Cathy Glass - The Night the Angels Came

‘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.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Far from it.’ The usual reasons for phoning the agency’s emergency number were a child behaving very badly and the carer needing advice, or a teenager not being home when they were supposed to be and therefore missing. Neither of which would apply to Michael.

We said goodbye and I put down the phone; but as I hung my coat on the hall stand, the phone rang again. This time it was Stella, asking, as Jill had done, how Michael was. I repeated what I’d told Jill and then asked, ‘Do you want me to take Michael to church on Sunday?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Stella said. ‘I’ll be phoning Patrick later. I’ll ask him and phone you back if he wants you to.’

As it turned out, there was no need for Stella to call me back, for ten minutes after Stella had phoned, when the kettle hadn’t quite boiled, the phone rang again, and it was Patrick. I knew immediately he was feeling a bit better.

‘Top of the morning to you, Cathy,’ he chirped, his Irish accent shining through. ‘How are you on this glorious spring day?’ In truth, I’d been so busy I hadn’t actually noticed what a fine morning it was.

‘I’m very good,’ I said, relieved to hear him sounding so bright. ‘And I can hear you’re pretty good too.’

‘To be sure, I am. Whatever they’re giving me is good stuff. All I need now is a pint of Guinness and I’ll be perfect.’ I laughed. ‘In fact I’m thinking of coming home before Monday,’ he added.

‘You do as the doctors tell you,’ I lightly cautioned. ‘I will, Cathy. So how’s my little man?’

‘Michael’s fine. After you’d spoken last night he went to bed, said his prayers and slept well. He had porridge for breakfast and was in school in good time.’

‘You wonderful woman! How soon can I marry you?’ Patrick joked.

‘Calm down,’ I laughed. ‘You don’t want a relapse.’

‘Ah, Cathy, it would be worth it, that’s for sure,’ he sighed.

I laughed again; then said seriously, ‘I’m so pleased you’re feeling better. You gave us all a shock yesterday.’

‘I gave myself a shock too, Cathy, I can tell you. I thought my days were numbered – more than they are all ready. But clearly the dear Lord doesn’t want me yet.’

‘That might be something to do with Michael’s prayer,’ I said.

‘Oh yes? What’s he been saying now?’

‘He explained he was staying with me and hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to you, so not to send the angels yet.’

‘His prayers are usually about me getting better, poor kid. You’d have thought his faith would have been shaken by now.’