Chapter 9: Moving Forward
Rose was beside herself with worry. The Colonel offered Patrick the opportunity to go on compassionate leave, but Patrick refused. Deep down, Rose saw that he was hurting over the loss. She thought that he didn't allow himself time to grieve and instead, he just carried on working. She loved Patrick dearly and was scared for his well-being. After the incident, she found him, still drenched in blood, on the floor crying. She didn't care about getting her dress dirty, so she kneeled down and embraced him in her arms. At first, he was a little hesitant, but he eventually gave in and wrapped his arms around her waist. He snuggled into her neck to muffle the cries. Rose rocked their bodies back and forth to soothe Patrick. After what seemed like an hour, she unravelled herself from Patrick and cradled his face. She saw the face of a man who struggled to keep it together and who was scared to show how he really felt.
She told Patrick that she wouldn't think any less of him for being open with his feelings. Patrick didn't respond but kissed her with his blood-stained lips. The overwhelming stench nearly made her sick, but she pushed through. Some days, he never came to work, preferring his own company and locking himself in the bedroom. Other days, it seemed that there was nothing wrong with him, he was as happy and as jolly as can be. She knew that he was just pretending. She saw the scars on his arms and neck. She did not dare to confront him in case he got all defensive. He would tell her in his own time.
She wanted to help him so badly. But how could she if she didn't know what was wrong. She could bless Patrick some days and blast him on others. Yesterday, he barely spoke to her at all, other than to prescribe Corporal Wader with antibiotics for a chest infection and to change Sergeant Porter's dressings. She felt that Patrick was blowing hot and cold all the time. It drove her up the wall, but she couldn't bear to see him suffering. She was at a loose end. She hoped that, one day, Patrick would divulge to her his torment.
….
The sound of the birds singing became her alarm clock. It reminded her of home where the nightingales woke her every morning. How she missed their sweet sound. She was torn between telling the Colonel about Patrick or leaving it be as it was none of her business. She wanted the best for Patrick, but she didn't know the right way to go about it. He was being so secretive, like he couldn't trust her. She had to let him know that she was open to whatever he had to discuss. As she got dressed and placed her crimson locks in an updo, she looked in the mirror to observe the black rings around her eyes. She worried about him so much, she barely got any sleep. She had dreams about him getting worse, to the extent that his voices in his head would tell him to kill her. She couldn't live like this, in the fear of a man she loved deeply. She would get to the bottom of it, no matter what.
In the back of her mind, she knew that it wasn't really her place to know Patrick's every secret, but she was curious as to what he was hiding. She checked the rota last night and she would be working alongside him today, which was good. She smoothed down her uniform to make sure that no creases lingered in it. Rose made her way to the door and locked it behind her. She understood of the consequences of broaching a delicate subject, but she had to know, if not for her sake, then for Patrick's. She began walking to the ward, dreading what Patrick might do. But she was a strong lass and would take anything he had to throw at her.
…
Rose realised that Patrick wasn't over Timmy's death. The bruise on her face was proof of that. She thought him ungrateful. She was only trying to help him. She laid on the bed in despair, feeling emotions ranging from angry to tearful. The day didn't go as well as she hoped. She was too strong minded for her own good. She shouldn't have pushed Patrick that far. The whole ward heard their argument. She couldn't contain her frustration anymore and she unleashed all on Patrick, telling him how tired she was of him being hot and cold all the time, that why couldn't he just tell her what was the matter with him and that he was an ungrateful son of a bitch.
Patrick retorted, saying that it wasn't any of her business of how he feels. She explained to Patrick that she cared about him and that she didn't want to see him suffering. She could feel the Turner Temper emanating from Patrick. She knew that it wasn't a good sign. She could handle the remarks he called her. She had worse. But it was the spite she couldn't bear. Him spewing venomous words like a cobra. Digging hard into her thick skin. He made her feel small and weak. She hated that. Eventually, in her anger, she told Patrick that she would find a real man who wasn't cowardly or stupid enough to hide his true feelings. The last thing she saw was Patrick coming straight towards with his fist drawn. When she woke up, she was in her room. She had a searing pain on the left side of her face. She felt down her underwear, breathed a sigh of relief and removed her hand. Thank goodness that Patrick never went that far in his berserk rage. She would have clacked him one. Even though he didn't go to that extent, she still felt violated. She wasn't sure whether or not Patrick loved her after all.
She learnt that, after Patrick knocked her out, Colonel Anderson bellowed at Patrick to get in his office. The nurses were very curious into what the Colonel had to say so they eavesdrop at the door. Apparently, the Colonel was disappointed in Patrick's behaviour and conduct and forced him to have a week's leave back in Italy. He also said that, if it wasn't for his credentials, he would have inflicted a harsher punishment. The week's leave would be effective immediately. He ordered to pack his things as the cab would be outside in 10 minutes. He asked to check to see if she was alright, but the Colonel refused, citing the fact the fact that he couldn't control his temper and that he could make things worse.
Rose decided that she needed a nice warm bath, to make herself feel better. The Colonel popped up to her room, checking to see if she was alright and that she could have the rest of the week off. She let her hair down, letting her crimson curls fall around her face. She grabbed her cream dressing gown from the hook on the door, her blue China inspired silk pyjamas and matching slippers and made her way to the bathroom. She would request a transfer home from the Colonel as she felt that she couldn't cope with seeing death and suffering every day and that she would be more useful helping those caught up in the London Blitz. As her naked body hit the warm bath, she could feel her anxiety and fears washing away with the water. Her soaked locks were sticking to the back of her neck. She grabbed the coconut and ylang-ylang soap and rubbed it into her hands to make a froth. As she worked her hair into a sweet-smelling lather, she thought that the way Patrick treated was uncalled for. Granted, the blame was partly at her door, but she was worried about him, but he couldn't see that. All he saw was her interfering with matters that didn't concern her. She cursed him, calling him a close-minded brute who thought only with his penis and not his mind.
…..
25th May 1941
Dearest Patrick,
I hope you are enjoying your leave of absence from the hospital. It is with great pain and sadness that I release you from our relationship. I can't do it anymore. I can't try and help someone who won't accept it. You have made your feelings perfectly clear on the matter. The Colonel has approved of my request for a transfer home to England as I feel that I will be of more use there because of the Blitz. Your treatment of me was uncalled for but I understand that you had your fair share of loss recently.
I don't wish for any bad blood between us. I just think that it is fair if we both go our separate ways. You will always be in my thoughts and dreams, Patrick. And I will never forget you. I hope that we can still be friends, but you destroyed all possibility of taking our relationship further. I don't know. Maybe it was too much for me to even think of a future with you. I don't blame you for what happened, and I will admit that I was at fault as well. But you can't keep these feelings bottled up. They will threaten to consume you and destroy you. Please get help, Patrick. No one will say that you're weak. You need to deal with your pain and grief in a different and healthy way.
Some days, I thought our relationship was real but now I see it was built on lack of trust and secrecy. I pray that, one day, you will open up to those who love and care about you. By opening up, it will help you to accept the things that happened to you and will give you closure.
You may think it harsh of me for saying this, but you know me, I say it as it is. I should never have shouted out at you. I was stuck in between a rock and a hard place. I wanted to know where I stood. It was clear that it wasn't by your side. Maybe the week's leave will help to relax and get rid of those thoughts of harming yourself. I've seen the scars, Patrick. Considering how deep they are, I'm surprised you haven't killed yourself. You are worth more than this. Yes, deaths every day is bound to get anyone depressed but we, as medical staff, have a duty to our patients. Sometimes, you just have to detach yourself from caring about the patient too much. I know it's hard, but you have to try, Patrick.
I will come to Liverpool one day. To see the sights and buildings that you told me about. I might go shopping with the girls. To try the bread and cakes. I'll go back to Ireland the size of a house.
Anyway, the cab will be here soon to take me to the airport and back home. The flight is 3 hours, which isn't too bad. It will be nice to see my parents and siblings again. Even though the sea air does wonders for the breathing and the skin. Like Dorothy said, there is no place like home.
May the Good Lord bless you and keep you, Patrick.
Yours faithfully
Rose.
