The Night the Angels Came by Cathy Glass Page A

and felt the warm sun on my face and smelt the fresh spring air, I could still hear Patrick’s voice – snippets from our conversation. His gentle Irish accent caressed the words and sentences as he spoke, producing a gentle sing-song lilt. I couldn’t imagine him ever shouting or saying harsh things. His was the voice of calm and caring, of someone who empathized and appreciated another person’s point of view. It was also the voice of someone who’d experienced sorrow and had suffered. Yet he’d sounded so well and full of life on the phone it was impossible to believe his future would be any different. I heard again his disappointment when I’d had to bring our conversation to an end. Then I heard Jill’s words of warning: ‘Patrick is likely to be very needy … I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.’ But I wasn’t daft and there was no harm in Patrick and me taking pleasure from each other’s company, was there?

Chapter Ten
A Child Again
     
     
    F riday continued pretty much as planned. I collected Paula from nursery (I wasn’t late), and then two hours later I collected Michael and Adrian from their schools. Both boys were pleased it was Friday and the start of the weekend. I told Michael his father had phoned and would be phoning again in the evening to speak to him. I said how much better he’d sounded, although I didn’t say he was hoping to leave hospital before Monday, as I didn’t want to build up Michael’s hopes if there was a chance he could be disappointed. When we arrived home I showed Michael the swimming shorts I’d bought and he didn’t laugh or cringe, so I assumed I’d made a reasonable choice and he wouldn’t feel embarrassed wearing them. I knew from Adrian how fashion conscious boys can be, even at the age of eight.
    Patrick phoned at 5.00 p.m. and chatted to Michael for over half an hour while I made dinner. When Michael finally said goodbye he was a different child to the one who’d spoken on the phone to his father the evening before, when he’d come away depressed, weighed down and anxious he might never seen his father again. Now he was smiling and relaxed, as a child should be, and scampered off to continue playing with Adrian and Paula.
    The three children played together before and after dinner, and then when I took Paula upstairs to bed, the boys continued playing downstairs with a construction kit and board games. As there was no need to be up early for school the following day, I let the boys stay up well past their bedtime. Clearly Adrian was enjoying Michael’s company as much as Michael was enjoying his, for while Adrian was very good with Paula and often played with her, it was nice for him to have the companionship of a boy his age with similar interests. It was nearly 10.00 before I finally said it was time for bed and sent them upstairs with the caution that they should be quiet, as Paula was fast asleep. Once they were washed and changed I went up to say goodnight, first to Adrian and then to Michael. Tonight Michael’s prayers were different from those of the night before when he’d been so very worried. Now, he knelt beside his bed and, crossing himself, said simply: ‘Thank you, Lord, for making my daddy better and letting me have fun.’
    The following morning we weren’t all up and dressed until nearly 11.00. We had a light breakfast and then I drove to the leisure centre for swimming. It was the same pool Michael used to go to regularly when his father had been well enough to take him and the lady on reception recognized Michael and asked how his father was. ‘Fine,’ Michael said, eager to get into the pool. Then remembering his manners added, ‘Thank you for asking. I’ll tell Dad.’
    Once changed we walked through the footbath and then into the pool. Paula and I stayed in the shallow end and swam widths while Adrian and Michael went deeper and practised diving off the edge. They were both reasonably good swimmers but nevertheless I watched