Another argument
"How was your appointment, Patrick?" Shelagh exclaimed when Patrick walked into the kitchen that night. "Your evening rounds kept you out long today?"
He approached Shelagh and absent-mindedly gave her a kiss on her cheek.
"Patrick Turner, have you been drinking?" Shelagh cried.
Patrick nodded. He had to work hard to focus, to not let his voice slur and to keep himself upright. He needed to concentrate. "I've had a hard day, dear, I am sorry," he slowly said. "I knew in advance that the appointment at the Board of Health would not be changing anything, but it still hurts that I was not able to achieve another outcome."
Shelagh opened her arms and hugged her husband. "I am so sorry," she murmured into his waistcoat. Patrick loosely put his arms around her and took in her scent. When had they last done this, he wondered, just holding each other for comfort?
"Is there something else?" Shelagh asked carefully.
"Stella has put in her notice."
Shelagh bent her head back and looked into Patrick's eyes: "Oh no, not now. Why is that?"
Patrick sighed. "I… we… we had a disagreement and we thought it was best if she left."
"What was it about, the disagreement?" Shelagh asked curiously.
"I do not want to talk about it right now, I am sorry, Shelagh," Patrick said, closing his eyes while letting out a long breath.
Shelagh pursed her lips, raised herself on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on her husband's cheek before moving towards the worktop. "Have a seat, I just made some tea. I wanted to wait up and see how it went with the Board."
Patrick groaned, sat down at the dining table and thankfully took the cup his wife passed him. He put it down it in front of him and buried his hands in his face. Shelagh sat down opposite of him, and put down her cup in front of her, too.
"Patrick, what is it?" she asked alarmed.
"Shelagh I think we need to talk. I tried to a few times over the last months but you never seemed to get how important it was to me. Some things have happened – " he paused and ran his fingers through his hair. "Some things have happened that made me realize that our marriage is in danger. I want us to do what we want, to be happy, but we cannot risk our health and our family."
Shelagh looked at her husband with a surprised expression. "Yes, things have not been easy with us lately. But I don't know what exactly you are talking about?"
Patrick took a spoon and stirred his tea for a long while. "I feel that we are growing apart," he slowly began while raising his head to face Shelagh. "We hardly talk anymore, we hardly see each other anymore. I miss you, Shelagh. Since you are no longer working at the surgery every day, I miss you so very much. And even at home we never even seem to have a few minutes to ourselves. And we never - "he paused, looked at the stairs and lowered his voice when he continued: "we never get intimate with each other anymore. When was the last time we were, -" he paused and cleared his throat, "see, I cannot even remember. Can you?"
Shelagh's cheeks flushed and she blinked a few times before slowly shaking her head. "I am sorry, I truly am.
"I am sorry, too." Patrick said. "We both have been strained beyond what we are capable of. Ever since you have begun working for Nonnatus House, since last October, more than half a year ago, I feel I am losing you. Or have I lost you already? You are no longer the wife I married. You run yourself into the ground for your patients and your family, yes, that you do But at the same time you forget about yourself. You are taking Valium every day, and even when you are here, I feel that I can't touch you, can't see the real Shelagh behind the shell that you have become."
Shelagh looked at her husband, her eyes big, lips quivering slightly. All colour had left her face. "Is this how you see me?" she whispered. "An empty vessel, no longer useful for anything?"
"No, this is not what I said. You are my wife, the wife that I love and that I want to grow old with. But over the past months, you have been miles away. You have been taking care of everyone around you more than you have of your family. I love you for being a committed and capable medical professional. For I am one, too, I hope. But can't you see that we, I and the children, are paying a price? The children always ill, Angela still not her usual self at day-care, and did Susan tell you that Teddy has been calling her mum several times now? Shelagh, this is where we are right now. And I don't think it is where we want to be."
Patrick buried his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. He was desperate. He had been trying to make his wife understand that he was unhappy and the children, too, were not happy.
Just when Shelagh wanted to reply something, Timothy entered the kitchen. He noticed his parents in what seemed a very serious conversation and mumbled "Oh, I am sorry," and quickly walked upstairs.
Both Turners watched their son retreat to his room and remained silent for another while.
"He should be in bed by now," Shelagh murmured, checking her watch.
"See, this is what I meant. I have the impression Timothy has been allowed to do as he pleases with regard to bedtime, or coming home whenever he wants to. Because no one is checking on him."
Shelagh hissed. "You mean no one as in me neglecting her duties. But Patrick, the boy has a father, too. And I believe 17 years is old enough to know when one needs to go to bed."
Patrick shook his head. "What is wrong with you? Ever since you have begun taking the medication I feel as if my wife has been replaced by a person looking like her but different in character. You never before said any of the children were not in need of being cared for."
Shelagh leant forward and angrily snapped: "I remember a ten-year-old boy who was frequently left alone at night, no one cared back then, right?"
"This was a different time and I had no choice. Now with the two of us and two little ones we do have a choice and we can't not have one," Patrick replied sharply. Then he jumped up, causing his chair to topple over with a loud banging noise.
"Patrick, careful, you are going to wake up the children," Shelagh cried.
"I don't care right now," he angrily shouted and opened one of the upper cupboards. When he took out a whisky bottle, Shelagh drew in a sharp breath.
"You have already been drinking tonight," she said in a warning voice. "Don't you think it is enough for now?"
Patrick angrily filled a glass more generously than he had originally intended. He would not take any orders from his wife, not today, not in her state of mind. He took a large sip and sat down his glass with a loud clink, momentarily afraid he must have broken it. "You know, tonight, I really don't care anymore," he barked. "My work of fifteen years just was crushed because of some bloody bureaucrat needing to impress their superior. My wife caring for anyone in Poplar save her own husband. My son doing what he pleases without anyone taking notice. And Stella gone, too. I couldn't care less, not tonight," he spat and refilled the not yet empty glass before taking a few sips again.
Shelagh had meanwhile gotten up from her chair and watched her husband from a distance. "I think it is best one of us will be sleeping in the spare room tonight," she said in a soundless voice. Then she walked around the table and put the chair Patrick had caused to topple upright again.
"Yes, I agree," Patrick said, still agitated, "and perhaps we should just make it a permanent arrangement," he added bitterly.
Shelagh's expression changed from angry to pained and she shook her head, but did not say anything. After a few more moments watching her husband, she slowly turned and walked upstairs.
Patrick listened to the sounds she made. He heard sheets rustling and assumed she was already in the process of taking beddings to the spare room. Probably his, he assumed, since at night, Angela or Teddy would occasionally toddle into their parents' room in search of their mother. He hoped Shelagh would at least consider the children's needs in her arrangements.
Patrick watched his now empty glass. He knew he had had much more than his limit and he needed to stop. He was going to have a very hard day tomorrow. But then, having some more couldn't even hurt more, he thought, and poured himself another glass. He watched the bottle and remembered that someone, he wasn't certain whether Fred or the vicar, had given it to them for Christmas two or three years back. They never drank much, but today, he would probably just finish the bottle that had been more than half full just a few minutes before. Yes, right now, he didn't care, even if it meant that he would need to take a year's dose of aspirin to be able to get out of bed the next morning.
He groaned and reached for the bottle when he suddenly saw Stella's smile in front of him. He felt his eyes get watery. He tried to imagine what Stella would tell him now. She would tell him to stop, that he had had enough. Just what Shelagh had told him. But he was not angry with Stella. He would listen to her, if she was with him now. She had said she wanted to end things, that she did not want to see him anymore.
"Oh, Stella," Patrick groaned again and ran his left hand through his hair. He needed to see her. Perhaps she had changed her mind, perhaps she had come to realize she had made a mistake, he thought.
Next, he found himself in front of her door, shivering, not only because he had forgotten to put on a coat against the late evening chill. There was still light in her living room window, Patrick noticed and he was glad she was still awake. He lightly knocked on the window. With Caroline home, he hesitated to ring the doorbell. After only a few seconds, Stella's face appeared behind the glass. He could see she must have been crying, her eyes were all red and puffy. When she noticed him, Stella softly shook her head. She disappeared again and Patrick was afraid she would just ignore him. But then he heard the door open and Stella appeared in the door frame.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice quivering, weak from crying, he thought.
"I want you, Stella," Patrick said hoarsely, almost whispering. He slowly walked up the three steps until he stood right in front of her.
"And what makes you think I want you, too?" she whispered.
"The past six months," Patrick said quietly. "I know we have been feeling the same for each other. We are good for each other. And right now, I can' think of anywhere else I would rather want to be."
Stella swallowed. "I meant what I said, that I do not want us to see each other anymore."
"I need you now, Stella," Patrick begged.
Stella opened the door just a bit and said: "Come in, I don't want anyone to see you out here."
Patrick quickly entered the house and as soon as Stella had closed the door drew her into a tight embrace. "No, please," Stella said meekly but did not fend off his actions. Instead, she tentatively leaned into his embrace.
They remained still until Stella said "You are drunk, you smell like a whisky barrel."
Patrick tightened his embrace and murmured into her hair: "I may be drunk but I know what I am doing. I know that I love you and I know that I need you." After another moment standing still, he bent down and began to kiss her carefully. Stella still did not move, nor respond to his actions. She just let it happen, until Patrick ended his kiss and leaned his head back a little. "If you tell me to go, I will go. I promise. But I had to make sure you meant what you said earlier today."
Stella still did not move, not speak, she had even stopped breathing. After a few seconds, she slowly began shaking her head, in very small, hardly visible movements. "No, I don't want you to go," she whispered.
Patrick began kissing her again, this time more intense, more intense than he ever had dared to kiss her before. He began to stroke her back with his hands. When his hands rested on her buttocks for a while, he noticed her body slightly moving against his, her closing her arms around his waist and finally she responded to his kiss. Soon, they found each other breathless from kissing. He wasn't able to say who started it but they were in the middle of undressing each other before they even knew. Patrick was just about to tug Stella's blouse over her heard, after he had begun unbuttoning it while kissing her, when she stilled him with both of her hands.
"No, not here," she whispered. Patrick understood. Caroline was home, of course. He quickly picked up his shirt, tie and vest from the floor and followed Stella upstairs into her bedroom. He remembered he had been here before, and he remembered that whenever his thoughts had wanted to enter this bedroom in the weeks and months after, he had had to violently stop them to go where he was about to be in just a few minutes, he judged by the way their kissing had intensified again.
"We have to be quiet," Stella whispered while she began unbuckling his belt. "Caroline's room is next door." Patrick fought hard to suppress a groan at the feeling of her hands working his trouser buttons. He slowly nodded and quickly worked open the zipper of Stella's skirt, immediately followed by him tugging her slip up. He couldn't wait to touch her soft skin, her breasts, her hips, just everywhere, the whole Stella.
Stella, too, had been efficient and by the time she stood in front of him in just her brassiere and girdle, he was down to just his socks which he quickly took off when he noticed her glancing at his feet. Had he felt dizzy just seconds ago, Patrick felt sober all of a sudden. This was not a moment to miss or waste.
Together, they removed her remaining underwear and finally they stood opposite each other, both completely naked. They smiled at each other, each taking in the other's body, clearly appreciating what they must have imagined ever so often during the past weeks and months. Stella took a step towards Patrick and they joined into another embrace, revelling in feeling each other's warm skin on their own, discovering their scents, learning the feel of his grey and sparse chest hair or the volume and softness of her naked breasts on his abdomen.
Patrick began whispering words of affection into Stella's ear while Stella lightly stroked her fingertips up and down his back, each touch causing a million tingles under his skin. Then they joined in another kiss and began grinding their hips against each other, while slowly moving towards the bed. Stella, who stood with her back to it, laid down first and Patrick followed, covering her body with his, feeling light-headed and excited as he had not in a very long time.
He moaned when he felt Stella opening her legs below him and wiggle her hips into the right position.
Just when he noticed her nod at him, signalling him to go ahead, he heard a shrill cry.
Patrick winced and opened his eyes. He groaned at the light blinding him. He wanted to get up but groaned again when his head felt as if it was about to burst. A sharp pain shot into his back and his neck was stiff.
He realized he had fallen asleep on the settee. Which was never a good idea, and hardly so at his age. He covered his eyes with his hands and from afar heard Shelagh argue with Angela who, according to her crying "not the blue one" did not want to wear whatever Shelagh had picked for her.
Patrick groaned again. He should get up before his family came down. No need for letting on what had been going on between Shelagh and him last night. He felt every single fibre of his body ache when he slowly rose from the settee. He remained sitting for a while, until the walls of the living room had stopped moving. His mouth was dry and his head hurt so badly, his eyesight was blurred.
He slowly got up and walked towards the sink. He took his empty whisky glass, filled it with water and drank all of it without pausing. Then he made his way upstairs. When he passed Angela's and Teddy's room, he noticed Shelagh dressing Angela. He felt his wife's reproachful eyes follow him while he went straight into the bathroom.
Every step, undressing, washing, shaving, took him three times the time he would normally take. He thought bitterly that this must be how he would feel if he reached 70 or 80 years. When he was done in the bathroom, Patrick walked into the bedroom. He still heard voices from the kitchen and decided to wait until everyone had left, as he was not able to face his children on this particular morning.
He laid down on the bed and immediately his thoughts returned to his dream. It had not felt like a dream. It had felt real, as if Stella had been there with him last night. Patrick groaned because he noticed that even though he felt so poorly, a long dormant part of his body still seemed to work.
Suddenly he became aware of the silence downstairs. Shelagh and the children must have left. Patrick got up and mechanically got dressed. Then he went into the kitchen where there was still some tea and toast left on the worktop. Even when they were arguing like last night, she would never not make sure he would have his breakfast.
Patrick did not feel like eating, but figured he needed something to prevent himself from feeling nauseous later in the morning. He quickly gulped down a cup of the lukewarm tea and took a slice of plain toast, which he would eat while driving to the surgery.
When he walked into the reception area of the surgery fifteen minutes later, he noticed a fresh cup of tea on the desk and a neat stack of patient files, seemingly those for this morning's appointments. He couldn't suppress a grin. Stella was back. She had not left, she would still be here with him.
Patrick quickly proceeded into his office and just when he had sat down at his desk, heard the soft clink of a metal spoon against a tea cup. He looked up, smiling happily but his expression turned into a surprised one when it was not Stella but Shelagh who entered his office, carrying his usual morning cup along with the morning post.
"Shelagh?" he panted.
Shelagh looked at him indifferently. "Why, yes?" she asked. "You told me Stella had handed in her notice and since it is my day off I decided I would come in for the morning. I know you don't like to handle surgery on your own. I was able to leave Teddy with Maureen." She placed down the tea cup and the stack of mail in front of him and turned around to leave but was stilled by her husband.
"I am so sorry for last night," Patrick said.
Shelagh looked down at him. "Please, let us not discuss this here and now. This is hardly the place with Nurse Crane around and patients coming in any minute."
"When is the right time, Shelagh?" Patrick cried. "We never seem to find the right time anymore."
He was desperate, but Shelagh wiggled off his loose grip and took a few steps around his desk before she looked back at him again and said: "We will find the right time, but now, we have patients to care for." She quickly left his office and Patrick momentarily felt a sharp pain stinging his head. He rummaged through his medical bag for another aspirin and put the little box into the top drawer of his desk. He would certainly need more in the course of the day.