‘Jill, I’ve obviously given a lot of thought to Patrick and Michael and I also asked Adrian and Paula what they thought.’ I paused again as Jill waited patiently on the other end of the phone. ‘The children think we have what it takes to look after Michael but I have huge doubts, so I’ve got a suggestion.’
‘Yes?’ Jill said.
‘You know Patrick has asked to meet the carer so that he can discuss Michael’s needs, routine, etc.?’
‘Yes.’
‘Presumably that meeting will also give him a chance to see if he feels the carer is right for his son?’
‘I suppose so, although to be honest Patrick can’t afford to be too choosy. We don’t have many foster carers free, and he hasn’t that much time, which he appreciates.’
‘Well, what I’m suggesting is that I meet Patrick and then we decide if Michael coming to me is right for both of us after that meeting. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re delaying a difficult decision and I’m not sure it’s fair on Patrick. But I’ll speak to his social worker and see what she thinks. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve spoken to her.’
Chastened, I said a subdued, ‘Thank you.’
Remaining on the sofa in the sitting room, I returned the phone to its cradle and stared into space. As if sensing my dilemma, Toscha, our cat, jumped on to my lap and began purring gently. Jill was partly right: I was delaying the decision, possibly hoping a distant relative of Michael’s might be found or that Patrick would take an instant dislike to me at the meeting. Foster carers don’t normally have the luxury of a meeting with the child’s parents prior to the child being placed so that all parties can decide if the proposed move is appropriate; usually the child just arrives, often at very short notice. But Michael’s case wasn’t usual, as Jill knew, which was presumably why she’d indulged me and was now asking his social worker what she thought about my suggestion. I hoped I wasn’t being unfair to Patrick. I certainly didn’t want to make his life more difficult than it must have been already.
Some time later, feeling pretty despondent, I ejected Toscha from my lap and, heaving myself off the sofa, left the sitting room. I went into the kitchen, where I began clearing away the breakfast dishes, my thoughts returning again and again to Patrick and Michael. Was I being selfish in asking to meet Patrick first before making a decision? Jill had implied I was. The poor man had enough to cope with without a foster carer dithering about looking after his son because it would be too upsetting.
It was an hour before the phone rang again and it was Jill. ‘Right, Cathy,’ she said, her voice businesslike but having lost its sting of criticism. ‘I’ve spoken to Stella, the social worker involved in Michael’s case, and she’s phoned Patrick. Stella put your suggestion – of meeting before you both decide if your family is right for Michael – to Patrick, and Patrick thinks it’s a good idea. In fact, Stella said he sounded quite relieved. Apparently he has some concerns, one being that you are not practising Catholics as they are. So that’s one issue we will need to discuss.’
I too was relieved and I felt vindicated. ‘I’ll look forward to meeting him, then,’ I said.
‘Yes, and we need to get this moving, so Stella has set up the meeting for ten a.m. tomorrow, here at the council offices. The time suits Patrick, Stella and me, and I thought it should be all right with you as Paula will be at nursery.’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘I’m not sure which room we’ll be in, so I’ll meet you in reception.’
‘OK. Thanks, Jill.’
‘And can you bring a few photos of your house, etc., to show Patrick?’
‘Will do.’
When I met the children later in the day – Paula from nursery at 12 noon, and Adrian from school at 3.15 p.m. – the first question they asked me was: ‘Is Michael coming to live with us?’ I said I didn’t know yet – that I was going to a meeting the following morning where Patrick and the social workers would be present and we’d decide after that, which they accepted. The subject of Michael wasn’t mentioned again during the evening, although it didn’t leave my thoughts for long. Somewhere in our community, possibly not very far from where I lived, there was a young lad, Adrian’s age, who was about to lose his father; while a relatively young father was having to come to terms with saying goodbye to his son for good. It had forced me to confront my own mortality, and later I realized it had unsettled Adrian and Paula too.
At bedtime Paula gave me an extra big hug; then, as she tucked her teddy bear in beside her, she said, ‘My teddy is very ill, Mummy, but the doctors are going to make him better. So he won’t die.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘That’s what usually happens.’
Then when I went into Adrian’s bedroom to say goodnight he asked me outright: ‘Mum, you’re not going to die soon, are you?’
I bloody hope not! I thought.
I sat on the edge of his bed and looked at his pensive expression. ‘No. Not for a long, long time. I’m very healthy, so don’t you start worrying about me.’ Clearly I didn’t know when I was going to die, but Adrian needed to be reassured, not enter into a philosophical debate.
He gave a small smile, and then asked thoughtfully, ‘Do you think there’s a God?’
‘I really don’t know, love, but it would be nice to believe there is.’
‘But if there is a God, why would he let horrible things happen? Like Michael’s father dying, and earthquakes, and murders?’
I shook my head sadly. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes people who have a faith believe they are being tested – to see if their faith is strong enough.’
Adrian looked at me carefully. ‘Does God test those who don’t have a faith?’
‘I really don’t know,’ I said again. I could see where this was leading.
‘I hope not,’ Adrian said, his face clouding again. ‘I don’t want to be tested by having something bad happen. I think if God is good and kind, then he should stop all the bad things happening in the world. It’s not fair if bad things happen to some people.’
‘Life isn’t always fair,’ I said gently, ‘faith or no faith. And we never know what’s around the corner, which is why we should make the most of every day, which I think we do.’
Adrian nodded and laid his head back on his pillow. ‘Maybe I should do other things instead of watching television.’
I smiled and stroked his forehead. ‘It’s fine to watch your favourite programmes; you don’t watch that much television. And Adrian, please don’t start worrying about any of us dying; what’s happened in Michael’s family is very unusual. How many children do you know who lost one parent when they were little and are about to lose their other parent? Think of all the children in your school. Have you heard of anyone there?’ I wanted to put Michael’s situation into perspective: otherwise I knew Adrian could start worrying that he too could be left orphaned.
‘I don’t know anyone like that at school,’ he said.
‘That’s right. Adults usually live for a long, long time and slowly grow old. Look at Nana and Grandpa. They are fit and healthy and they’re nearly seventy.’
‘Yes, they’re very old,’ Adrian agreed. And while I wasn’t sure my parents would have appreciated being called ‘very old’, at least I had made my point and reassured Adrian. His face relaxed and lost its look of anguish. I continued to stroke his forehead and his eyes slowly closed. ‘I hope Michael can come and stay with us,’ he mumbled quietly as he drifted off to sleep.
‘We’ll see. But if it’s not us then I know