day at a time”. Every morning I wake up and give thanks for another day and concentrate on making the most of it. Cathy, it seems to me there are two ways of approaching life when you are in my position. One is to become angry and depressed at the unfairness of it all, and waste what time you have left. The other way is to be grateful for the wonderful life you’ve had and make the most of every minute you have left. This way is far better. I’ve also had time to prepare myself and those around me so when I go it won’t be a shock and I’ll be organized and ready.’
I swallowed hard and tried to stay as brave as Pat was. He’d made it sound as though he was about to go on a journey, which I suppose in a way he was. He sounded so positive that there was little room for sorrow or regret, and I greatly admired his philosophy, dignity and self-respect. I think his faith helped keep him strong. We continued talking in the same positive and light manner for ten minutes or so. He told me he’d been out for a short walk with Jack the day before, and tomorrow, Saturday, Jack was taking him supermarket shopping while Nora stayed with Michael and played Scrabble. Then on Sunday Colleen and Eamon were taking him and Michael to church and giving them dinner afterwards.
‘That sounds good,’ I said. ‘Say hello to Colleen and Eamon for me, please.’
‘I will. They think you’re an angel. I’ve told them they don’t know the half of it,’ he joked.
A few minutes later I heard him become slightly breathless and he began to wind up the conversation. ‘Is it all right if I phone you again next week?’ he asked. ‘I’ll text first.’
‘Yes, of course. Any time. You know I’m always pleased to hear from you.’
‘Well, goodbye for now, then, Cathy. Send my love to the –’ I knew he was about to say children, but he stopped himself. Instead he said: ‘Love to everyone.’
‘And you, Pat. Take care. You and Michael are in my thoughts.’
‘You’re all in mine too, Cathy, more than you’ll ever know. Bye, love.’
‘Bye.’
After I’d hung up I sat for a few minutes on the sofa with the sound of Pat’s soft Irish voice and his gentle words still singing in my ears. I was pensive but not miserable. It would have been unjust to Pat’s positive attitude and dignity for me to feel sorry for him or be depressed. I greatly admired his courage and selfpossession and I knew that with the help and support of his oldest and dearest friends he was making the most of every day before he began the next stage of his journey.
That evening Colleen phoned and apologized for not phoning sooner – she and Eamon had had a very busy week at work. I said I understood and it was nice of her to call, although she didn’t really tell me any more than I’d learnt from Pat – that he was coping well and staying focused and positive. She said Nora and Jack were keeping an eye on Pat and Michael and making sure they had everything they needed, which I knew from Pat. Colleen also said that whereas previously Pat had been fiercely independent and rejected their offers of help he now recognized he needed help, which had resulted in some of the responsibility being taken from Michael. Colleen said Michael had had an invitation to go to tea at a school friend’s during the week and Patrick had insisted he went; Michael had enjoyed himself immensely. Colleen asked after my children and finished by wishing us a pleasant weekend. She said she’d phone again the following week, or before if the situation changed.
The children and I had a relatively relaxing weekend, with a trip to a local park on Saturday, and mainly in the garden on Sunday. John phoned to speak to the children on Sunday evening and when he’d finished talking to them he asked to speak to me. He confirmed the arrangements for the following Sunday, when he would be seeing the children, and then confirmed his solicitor had received a letter from my solicitor starting the divorce proceedings. ‘I’m pleased things are moving at last,’ he said conciliatorily.
I didn’t say anything. I suppose I could have agreed or even asked how he was but my generosity didn’t stretch that far. We said a polite goodbye and then Adrian realized he’d forgotten to tell his father that he’d come top in the spelling test at school, and couldn’t be persuaded to wait until the following Sunday to share the news, so I dialled John’s number. A woman answered and for a moment I thought I must have misdialled; then it dawned on me it would be John’s partner, Monica. I hadn’t spoken to her before, as John preferred to phone us when he spoke to the children and on the few occasions I’d had reason to phone him, he’d always answered.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ I said, recovering. ‘It’s Cathy. Could Adrian speak to his father, please? He’s forgotten to tell him something.’
There was a second’s pause and then, flustered, she said, ‘Oh yes, of course. Just a minute, I’ll get him.’ I guessed she felt as uncomfortable as I did. And it was strange hearing her call John to the phone and tell him his son wanted to speak to him.
I passed the phone to Adrian and he told his father his good news; and then Paula remembered something she’d forgotten to tell him, so once Adrian had finished speaking he passed the phone to her. Paula told her father she’d been to nursery and had played in the home corner with Natasha and Rory, which wasn’t ground-breaking news but just something she wanted to share with her daddy, which was nice.
That evening the children and I watched a video together; then I read them a story and they had their baths and were in bed at a reasonable time, ready for school the following day. I wondered if I should be writing up my fostering log notes, but there wasn’t really much to say apart from the phone calls from Pat and his friends, which weren’t directly relevant to Michael’s care. I decided to suspend the log until such time as Michael stayed with us again.
The week disappeared with the usual schod nursery routine and included Paula spending half a day in the reception class of the primary school she would join in September. It was the same school Adrian attended, so Paula was already familiar with it, as were some of her friends who had older siblings there. The weather was changeable and on clear afternoons the children played in the garden when they returned from school, and when it rained they played indoors. They both had a friend to tea on Thursday. Then on Friday evening shortly after nine o’clock I was in the sitting room, having another attempt at reading a novel I’d started a month before, when my phone bleeped a text message from Pat: Can I phone?
Naturally I texted back: Yes x
I closed my book and picked up the phone as soon as it rang. ‘Hi, lovely,’ Pat said brightly. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, and you?’
‘Good. Still here.’
I smiled. We swapped our news and then Pat said, ‘According to my calculations Adrian and Paula will be seeing their father this Sunday. Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ I said, slightly puzzled as to why he had thought of that. ‘Cathy, if you’re not too busy I was wondering if you could pop over for an hour. It’s a while since you’ve seen Michael and I think it would be good for him.’
‘Yes, I’d be happy to. Is Michael all right?’
‘He’s fine. I just thought he should see you again before too long.’
‘You’re not being admitted to hospital again?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘No, not yet. But I don’t want Michael forgetting you. Is eleven o’clock on Sunday all right? We’ll go to church in the evening for a change.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you Sunday, then.’
We said goodbye and I slowly replaced the handset. I appreciated why Patrick wanted Michael to see me – so he wouldn’t lose the ease and familiarity he felt around me, gained from all the time he’d spent with us. But I would have to think carefully if and what I told Adrian and Paula of my visit. If I didn’t tell them I was going and they found out they might feel I’d s
neaked off without them, and if I told them they would ask why I hadn’t timed the visit so that they could go. In the end I decided not to tell them I was going, and after I’d seen Patrick it was obvious what I had to tell them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Few Days’ Rest
On 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 nothan 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 noael as he d 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 gossipingabout?’ 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.