Patrick looked over at Shelagh with a heart full of love but a face creased with worry. He didn't want them to find out. He didn't want her to find out. There was nothing he could do now apart from wait...
He looked over at the interviewees, with a smile which almost fooled himself into being calm and collected. Inside, however, he felt as if a raging storm was brewing, his thoughts are if they were strong winds causing his calm and collected manner to fall away. His legs were stiff from being tense and his fingers sore from rubbing his hand and knuckles vigorously. He needed something to help him keep calm. More than anything he wanted to link hands with Shelagh's; promise her everything will be alright. They didn't need to adopt. Did they?
He cast his mind back to when she had first mentioned adopting a child. She seemed brighter than any of the lights that shone magnificently in the Turner household. Shelagh had been distraught with her troubles of not being able to conceive that Patrick didn't want to see her upset ever again. At first, it was a great idea, one that filled all three of them with happiness. But after seeing the paperwork and how deep the agency would search into both their histories, he shut off. His precious Shelagh could never find out. Especially not like this.
Sitting opposite the couple, one of the women sat silently occasionally writing notes, but almost tearing off one layer of skin at a time with her eyes in order to find any blemishes within them.
"What occupied you during the period April 1945 to December of that year, Dr Turner?"
No! He wasn't ready. Why did they need to know? What was wrong with the person they could quite clearly see in front of them? His mind reeled for any sort of answer to the woman's question, perhaps something to throw them off. The winds grew stronger in his mind, almost hurricane like. His whole mind whirling round and round. Maybe he could drawing their attention to another subject, or pretend he thought the telephone had rang. No, that wouldn't work, the telephone was in the same room. Typical.
He could feel his wife facing him, wondering what on earth and gotten into her husband, why he wasn't answering the woman's question. Maybe he didn't want to do it anymore. Perhaps he was nervous about the whole adoption process. She hoped with all her strength it was the latter.
"I… I was injured"
What kind of an answer was that? He mentally kicked himself, knowing they asked for more details.
"Could you be more specific?"
Sure enough, it had came, just like he knew it would. Now, mustering up all the courage he could, he gave the woman a cold look.
"I'd prefer not to."
Shelagh turned sharply, stunned at Patrick sharp tongue. She'd already told him that there were lots of questions, but she thought that once they had filled out the adoption form, everything would settle down. This seemed, although she kept it in the back of her mind, the only question so far that had really put Patrick on edge. Why was wrong? She wanted to take him aside and smooth all the worried creases that burrowed in his face and comfort him but knew that that would have to wait till after the two women had gone.
Patrick, wanted to run. Run far away. Away from the woman and all her intimate questions.
"You were discharged from the army."
Was that? Yes, it was, a knowing look from the woman in question. She knew everything, whether Patrick mentioned it or not. Was this some kind of test? Testing if he blurted out everything that had happened to him during the war.
"You must understand, it was the end of the war. I...I was Medical Corps, trying to save lives at the front. I…"
"You were an impatient at the Northfield Military Psychiatric Hospital for five months… while you being treated for war neurosis"
He was rumbled. The harsh memories escaped from the depths of mind as he had tried for years to lock them up and throw away the key. Closing his eyes, all he could see were bodies, lying on the grounds, usually not whole.
"I was worn out. There was too much death."
He felt Shelagh look over at him, whether it was angry in her stare or sympathy, he couldn't tell. Patrick certainly couldn't met her eyes, the pair that belonged to the woman whom he loved and shared most things with (clearly not everything, something he told himself hundreds of times after they got married. She would have to had to found out, just not like this. Anything but this). He feared of rejection, both from the woman looking at the couple intently, and from the love of his life.
"I recovered. I am recovered."
He felt as this was more to tell himself than to the other people sitting in the same room.