Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
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Jill asked, ‘Have you told Eileen?’
‘No. She’s been out of the office recently.’
‘I’ll try and get through to her. And make the psychologist aware of this. If I’m right, this is a severe personality disorder.’
‘Jill?’ I asked tentatively, as something occurred to me. ‘When she’s in one of these states, can she do things that she wouldn’t normally do? I mean, this Reg seems like a very angry character, and she seems to be quite strong when she’s being him.’
‘If she was any bigger I’d be getting her out of there. Adults with D. I. D. can assume superhuman strength and do things they wouldn’t normally. But presumably you could restrain her if necessary, even when she’s Reg?’
I paused. ‘I think so.’
‘And you want to continue?’
‘Yes.’ The further along this road I went, the more impossible it seemed to turn back. ‘Now I know what it is, it doesn’t seem quite so intimidating.’
‘Good. It’s really quite interesting, you know.’
Interesting for Jill, maybe, with her ability to assess the situation at one remove. For me … well, interesting wasn’t quite the word.
That afternoon, I sat Adrian, Paula and Lucy down, and explained what Jill had said. They stared at me, open-mothed.
‘Jodie’s got several personalities who possess her at different times?’ said Adrian, trying to get it straight in his mind. ‘And she has no idea that she’s doing it?’
I nodded. It sounded crazy.
‘Bonkers,’ said Lucy. ‘Stark raving bonkers. She’s totally off her trolley.’
Paula laughed. ‘I think I’ll be the Queen of Sheba, and you can all wait on me and bring me gifts.’
I smiled. ‘It’s not an act, though, darling. She doesn’t choose this. It just happens – it’s her mind’s way of dealing with what she’s been through.’
‘Will she be getting therapy?’ Adrian asked, aware that she had seen a psychologist.
They all looked at me for an answer.
‘Not until the assessments are complete, which won’t be until nearer the final court hearing. Jill says this condition can pass of its own accord, and in the meantime the best advice is to ignore it. There’s no point in challenging her because, as we’ve seen, she can’t remember what the other characters have said or done.’
So we tried to ignore it and carry on, in the hope that it would pass, but now it escalated. Three or four times a day baby Amy, angry Reg or the nameless female matriarch suddenly took over and obliterated Jodie. It was often a very sudden change, usually lasting ten to fifteen minutes. Not only would Jodie’s voice change, but each personality had its own type of body language. When she was in character as Reg, she would draw herself up to her full height, shoulders back, chest out, making herself big and masculine. As Amy, she cowered and her face was babyish and pouting. Her angry housewife stood aggressively, with short, angry movements and an unpleasant grimace. The change would occur in an instant, and revert just as suddenly when Jodie returned.
When baby Amy appeared at dinner, Paula couldn’t resist cutting up her food and feeding her. ‘I’ve never had a baby sister,’ she grinned, as she wiped Jodie’s chin. Conversely, when angry Reg took over, we all ran for cover. And knowing what the problem was did help, even though anyone watching would probably have thought we were the ones who were stark raving bonkers.
I informed both Eileen and the psychologist of this new and disturbing facet of Jodie’s mental health, but heard nothing from either of them. I could understand it in the psychologist’s case – it wasn’t her role to offer me advice or therapy tips – but I was disappointed that Eileen still wasn’t able to offer any support or even show much interest, although by now I didn’t expect anything different. It was just another small piece of Jodie’s tragedy that she had been assigned a social worker who was, to say the least, ineffectual.
Jill remained highly supportive – and the best we could do was just to hope that things would somehow get better.
The spring term began, and to my utter relief the secretary at Abbey Green School finally phoned to confirm that funding had been approved, and Jodie could start the following Monday. She suggested we visit the school on the Friday afternoon, so that Jodie could spend some time with her class, and get to know her support teacher. I wondered whether to tell her about the D.I.D. Should I try to warn her about Jodie’s erratic and bizarre behaviour? Would the school even have heard of D.I.D.? I decided not to mention it. They had Jodie’s Statement of Educational Needs, and if anything untoward happened I was sure they’d call me. Besides, I wanted Jodie to start with a clean slate.
Now that Jodie had a school place, there was no further need for a home tutor. Nicola phoned to wish Jodie luck and say goodbye, and Jodie spoke sensibly to her for a good twenty minutes. After she hung up she came over to me solemnly.
‘Nicola is a good adult, isn’t she, Cathy?’
‘Yes, sweet, she is. Most adults are, as you’ll discover.’
Jodie nodded thoughtfully. I felt a spark of hope. Perhaps she was taking tiny, slow but definite steps towards being able to regain her trust in adults.
Later that day, Jodie’s social worker Eileen paid us a visit, her second in almost ten months. Predictably enough, it went much like the first and was not a success. Jodie was hostile from the start, and Eileen had great difficulty relating to her. It is usual to leave the social worker and child together, so that they can talk privately, but each time I tried to busy myself away from the lounge, one of them would immediately call me back in. Jodie would want another drink, or a jigsaw, or the television turned on, or Eileen would want to ask something trivial. For some reason Eileen seemed to want me there; I suspected she was anxious, or possibly even afraid of Jodie. After going back and forth a number of times, I decided I might as well join them, so I sat down with Jodie, and tried to get her to calm down and speak more quietly. A quarter of an hour later Eileen picked up her briefcase and, with a tight-lipped smile, left. She had done her duty.
‘Good riddance,’ said Jodie, and slammed the door behind her.
I didn’t disagree.
Chapter Twenty-Two The Fox and the Owl
It was mid-January. After a brief lull, the weather had turned bitterly cold, and we had three full days of snow. Jodie relished the excitement, and on the few occasions when I couldn’t immediately take her out into the snow, she would gaze out of the window, transfixed.
The children’s moods had lifted too. Now that they were back at school they seemed to have found a new burst of empathy for Jodie. Paula, in particular, appeared to have benefited from venting her frustrations before Christmas. We hadn’t actually arranged the sleepover yet, but she had had a number of friends round, and had made a point of encouraging Jodie to join in as part of the group, bless her.
One such afternoon Paula’s friend Olivia came for lunch, and they decided to go for a walk in the snow. My street is on the rim of a large valley, and the views are quite spectacular. Jodie pouted when she realized they were leaving, so Paula asked if Jodie and I would like to join them. Jodie was thrilled, so the four of us wrapped ourselves in coats, scarves and boots, and headed out.
As we walked up towards the high street, Paula and I each took one of Jodie’s hands, as the pavement was icy. However, despite our best efforts Jodie kept slipping over, each time falling on her bottom. The third time it happened, she remained sitting on the pavement. She crossed her arms, rolled her eyes, and sighed theatrically, ‘Here we go again!’
Paula and I grinned at each other in delight. Jodie’s usual