The Night the Angels Came by Cathy Glass

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.’
    ‘Well, clearly someone up there was listening, for here you are fighting fit and raring to go.’
    ‘Possibly,’ Patrick said and changed the subject, so that I wondered if he questioned his faith sometimes, which would have been understandable.
    We continued talking easily and I asked Patrick if he wanted me to take Michael to church on Sunday. He said again he hoped to be out of hospital by then but if he wasn’t Michael could miss one week and they would go to church together the following Sunday. We chatted about lots of things, just as we had before when we’d met, and were on the phone for over half an hour. Doubtless we could have continued chatting all day, for Patrick was very easy to talk to, but I checked my watch and realized I needed to leave in five minutes to collect Paula from nursery.
    ‘You have to go straight away?’ Patrick asked, sounding disappointed.
    ‘I’m afraid so.’
    ‘All right, I’ll phone this evening to speak to Michael. I’ll try and make it earlier if possible.’
    ‘That’s fine.’
    We said goodbye and I grabbed my coat from the hall stand, at the same time pushing my feet into my shoes. I liked to walk to collect Paula from nursery whenever possible, only now it would need to be a very brisk walk if I wasn’t to be late. I checked my keys were still in my coat pocket and came out of the house, pulling the door to behind me. Patrick was right: it was a beautiful day, and I could have almost got away without wearing a coat.
    As I walked