‘No.’ Patrick met my gaze again. ‘It’s important we speak freely and you ask whatever you wish. You will become very close to me and Michael over the coming months. Not to talk of my condition would be like ignoring an elephant in the room. I wish Michael could talk more freely.’
‘How much does Michael understand of the severity of your condition?’ I now asked.
‘I’ve been honest with him, Cathy. I have told him I am very ill – that unfortunately the treatment didn’t work and I am unlikely to get better. But I don’t think he has fully accepted it.’
‘Does he talk about his worries to you?’
‘No, he changes the subject. I’m sorry he was rude earlier but he didn’t want to come here this evening.’
‘It’s understandable,’ I said. ‘There’s no need to apologize. Coming here has forced Michael to confront a future he can’t bear to think about – one without you. To be honest, since I heard about you and Michael I have tried to imagine what it would be like for Adrian and Paula to be put in Michael’s position, and I can’t. I can’t contemplate it. So if I, as an adult, struggle, how on earth does Michael cope? He’s only eight.’
‘By pretending it’s not happening,’ Patrick said. ‘He’s planning our next summer holiday. We always take – I mean we used to take – a holiday together in August, but I can’t see it happening this year.’
‘It might,’ I said. ‘You never know.’
‘Possibly, but I’m not giving Michael false hope.’
‘No, and I won’t either,’ I reassured him.
A cry of laughter went up from the room next door where the children were playing Sunken Treasure, followed by a round of applause. ‘I think someone has found treasure,’ I said.
Patrick’s eyes sparkled as he looked at me and said, ‘I think Michael and I have too.’
That evening Patrick and I continued talking for another hour while the children played. Our conversation grew easier and more natural as we both relaxed and got to know each other. We didn’t talk about the future again or his illness but about our separate pasts and the many happy memories we both had. He told me of all the good times he’d had as a child in Ireland and then with his wife, Kathleen. I shared my own happy childhood memories and then told him how I’d met John, my husband, and how we’d started fostering. I also told him of the shock and disbelief I’d felt when John had suddenly left me. I was finding Patrick very easy to talk to, as I think he did me.
‘Looking back,’ I said speaking of John’s affair, ‘I guess there were warning signs: the late nights at work, the weekend conferences. Classic signs, but I chose to ignore them.’
‘Which was understandable,’ Patrick said. ‘You trusted him. Trust is what a good marriage is based on.’
‘I’ve let go of my anger, but it will be a long time before I forgive him,’ I admitted.
Patrick nodded thoughtfully.
I made us both a cup of tea while the children continued playing board games; then when it was nearly 7.15 and the light outside was staring to fade, Patrick said, ‘Well, Cathy, I could sit here all night chatting with you but we’d best be off. Michael has school in the morning and I’m sure you have plenty to do.’
‘Will you be all right catching the bus?’ I said. ‘Or can I give you a lift?’
‘No, we’ll be fine, thank you. I’m sure you’d rather get started with your children’s bedtime routine.’
I smiled. As a single parent – having raised Michael alone for six years – Patrick was familiar with the bedtime routine of young children: of bathing, teeth-brushing, bedtime stories, hugs and kisses goodnight, etc. He was right: I did appreciate the opportunity of settling the children into bed rather than driving across town.
We went to the table where the children were now in the middle of a game of Monopoly. ‘Time to go, son,’ Patrick said.
‘Oh, can’t I finish the game first?’ Michael moaned good-humouredly. I was pleased to see he had now relaxed and was enjoying himself.
‘Next time,’ Patrick said. ‘You’ve got school tomorrow.’
Michael pulled a face and reluctantly stood. ‘Do you want some help packing away?’ he asked Adrian, which I thought was very thoughtful.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’ll do it. You and your dad need to get on the bus.’
Michael and his father used the bathroom first and then Adrian, Paula and I showed them to the front door and said goodbye.
‘Thanks, Cathy,’ Patrick said, taking my hand between his and kissing my cheek. ‘We’ve had a nice evening, haven’t we, Michael?’
Michael nodded. He looked a lot happier than he had done when he’d first arrived; his cheeks were flushed from the excitement of the games they’d played, and Adrian and Paula looked as though they’d enjoyed playing with Michael. All of which bode well for the future.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Patrick said as he and Michael went down the front path. ‘Goodnight and God bless.’
‘And you,’ I called after them.
We watched them go and then I closed the front door. ‘All right?’ I asked the children. ‘Did you have a nice evening?’
‘Yes,’ Adrian said. ‘Michael’s OK.’
‘Is Michael’s daddy coming to live with us?’ Paula asked. ‘No, only Michael,’ I said. ‘What made you think that?’ Paula looked thoughtful, clearly having been working something out. Then she said, ‘If Michael’s daddy came to live with us, you could look after him and make him better. You make me better when I’m ill. Then when he’s better we can all live together, and Michael will have a mummy again, and we’ll have a daddy.’
Adrian tutted.
I smiled and gave her a hug. If only life were that simple, I thought. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ I said. ‘And you have a daddy: it’s just that he doesn’t live with us any more.’
That evening when the children were in bed I wrote up my log notes of Patrick and Michael’s visit. All foster carers have to keep a log – a daily record of the child or children they are fostering. In their log the carer records the child’s progress, their physical and emotional health, their education and any significant events. The log is usually begun when the carer first meets the child and ends when the child leaves the foster home. These log notes are then placed on the social services’ files and form part of the child’s record, which the child can read when they are older. Not only is keeping a log a requirement of fostering: it is also a valuable and detailed record of part of the child’s history. I had begun my log for Michael after meeting Patrick at the social services’ offices the day before and now continued it with their visit. It was just a paragraph saying how long they had stayed, that their visit had gone well, and while Michael had been subdued to begin with he had responded to Adrian and Paula, and the three of them had played together, while Patrick and I had talked. But as I wrote I felt as though I was writing up a friend’s visit in a diary rather than the log notes of a foster carer, so easily had we all bonded.
The following afternoon Jill telephoned to check on how Patrick and Michael’s visit had gone. ‘Very good,’ I said. ‘Much better than I’d expected. Michael was a bit quiet to begin with, but then he played with Adrian and Paula while Patrick and I chatted. Patrick’s a lovely person and very easy to talk to. He’s done a great job of bringing up Michael alone.’
Possibly Jill heard something in my voice or perhaps it was that she knew me from