Free The Night the Angels Came by Cathy Glass Page B

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