Page 78 of The Night Shift
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘You know when you said about my brain being wired differently to yours? Do you think I could be autistic?’
Her mum placed her cup carefully back in its saucer and looked up to the ceiling, her lips pressed together in what Violet recognised as her thoughtful expression.
‘We did talk about it,’ she said eventually. ‘Your dad and I– a long time ago. But ten, fifteen years ago it wasn’t really a diagnosis we saw in girls. The kids we saw at work who were diagnosed as being on the spectrum tended to be little boys who had other behavioural issues and it all got lumped into this one diagnostic category. Neither of us felt that you needed that label. We didn’t really feel you neededanylabel. You were just Violet.’
‘Yeah. That’s kind of what I thought. But then, I wonder if being“just Violet” has maybe made some things more difficult than they might have been if I was a little less “Violet”.’
‘But that’s exactly the trouble,’ her mum said with some difficulty. ‘I don’t want you to feel that there’s anormalorgoodway to be, and that you should have to change in order to conform to it. Everybody’s different after all. That’s what a spectrum is– a variety, a whole range. I mean look at your Uncle Dave.’ There was a pause and she wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, maybe he’s not the best example.’
‘It’s just something I’ve been thinking about, that’s all,’ said Violet. ‘It’s not occupying my every waking moment, don’t worry.’There’s a lot more occupying my waking moments than that, she thought to herself.
‘Yes and I can see that it’s something you might have considered,’ said her mum. ‘There’s so much more awareness about neurodiversity these days. Which is great. I refer many different people now; young women, older women, older men, teenage girls, all wondering the same thing. And some find a diagnosis really helpful– there’s more support out there now, and increased understanding. I think your generation are a lot better than mine at appreciating and respecting diversity in general, whether it’s in terms of ethnicity or gender or neurotype.’ She dabbed at the biscuit crumbs on her plate. ‘Do you want to be referred to see a specialist?’ she said. ‘Have you thought about asking your GP?’
Violet tilted her head to one side. ‘I might do,’ she said. ‘I’ve done one of those online quotient tests and I came out as borderline– depending on how I answered the question about whether I preferred theatres or museums, I’m either neurotypical or high-functioning ASD.’
‘They’re quite blunt tools,’ said her mum. ‘But can be helpful as a starting point. It’s up to you. I’m just not sure how useful a diagnostic label is now that you’re a fully functioning well-rounded adult member of society.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Violet. ‘I’m not so sure as I fulfil all of those criteria.’
Her mother laughed as Violet continued musing.
‘I guess I’ve definitely got traits, but like you say, we’ve all got those. I think I can cope with the ambiguity of being borderline– which for someone who likes definite categories is unusual.’
‘And maybe suggestive of the fact that you really are borderline,’ said her mum. ‘As in, you like clear definitions but you’re also okay with the occasional blurred edge.’
Violet nodded and they both sat there for a moment lost in their own thoughts. She had always liked the way both her parents were comfortable with lapses in conversation. Her dad had explained that he often used silence as a professional tool to encourage his more reticent patients to volunteer information but for Violet it was an opportunity to gather her thoughts without interference. The only other people she felt comfortable enough to be totally silent with were Dev– and Gus, she realised with a pang.
‘So, tell me more about this man,’ said her mum eventually, as if she’d been reading Violet’s thoughts. ‘Is he the one who’s upset you?’
Violet nodded. ‘Not intentionally,’ she said. ‘He hates upsetting people. But…’ She told her mother everything (well, almost– candour was one thing, public discussions about multiple orgasms were entirely another).
‘I think I’ve just got to face the facts that I’m not cut out for the kind of relationship you have with Dad,’ she concluded. ‘Gus is the only man who I’ve ever felt any kind of genuine connection with and it was obviously more one-sided than I realised. I’m not going to end up with the perfect marriage– I’ve just got to live with it. I’m not the kind of person that men fall for, not in a lasting way. Not like you.’
Her mother looked down at the table, an odd expression on her face. ‘Violet,’ she said at last. ‘There’s no such thing as a perfect marriage. Your father and I disagree on many points. And we often irritate the hell out of each other. It’s not a question of being the kind of person men fall for– there is no universally ideal woman in the same way there’s no universally ideal doctor. I don’t know where you’ve got these ideas from. Maybe not having siblings is part of the issue, maybe growing up with someone else who’s flawed allows you see thatthat’swhat’s normal– I don’t know. Either way, you are a wonderful human being and someone, possibly many people, will fall in love with youexactly as you are.’
‘You have to say that,’ said Violet, smiling. ‘You’re my mother.’
‘You are right of course. It’s part of the contract. But it also happens to be true.’ Her mum drained the last mouthful of tea from her cup. ‘Now, do you want another pot or should we head back to the house and make sure Marvin hasn’t strangled Dev yet?’
* * *
Fortunately, nobody had been strangled but there was definitely tension in the air at home. Marvin wanted a New Year’s Eve party and Dev was adamant that it would be too much for him.
‘You’ve been out of hospital literally five minutes,’ Dev was saying as Violet came through the front door. His lips were set tight, hands on his hips– the stance of the quietly obstructive. ‘You can’t honestly expect me to believe that having everyone round for cocktails and banging tunes will aid your recovery?’
‘I do,’ Marvin’s voice was earnest and the number of pillows Dev had wedged around him gave him a bizarre gravitas, like being on a throne. ‘I’ve been soooo bored in hospital, no offence, Violet.’
‘None taken,’ she said, watching on with interest to witness Dev’s inevitable capitulation. ‘And if you want my opinion, I think we all deserve a bit of a party.’
‘Nobody asked for your thoughts on the matter, thank you very much, Violet,’ said Dev crossly, but his face had softened. She knew he was worried about her as well. Marvin had mentioned something about running into Gus before they left the hospital and how Dev had been alternating between furious and melancholy ever since. ‘Him and me both’, she’d said.
Eventually the combination of Violet’s logical persuasion– ‘Marvin’s friends will all want to see him now he’s home, better to do that it one big hurrah rather than needing to arrange countless little visits’–and Marvin’s emotional blackmail– ‘Violet needs some distraction from her broken heart. And surely we’ve got at least one straight friend she could hook up with?’– toppled Dev and he agreed to run down to the off licence with Violet’s mum. Violet was left decorating the house under the instructions of Marvin who, despite being chair-bound, still had strong feelings about where the glitter ball and the decks should go, and which tunes should be on the playlist. Violet flicked through Dev’s impressive vinyl collection, brandishing records to have Marvin give them a thumbs up or thumbs down like a Roman emperor and told him about the conversation she’d just had with her mum.
‘Whhoof– life, loveandneurodiversity,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘You covered a hell of a lot for a day after night shifts! Do you think you’ll follow up on an ASD assessment? I could point you in the right direction– the majority of my brightest maths students are somewhere on the spectrum and their parents are extremely well-versed in how to access the various diagnostic services.’
‘I might,’ she said. ‘I haven’t decided whether I’d prefer to carry on as I am, suspecting I have a few traits and managing them in my own inimitable way or whether it’s better to have a definitive diagnosis. I’ll probably read around a bit more and check out the prevalence data, weigh up the pros and cons, maybe make a spreadsheet…’
‘I wonder whether the fact that a spreadsheet is your go-to resource might tell you all you need to know,’ said Marv, smiling until she threw a cushion at his head.
