Violet #2
‘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 that that’s what’s normal– I don’t know.
Either way, you are a wonderful human being and someone, possibly many people, will fall in love with you exactly 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, love and neurodiversity,’ 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.
They talked it through for a while, in much the same way as she had with her mum, and then Marvin cleared his throat like he either had something important to say or had choked on one of the lemon sherbets Violet had bought him from the café. Luckily it was the former.
‘In the spirit of the moment,’ he said. ‘I’ve been having a few thoughts myself.
’ He told her that he had decided to go to the police again.
‘I’ve remembered a few more things about the men who attacked me,’ he said.
‘And I’ve been thinking that if there’s something I can do to stop this happening to someone else then I’d be a coward not to come forward. ’
Violet didn’t comment. She knew that this had to be Marvin’s decision.
It was one of those scenarios where her dad would have suggested she ‘used silence as a tool to facilitate the discussion’.
At least she thought it was– either way, Marv knew her well enough not to think she was ignoring the significance of what he’d said.
‘And, given that seeking justice will require a certain amount of “going public”,’ he continued, ‘I’ve decided to speak to the school. The head of department anyway.’
‘Mr Fenwick?’ Violet considered Marvin’s immediate boss, his thin white hair and corduroy jacket. He didn’t seem the type to necessarily welcome cross-dressing into the scholarly mathematics fraternity.
‘The same,’ said Marvin smiling. ‘He’ll probably need to go to the school governors and between them they can decide just how progressive an educational establishment they are.’
Dev had returned laden with several carrier bags and he overhead the end of Marvin’s comment. ‘I think it’s a really brave decision,’ he said, standing in the doorway looking proud. ‘You’re an excellent teacher. You’d find another job in seconds. The school will know that.’
‘I’m fed up with living a lie,’ said Marvin. ‘It totally detracts from the joy and sense of liberation I feel on stage, this constant worrying about what happens if one of my sixth-form students, or indeed one of their parents, ever ends up at the club and recognises me.’
‘Stranger things have happened after all,’ mused Dev. ‘You never know who’s going to pitch up at Rainbow Punters– all these middle-aged straight couples seem to be intent on crashing the scene at the moment, trying to prove how woke they are, let’s test their liberal credentials.’
‘Too right,’ said Violet’s mum. ‘You go, girl– and all that.’
‘Exactly, Sue,’ said Dev. ‘And while we’re talking about coming out into the open. I’m going to have to speak to my parents again. They can’t avoid the elephant in the room forever, not if Marv and I get married or something.’
‘Is that you proposing?’ joked Marvin, one eyebrow raised.
‘Maybe it is.’ Dev’s hands were back on his hips, which wasn’t easy when you were carrying four litres of cider and a bumper pack of party blowers.
‘What, you– the old romantic– just slipping in a proposal as part of a discussion around the practicalities of talking to your mum?’
‘And what could be more romantic than that?’ Dev’s tone was defiant. ‘I want my family to know who I am but I also want them to know how much I love you.’
Marvin’s face suddenly crumpled into a heap and he gave a big dramatic sob. ‘Really?’ he said.
Dev dropped the carrier bags and, wobbling slightly, went down on one knee. ‘Really,’ he said. ‘Marvin Gillespie. Will you marry me?’