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‘Yes,’ I said, shocked by the news. ‘I’ll go as soon as I’ve got Adrian. Is Patrick very ill?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll phone Stella after I’ve phoned the school and see what I can find out. We’ll need to get a change of clothes for Michael and also see about hospital visiting.’
‘Yes,’ I said, my thoughts reeling. The school doors opened and classes began filing out. ‘I should be at Michael’s school in about fifteen minutes,’ I said to Jill.
‘I’ll phone them and let them know. Thanks. I’ll be in touch.’
Saying a quick goodbye, I returned my phone to my jacket pocket and took hold of Paula’s hand. I gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘That was Jill,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid Michael’s daddy isn’t very well. He’s in hospital. We’re going to collect Michael from school and he’s staying the weekend.’ I took some comfort from Jill’s words, which suggested Patrick would be coming out of hospital again after the weekend.
‘Aren’t they coming for dinner on Saturday?’ Paula asked as Adrian’s class began streaming out.
‘No. Well, Michael will be with us but his daddy isn’t well enough.’
I spotted Adrian and gave a little wave. He bounded over. ‘Can Jack come to tea? He’s free tonight.’
‘I’m sorry, not tonight,’ I said as Jack dragged his mother over. ‘Can we make it next week?’
‘Sure,’ Jack’s mother said. ‘I told Jack it was too short notice.’
Adrian pulled a face.
‘I’ll speak to you next week and arrange something,’ I confirmed to Jack’s mother.
‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘Come on, Jack.’
I began across the playground with a disgruntled Adrian on one side and Paula on the other. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Adrian, ‘but it would have been a good idea to ask me first before you invited Jack for tea. I’ve just had a call from Jill and –’
‘Michael’s daddy is in hospital,’ Paula put in.
‘Thank you, Paula,’ I said a little tersely. ‘I can tell Adrian.’ I could feel myself getting stressed.
‘We’re going to Michael’s school now,’ I clarified. ‘His daddy was taken to hospital this afternoon. Michael will be staying with us for the weekend. I know it’s all a bit short notice but it can’t be helped. Michael’s obviously going to be very worried and upset.’
Adrian didn’t say anything but his face had lost its grumpiness and disappointment at not having Jack to tea and was now showing concern for Michael.
We went round the corner to where I’d parked the car and the children clambered into the back. I helped Paula fasten her seatbelt as Adrian fastened his. I then drove to Michael’s school – St Joseph’s Roman Catholic primary school – on the other side of the town centre, although I used the back route to avoid going through the town itself. During the drive we were all quiet, concerned for Michael and his father and feeling the sadness Michael must be feeling.
The road outside the school was clear, most of the children having gone home, so I was able to park where the zigzag lines ended outside the school. The building was a typical Victorian church school with high windows, a stone-arched entrance porch and a small playground at the front, now protected by a tall wire-netting fence. Although I’d driven past the school before, I’d never been inside. Someone in the school must have seen us cross the playground, for as I opened the heavy outer wooden door and entered the enclosed dark porch, the inner door suddenly opened. I was startled as a priest in a full-length black cassock stood before us. Adrian and Paula had stopped short too.
‘You’ve come to collect Michael?’ the priest asked.
‘Yes. I’m Cathy Glass.’
‘Come this way. Michael is waiting in the head teacher’s office.’ He turned and led the way.
We followed the priest down a dark wood-panelled corridor, which was lined with huge gilt-framed religious pictures – of Mary, Christ and hosts of angels. It was like stepping back in time and a complete contrast to the bright modern school with wall displays of children’s artwork that Adrian went to. It had an air of strict religious and moral observance, and discipline, and if I’m honest I found it a bit intimidating. I saw Adrian and Paula cautiously looking around too.
‘Patrick has kept the school informed of his condition,’ the priest said as we arrived outside another massive wooden door with a brass plaque announcing ‘Head Teacher’. ‘He and Michael are in our prayers.’
I nodded.
The priest opened the door and we entered a spacious but cluttered room, which looked as though it hadn’t changed since the Victorian era. Beneath the one window was a huge oak desk; the chair behind it was empty, but over to the right, lost in the centre of a large leather captain’s chair, sat Michael. As he turned to face us our eyes met. He looked so lonely and afraid I could have wept.
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.’
Chapter Eight Michael’s Daddy
‘Patrick’s red blood cell count is very low, which is why he collapsed,’ Stella continued. ‘He’s having a blood transfusion. He’s feeling pretty rough at present and is on a ward with some very ill people. He doesn’t want Michael to see him there, as he thinks it will worry him more. If all goes well Patrick should be out of hospital on Monday. Apparently Michael has never seen his dad in hospital before and Patrick wants to keep it that way for as long as is possible.’
‘I see,’ I said doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure stopping Michael from visiting is a good idea. Michael is desperate to see his dad. I think seeing him on a hospital ward with other ill people won’t be as bad as not seeing him at all.’
‘Yes, I know, I tend to agree, but Patrick wants to protect Michael for as long as he can. And we have to respect his wishes.’ Which I had to accept. ‘Patrick would like to phone Michael later this evening. Is it all right if I give him your landline number?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Will you explain to Michael what I’ve told you? And also tell him that I’ll bring him a change of school clothes and what he needs for the weekend this evening. Patrick gave me a list of what Michael needs over the phone. I’m going to their house ‘ now; a neighbour has a key. Then I’ll come on to you. I won’t be there for another hour or so. Is that all right with you?’
‘Yes. Does Patrick have what he needs in hospital?’ I asked, mindful that he had been rushed in unconscious without time to pack an overnight bag.
‘The neighbour’s husband is taking in what he needs. I won’t speak to Michael now, as I have to get going. Explain to him, please, and I’ll see him later.’
‘I will.’
I replaced the phone in its cradle on the kitchen wall and was about to go through to the sitting room to tell the children what was happening when Michael appeared, having heard the phone ring. His face was tight and anxious and I knew he was expecting bad news. ‘It’s all right,’ I reassured him quickly. ‘Your dad is doing fine. He’s having a blood transfusion and should be able to leave hospital on Monday.’ His face brightened a little. ‘Do you know what a blood transfusion is?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘When can I see him?’
‘Your dad is going to phone you later, here, but as he’s only in hospital for the weekend he’s told Stella there’s no need for you to visit him. He’ll see you at home as soon as he comes out.’
I’d phrased it as best I could, but predictably Michael said, ‘But I want to see him tonight, or tomorrow. You said we would.’
I hadn’t said we would but that wasn’t the issue. ‘I have to do what your father thinks is best for you,’ I said gently. ‘I can’t go against his wishes. He thinks it’s best if he phones you instead of you visiting, as it’s just for the weekend. He’s given Stella a list of what you’ll need for tomorrow and the weekend and she’s bringing your things here later. She’ll be able to tell us more when we see her and so will your father when he phones. Is that all right, love?’ Michael gave a small nod and seemed to accept what I was saying. ‘Could you tell Adrian and Paula dinner is ready, please?’
Giving another small nod Michael turned and went off to tell Adrian and Paula. A few moments later the three of them came into the kitchen/diner. As they entered I heard Michael telling Adrian and Paula that his dad was getting better and he would be phoning later. While Michael probably understood that his use of the phrase ‘getting better’ referred to a temporary remission in an otherwise poor prognosis, I wondered if Paula and Adrian might assume Patrick was now making a full recovery, for in their limited experience of illness people who were sick got better.
I was right. ‘Michael’s daddy is getting better,’ Paula announced as we sat at the table to eat. ‘He’s not going to die.’
‘Not yet,’ Michael put in quickly, which saved me from a very difficult and painful conversation.
I looked at him with a reassuring smile. He returned my smile, the tension having eased a little from his face. Even if Patrick’s remission was only temporary, like Michael I rejoiced in it, and there was always hope. ‘We’ll have a nice weekend,’ I said to him. ‘What would you like to do?’
Michael looked thoughtful for a second and then asked quietly, ‘Can we go swimming? I used to go swimming every Saturday with my dad but he hasn’t been well enough this year.’
‘Yes,’ I said, pleased that he was showing enthusiasm, and honoured that I was being allowed to take over an activity that had hitherto been one he did with his dad. ‘That sounds good to me.’ Adrian and Paula were nodding in agreement. ‘We’ll go on Saturday morning,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose Stella will be bringing your swimming shorts so I’ll buy another pair while you’re at school tomorrow. You’re the same size as Adrian.’
Michael smiled again, his blue eyes creasing at the corners exactly as Patrick’s did. ‘Thanks, Cathy. Is that what I call you? Or is it Mrs Glass?’
‘Cathy’s fine,’ I said as Adrian and Paula sniggered, but not unkindly.
I’m pleased to say that Michael ate well and once dinner was finished he played with Adrian and Paula while I cleared away. At 6.45 when the doorbell rang I guessed it was Stella. The children stopped playing and joined me in the hall as I opened the front door.
‘What a welcoming committee!’ Stella said, laughing. ‘How are you all?’
‘Good,’ the children chorused.
Stella hadn’t met Adrian and Paula before, so I introduced them as she carried a large canvas holdall into the hall.
‘That’s my bag,’ Michael said, a little surprised. It must have seemed strange to him seeing his bag arrive in my hall, although he knew Stella was bringing him a change of clothes.
‘Yes,’ Stella said. ‘Your dad told me where to find it and the things you need. I think I’ve remembered everything. Your neighbour, Mrs Harvey, let me into your house and she sends her love. Her husband, Jack, wasn’t there, but he sends his love too. He was visiting your dad.’
‘So why can’t I visit Dad?’ Michael asked.
Stella glanced at me. ‘I have explained,’ I said. We were still standing in the hall. ‘Shall we go through to the sitting room?’ I suggested.
‘Just for a few minutes,’ Stella said. ‘It’s getting late and I have to write a report for tomorrow when I get home.’
We went into the sitting room. Michael sat on the sofa between Adrian and Paula, and Stella squatted on the floor in front of them as she spoke. She explained, as I had, that Patrick had said there was no need for Michael to visit as he was only in hospital for the weekend. Also, as I had done, Stella omitted the other reason for Patrick not wanting Michael to visit: that seeing him looking so poorly and surrounded by other very sick people would be unnecessarily upsetting for Michael. Seated in a line on the sofa all three children nodded as Stella spoke and Stella ended up addressing them all.
‘Your dad is phoning later,’ Stella concluded, looking at Michael. ‘Visiting ends at seven thirty, so I guess once Jack has gone your dad will phone. There’s a portable payphone on the ward. I don’t think you’re allowed to use a mobile in hospital.’
The children nodded and Paula took Michael’s hand between hers and patted it, as I did hers when she was worried. ‘Your dad has a portable payphone,’ she reassured him. Then looking at Stella, asked, ‘What’s a portable payphone?’
‘It’s a phone that can be moved around the ward so that all the patients can use it,’ Stella explained.
‘That’s good, isn’t it, Michael?’ Paula said. ‘All the patients use it.’
Michael smiled indulgently and nodded. He was very good with Paula, especially I thought as he didn’t have any brothers or sisters of his own.
‘Well, I can see you’re being well looked after,’ Stella said, straightening as she got up from the floor. ‘Your dad is doing fine, so try not to worry. He’s assuming you’ll be going to school as usual tomorrow.’ Michael nodded. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else I’ll be going.’ Stella paused, allowing Michael the chance to think of anything he wanted to ask, but he didn’t. ‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll phone Cathy on Monday to confirm that your dad is out of hospital.’
Michael nodded and then said cheerfully, ‘We’re going swimming on Saturday, like I used to with my dad.’
‘Fantastic,’ Stella said. ‘You have a lovely weekend, and don’t worry about your dad: he’s being very well looked after.’
She said goodbye to the children and we left them sitting on the sofa as I saw Stella to the front door. We could hear Adrian and Michael telling each other of the daring diving stunts they were going to perform when we went swimming, while Paula, less sure of the water, sat quietly listening.
‘It’ll do Michael good to have a weekend away from all the responsibility,’ Stella confided as I saw her out. ‘I haven’t seen him look so excited about anything in a long while. Usually all his talk is of his dad’s medication – which tablets he has to take and when. This will give him a complete break and a chance to be a child again. Thanks for all you’re doing.’