There are, in fact, two days that will be forever etched in my mind: the day I met Josh McKinstry, which I have already told you about, and the day I found out that my own body was less than perfect, incapable of performing one of its most fundamental functions, producing its own insulin. I was twelve years old and for months before my diagnosis I had been steadily losing weight even though I was always hungry and thirsty and was eating and drinking more than ever before. I was moody, lethargic and not very nice to live with. Mum and Dad initially put my symptoms down to pre-teen hormones, and it was only when I started to get recurring infections that they took me to the doctor. The GP ran some tests and when he got the results he immediately referred me to a specialist.
Dr Flynn, a gentle grandfatherly man, took one look at my skinny, wasted body and told me we were lucky to catch the diabetes when we did. ‘Many of my patients end up with ketoacidosis before they’re diagnosed.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘Nausea, vomiting, extreme thirst and, in severe cases, loss of consciousness. It’s a life-threatening condition and sometimes the first symptom of previously undiagnosed diabetes – so count yourself lucky, young lady,’ he added with a smile.
I followed the doctor’s gaze as he turned to my parents, and it was only then I saw just how shocked they were. Mum looked as though she was trying not to cry, and Dad looked sad and vulnerable and not at all like his usual upstanding self.
‘I can see that you’re both finding this hard to take in,’ Dr Flynn said kindly. ‘Sometimes this disease is as hard on the parents as it is on the children. Shock is a normal first reaction, as is fear and resentment, and even grief. You all have a relatively short timeframe to learn complex new information and to make considerable lifestyle changes. You will initially fear and resent those changes, and you will feel sad that your lives have been altered forever. It’s rather overwhelming for children and parents alike.’
That night I couldn’t sleep. I lay listening to Maeve’s gentle snoring, the whistle of the wind outside and the murmur of my parents’ voices downstairs. I knew that they were talking about me. I strained to hear what they were saying, the rise and fall of their voices, the words they chose as they discussed my imperfections. Finally I got out of bed and stealthily opened the door of the bedroom. The carpet on the landing felt plush under my feet. I carefully stepped over the creaky top step and sat halfway down the stairs, shielded by the banister and the shadows. My mother was crying in the kitchen.
‘How did we not know, Jonathan? I feel so guilty that I waited this long to take her to a doctor. I should have known it wasn’t normal to be that skinny.’
‘I know. When I think about what could have happened …’
Feeling ill at ease, I tucked my nightdress around my legs. I knew that I would be in big trouble if they caught me eavesdropping like this, but I wanted to know what they thought, what they really thought and felt, what was behind the brave face they’d both donned since leaving the doctor’s.
‘I feel like I’ve failed in my role as her parent. My job was to make her feel safe and secure as her life unfolded. Now she will have this burden, this fear, every day of her life.’
‘I know, Paula, I know. It’s so hard to accept that it’s there for the long haul, that there’s no way to correct it, to cure it. But at least now we know what’s wrong with her.’
His choice of phrase struck a chord. So there was something wrong with me.
‘I guess we’ll all have to learn to live with it.’ Mum’s sobs intensified.
I heard the rustle of Dad’s clothes as he moved closer to comfort her. ‘Yes, we’ll have to get used to it, make the adjustments that need to be made. She won’t ever have perfect health. It’s disappointing, devastating, for her and for us …’
To my ears, they both sounded a long, long way from ‘living with it’. I got up and tiptoed back to my room.
In my bed, I was just as alert as before. ‘You’re a freak, Caitlin O’Reilly,’ I whispered into the dark. ‘Your body can’t even do one of the most basic things it’s meant to do. Freak! Freak! Freak!’
Meeting Josh when I was eighteen defused much of the bad feeling, the self-loathing that still lingered from finding out that I was different to everyone else. Josh was different too; his body didn’t work as it should either. But he had so many other things going for him that his deafness, his imperfection, ceased to matter. Josh helped me put the diabetes into perspective and to understand that it was only a part of me, not everything.
Those two days, when I met Josh and when I found out I was a Type 1 diabetic, were turning points. My life was taken over, commandeered in a new direction, and the repercussions have cascaded down through every day since. Now, the day I lost my job, fought with my mother, my friend and my boyfriend, and ended up in hospital, looks like it will be another one of those turning points. It’s left me fragile and wary of my body and what could happen if I don’t take proper care of it. It’s made me realise how much I love my family, my friends and Matthew. I have been granted perspective, again. My childhood was not unhappy, I was loved and valued by my parents. My father is a perfectionist, but so am I, and the truth is that the current rift in our family is more because of me than him.
I’m half-awake when the doorbell rings. Matthew’s arm is slung around my waist and I’m sure that I have a smile on my face. It’s early Saturday, the street outside is peaceful, no bustle, no cars, no weekday madness. Even the birds are unusually quiet. I open one eye and check the clock: 7.15 am.
Late yesterday I got a call from Harry Dixon asking me to come and see him next week. As soon as I recognised his voice, I wondered what he wanted, why he was calling me. I didn’t have to wait long to find out: niceties are not part of Harry’s repertoire, and he was as cranky and abrupt as ever. He said he had a ‘proposition’ for me. Harry’s not the type to waste his time or mine and I suspect his ‘proposition’ is in fact a job offer. Net Banc is an excellent company, rated highly by analysts and employees alike, and Harry, beneath all the fire and brimstone, would be a loyal and decent boss. I won’t find out until next week but having this meeting on the horizon already makes me feel much more secure about my employment status.
The doorbell rings again.
Matthew’s arm moves against me, his fingers splaying on the curve of my hip. ‘Is that coming from your door?’ he asks without opening his eyes.
‘I was pretending it wasn’t,’ I reply and reluctantly roll away from the promise of those fingers.
I throw on some clothes, wondering who could be at the door. Jeanie is away again, her travel budget reinstated. Nicola is not a morning person – unless she’s decided to pop in on her way home from an all-night party – and anyway, she hasn’t been in contact since we spoke last week. More likely, though, it’s a neighbour, locked out of their apartment or in the throes of some other domestic emergency. On tiptoe, I peer through the peephole. The man standing on the other side is familiar to me, but he’s older and not as upright as he used to be. It’s been ten years and three months since I last saw him. I lower my heels. My chest feels tight and I can literally feel the blood draining from my face.
I’m aware that I have a choice, that I don’t need to open the door, yet I do so with surprising ease.
‘You wouldn’t come home, so I came here,’ my father says in greeting.
I open the door wide enough to let him in. His eyes sweep across my apartment, gauging in an instant how I live. Then he turns and looks me in the eye.
‘I was a hypocrite. You were right in that regard, and it’s been a harsh realisation for me.’ His accent is so strong and pure that I feel like I’ve come home. ‘I should never have put anyone or anything before my family. I never will again.’
I nod. I know that he’s here with Mum’s blessing, that they’ve conferred as parents and friends, and decided he should come here to see that I’m all right. The knowledge that this conversation has happened between my parents makes me realise that my family is not as fragmented as I had feared.
Matthew comes to stand in the bedroom doorway. He’s directly behind my father and bears witness to what is said next.
‘I’m sorry, Caitlin.’
Funny how those two words can melt away years and distance, how they can right any wrong.
I step towards him and his arms await me. ‘I’m sorry too, Dad.’
I feel genuinely proud of him and what he has achieved. Since watching the disc, I’m more at peace. You see, I was hanging out for justice every bit as much as he was and now that it’s been achieved I can finally trust, not only in the legal system but in everything: my family, my friends, and in fate and what it may or may not have in store. Despite his remarkable feat in driving that landmark civil case, I’m aware that my father has made many mistakes over the past eleven years. He should have been more supportive to my mother, and they would still be married if he’d saved even a small part of himself for her. He should have given Maeve more support and guidance too, been quicker to help her past the schoolgirl stage she was frozen at for years. And when distance softened the edges of my hatred, he should have reached out to me, insistently, until I understood that my hatred was born from the deepest love, that I was the most like him of all his children and that I could never be fully happy without his approval and without him in my life.
I see each mistake with a new level of understanding. Before me is a softer, multi-dimensional, flawed but essentially altruistic man.
My father is less than perfect.
Like me.
Like Josh and Liam. And even Matthew, who will come forward at any moment to shake my father’s hand.