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dug his hands deeper into his trouser pockets and shrugged again.

      ‘Take your hands out of your pockets,’ Patrick said firmly, catching his breath. Then to me, ‘I’m sorry, Cathy, the cat seems to have got my son’s tongue. He’s usually quite talkative.’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit strange for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all thaw out soon.’ Adrian and Paula had finished their pudding and were now sitting staring at Michael, not unkindly, just eyeing the newcomer up and down. ‘Shall I show you around the house first?’ I asked Patrick. ‘Then afterwards the children can play together for a while.’

      ‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Patrick said with a smile. ‘That would be nice.’ Michael said nothing.

      Adrian and Paula stayed at the table while I turned and led the way into the kitchen. ‘Very nice,’ Patrick said.

      ‘And through here,’ I said going ahead, ‘is the sitting room. From here you can see the garden and the swings.’ Patrick joined me at the French windows while Michael hung back.

      ‘Your garden looks lovely,’ Patrick said. ‘Do you do it all yourself?’

      ‘Yes, it keeps me fit,’ I said, smiling. ‘I usually garden while the children are out there playing. The bottom half of the garden with the swings is for the children. There are no plants or flowers there, so they can play and kick balls without doing any damage.’

      ‘Good idea. Come and have a look, Michael,’ Patrick encouraged. ‘What a lovely big garden!’

      Michael took a couple of steps into the centre of the room, shrugged and stayed quiet. I saw how uncomfortable Michael’s sulky attitude was making Patrick feel and I felt sorry for him. Patrick was being so positive and I knew he would be wanting to create a good first impression, just as I did, but I also knew that Michael’s behaviour was to be expected. Clearly Michael didn’t want to be here, for this was where he would be staying when his father could no longer look after him. I wondered how much discussion Patrick had had with his son to prepare him for staying with me – it was something we would need to talk about.

      ‘There’s just the front room left downstairs,’ I said, moving away from the window.

      I led the way out of the sitting room, down the hall and to the front room with Patrick just behind me and Michael bringing up the rear. Then we went upstairs, where I showed them our bedrooms, toilet and bathroom. Patrick made a positive comment about each room while Michael said nothing. When we went into what was going to be Michael’s bedroom Michael stayed by the door. ‘Very comfortable,’ Patrick said. Then to Michael: ‘Come in and have a look. You’ll be fine here, son.’

      But Michael didn’t reply. He shrugged, jabbed his hands into his trouser pockets again and refused to move. I saw Patrick’s expression set and knew he was about to tell him off. I lightly touched Patrick’s arm and shook my head slightly, gesturing for him not to say anything. ‘Perhaps we could have a chat later?’ I suggested.

      Patrick nodded.

      ‘Well, that’s the tour finished,’ I said lightly to Michael and Patrick. ‘Let’s go downstairs and find Adrian and Paula.’

      I went out of the bedroom and as I passed Michael I touched his shoulder reassuringly. I wanted him to know it was all right to feel as he did – that I wasn’t expecting him to be dancing and singing.

      Downstairs, Adrian had thawed out and Paula seemed to be over her pique about not having a girl to stay. They had taken some board games from the cupboard and Adrian was setting up a game called Sunken Treasure. It was a good choice: I saw Michael’s eyes light up. ‘Would you like to play with Adrian and Paula,’ I suggested, ‘while your father and I have chat in the sitting room?’

      Michael nodded, took his hands out of his pockets and slid into a chair at the table. ‘I’ve played this before,’ he said enthusiastically. I looked knowingly at Patrick and he winked back.

      ‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked Patrick. ‘Tea, coffee?’

      ‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’

      ‘Of course. Michael,’ I asked, ‘would you like a drink? Or how about an ice cream?’

      Michael looked up from the table and for the first time smiled.

      ‘Is it all right if I give Michael an ice cream?’ I asked his father.

      He nodded.

      ‘Would you like one?’

      ‘No, just the water, please,’ Patrick said. ‘Thank you.’

      I didn’t bother asking Adrian and Paula if they wanted an ice cream because I knew what their answers would be. I went into the kitchen, took three ice creams from the freezer and, together with three strips of kitchen towel, returned to the table and handed them out. I poured a glass of water for Patrick and we went into the sitting room, where I pushed the door to so that we couldn’t be easily overheard.

      ‘Sorry about that,’ Patrick said.

      ‘Don’t worry. It’s to be expected.’

      As Patrick sat on the sofa he let out a sigh, pleased to be sitting down. ‘That’s better. It’s a good walk from the bus stop,’ he said.

      ‘You caught the bus here?’ I asked, surprised.

      He nodded, took a sip of his water, and then said easily, ‘I sold my car last month. I thought it would be one less thing for Eamon and Colleen to have to worry about. Eamon and Colleen are my good friends who are executors of my will. I’ve been trying to make it easier for them by getting rid of what I don’t need now.’

      Although Patrick was talking about his death he spoke in such a practical and emotionless manner that he could have been simply making arrangements for a trip abroad, so that I didn’t feel upset or emotional.

      ‘All that side of things is taken care of,’ Patrick continued. ‘What money I have will be held in trust until Michael is twenty-one. I have a three-bedroom house and I was going to sell that too and rent somewhere, but I thought it would be an unnecessary upheaval for Michael. It’s always been his home and he will have to move once I go into hospital, so I decided there was no point in making him move twice.’

      ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I think that was wise of you.’

      There was a small silence as Patrick sipped his water and I watched him from across the room. I liked Patrick – both as a person and a man. Already I had formed the impression that he was kind and caring, as well as strong and practical, and despite his illness his charisma and charm shone through. I could picture him out drinking with the lads and chasing women in his twenties, as he’d said he had at the meeting, and then being a loyal and supportive husband and proud father.

      ‘I think you are doing incredibly well,’ I said. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t cope so well.’

      ‘You would if you had to, Cathy,’ he said, looking directly at me. ‘You’d be as strong as I’ve had to be – for the sake of your children. But believe me, in my quieter moments, in the early hours of the morning when I’m alone in my bed and I wake in pain and reach for my medication, I have my doubts. Then I can get very angry and ask the good Lord what he thinks he’s playing at.’ He threw me a small smile.

      ‘And what does the good Lord say?’ I asked lightly, returning his smile.

      ‘That I must have faith, and Michael will be well looked after. And I can’t disagree with that because he’s sent us you.’

      I felt my emotion rise and also the enormity and responsibility of what I’d taken on. ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, ‘but I’m no angel.’

      ‘You are to me.’

      I looked away, even more uncomfortable that he was placing me on a pedestal. ‘Is there really no hope of you going into remission?’ I

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