All of Me (37 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Where did they all come from?

Patricia knelt down on the rug next to Aimee. Light was fading from the window. It would soon be time to turn on the lights and stop for dinner.

‘How’s the essay going, Aimes?’

The young girl glared up at her mum. ‘It’s impossible,’ she replied angrily. ‘Please will you do it for me?’

‘I’ve told you, I’ll help you, I’ll look things up, I’ll sit with you while you do it – but I’m not writing your assignment for you.’

That wasn’t the answer Aimee was looking for.

‘But my hand hurts.’

Patricia was tempted. She hated seeing her daughter so upset but, as usual, Aimee had left it to the last minute. Like any mum, Patricia would do anything to help – but she drew the line at actually writing the thing for her.

Unfortunately, Aimee didn’t see it that way.

‘It’s not fair,’ she cried. ‘Bonny would help me.’
Yes,
Aimee thought,
that’s who I need!

‘Mum, I want to see Bonny!’

A
fter a lifetime of being tossed around like a cork on the ocean, it was unfamiliar to find myself in charge. I had a house to look after, a daughter to care for and a disorder to manage. And, for the first time in my life, I was coping.

Those early days with Aimee were perturbing to say the least. We were both finding our way from a relationship built on friendship to one that needed to go further. I was happy to – desperate to, really – but it was harder for Aimee. Bonny was the one she called ‘Mum’. Even though Aimee knew about the DID, relationship-wise I was just a mate who looked after her occasionally. Just because I’d changed, why should she be expected to?

The assumption I’d made for all those years that I was around all the time was quickly exploded when we realised I knew so little about her life. I remember Dr Laine telling me, ‘You need to take control. Aimee needs to go to school,’ and I thought,
How am I going to do that? I don’t even know where her school is!

Luckily, Aimee knew, so on our first morning together we walked there. I recognised one or two of the other parents, not many more. They all seemed to know me. I got loads of comments like, ‘Oh, you have got legs then?’

I looked at Aimee.

‘Mum always drives.’

Oh,
I thought. ‘But it’s only round the corner.’

‘That’s why they’re laughing at you!’

There was so much I had to learn and to be honest I found it more than a little daunting. I guess a comparison would be a young single man being told by his girlfriend that she’s accidentally pregnant. The guy’s going to have mixed emotions, isn’t he? Happy – hopefully – but also wistful at all the opportunities now closed to him. I admit an early concern was ‘How am I going to go out for a drink if I’ve got a child?’

Then I remembered I’d had a child for years and somehow the body had made it work. Most likely I was only brought out when Bonny or one of the others found themselves in a social situation anyway. The only difference now was that I was the one with the responsibility.

Getting into the swing of things was a bit bumpy. If someone had handed me a baby at the time, I would have just about been able to hold it until it started crying and then, like most people I imagine, I’d be desperate to hand it back. It’s not so dissimilar discovering yourself with an older child. She’s great to hang out with, but what do six-year-olds play with? What do they talk about? What does she do at school? Which stores does she go to? The list was endless: mealtimes, bedtimes, homework, shopping, school holidays, friends, discipline, television, pocket money, even how to brush Aimee’s hair – you name it, and I didn’t know anything about it.

Things inside the house I just about got a grip on. When we stepped outside I felt really exposed, as if the whole world was watching, pointing its fingers and saying, ‘You’re not her mother.’

Just the thought of talking to one of Aimee’s teachers sent me into a cold sweat. When I first had to go for an open house I felt like I was the one back at school. I’d never felt so intimidated. A lot of parents might think that, but I felt fraudulent, like they saw me as some Johnny-come-lately.

But I’d been in worse positions. I needed to remember that. Most of my life I’d found myself washed up in scenarios that seemed alien, and bit by bit I’d worked out what went where – and usually I’d had only a couple of seconds to do it. By comparison, I thought, coming to grips with a few logistics should be a breeze.
Should.

Between sheer panic, overwhelming fear and simple frustration, I also experienced moments of happiness being with Aimee, the magnitude of which I’d never known. Everything was going to be all right, I knew it.

‘I can’t promise it’s going to be a smooth ride, Aimes,’ I told her, ‘but I promise you we’re going to make this work.’

If Bonny can do it, so can I …

I didn’t know Bonny, obviously, but we had communicated. At Dr Laine’s instigation, Bonny had opened a new Word document on our home computer and written a little welcome message and introduction about herself. When she’d finished she’d left the page open on the screen. The next time she’d returned to the machine there was a message from Judy. Then one from Ken. There was even one from me! That was before I acknowledged the DID. It’s daft now but I convinced myself we were meeting on an internet chatroom – that’s probably the logic the others still use. Obviously if I’d probed deeper I’d have discovered it was just a Word file – which could only have been added to by someone in my house! That realisation would have opened up a whole new can of worms which, I suppose, is why my mind never allowed me to make the leap.

Over the course of a few months we had regular chats. It’s really helpful for me now, as the dominant personality, to be able to keep tabs on what the others might be doing with our body. These days I can leave notes around the house which sometimes get answered or sometimes get completely ignored – or sometimes even come back with rude messages (usually from Judy).

Many of them are also on email so we can communicate via that. This really stumped Oprah. Still not appreciating how unconnected we all are, she asked if I just left the messages addressed to someone else. When I told her we all have separate email accounts, separate passwords, I thought she was going to fall off her chair.

Even though I was told how Bonny and I were so similar, Aimee could tell the difference without a moment’s hesitation. She can’t say how she knows, she just does. Even when she was young, she could always tell the personalities apart, even if she didn’t always know their names.
That’s the one who shouts about God, that’s the little boy who speaks Latin, that’s the girl who can’t speak at all …

The logistics of my new grown-up life were complicated but doable with a bit of application. It’s amazing how much you can pack in when you’re around for the majority of the day. You don’t always have to be in such a rush all the time. The most arduous change, in fact, was coming to terms with Aimee’s love for Bonny. It felt stupid being jealous of someone who looked and sounded so much like me but I suppose it’s the human response. I was in charge now. I was the one looking after Aimee, not Bonny.

I just want her to love me like she loves Bonny.

In time Aimee and I worked through our awkwardness. She went from calling me ‘Patricia’ and Bonny ‘Mama’ to calling her ‘Mama Bon’ and eventually me ‘Mama’. I think school helped. It was easier for her to call me that when she was there and it just sounded right. You can’t imagine a happier day for me than when that happened the first time.

Gradually we eased into our routine and I noticed the fears and the panic had gone. Now I was just left with true regret that I hadn’t been around for the first six years of her life. I was like a man whose partner had kept news of their baby a secret. On the bright side, at least I had the future to look forward to. Bonny may have had the early years but she was missing out now. And poor Dawn had been missing out ever since Aimee was born.

Speaking of missing out, I remember watching Aimee playing in the garden – back when I didn’t accept the DID – and she was singing at the top of her voice, ‘I love my daddy so much’. Even as a family friend witnessing it, it was terribly upsetting. She was using a little doll as a microphone and really putting her heart into it. I thought,
It’s awful that girl doesn’t have a father.

I remembered that years later. As soon as I appreciated that Aimee was my daughter, I knew instantly who the father was. It was my on-again, off-again boyfriend whom I’d met during my driving job. Baby Aimee was the spitting image of him – I don’t know why I didn’t make the link at the time.

Dawn, Hayley or Bonny or one of the others might have different views but I feel in my heart that I’m right. I may not have been there to give birth to Aimee but I did conceive her. That means the world. No one can take that away from me.

When I discovered the truth, I contacted the father. We had long ago drifted apart and the last thing I wanted was him in my life again. However, for Aimee’s sake – and for his rights – it was the correct thing to do. He was shocked, obviously, that I’d shown up out of the blue, and nearly fainted at the news. But he said he would marry me and we could make a fresh start. I said I didn’t see a future for us and he said he would back off, just as I’d hoped.

But saying goodbye to me was one thing; he never even said, ‘Can I see her?’ If there was even a slight chance of our rekindling our relationship, his indifference to his child had killed it stone dead.

I’ve offered Aimee the opportunity to see him over the years and she’s always said no. Lorraine is willing to take her over whenever she wants. If she changes her mind I’ll be sad but I’ll understand.

But I’ve never heard her sing about her daddy since.

Getting to know my daughter was a lovely, sometimes stressful but always rewarding process. Mainly, though, it was slow. I had been so used to dashing from one mystery location to another that I really struggled to adjust. Once I appreciated that I was around a lot longer these days, I could begin to calm down and, gradually, everything fell into place.

With my relationship with Aimee as secure as I could wish for, I finally turned my attention to getting to know other people in my life: the alter egos who share Kim Noble’s body.

One of the personalities, of course, I knew very well.

It was me.

Coming to terms with the fact that I myself was an alter of Kim Noble was hard. What could be more unnatural? We all want to believe we come from the same place, we live the same lives, we are normal – otherwise we are just characters in
The Matrix.

What was I supposed to think? Were they saying I’m a figment of someone’s imagination?

That I didn’t exist?

No wonder my mind had protected me from the truth for so long. It’s almost too much for anyone to cope with. For me, in a way it’s been harder than discovering about the body’s abuse. Selfish as it sounds, that happened to someone else. This was about me.

But I didn’t have a choice. If I were to become the dominant personality I needed to fully embrace the facts of my origins – mainly that Kim’s history and my history are not exactly the same.

According to the research I most likely wasn’t ‘born’ until Kim was one or two. Of all the things I’ve had to get my head around, that has been one of the most taxing.

On the plus side, it does make me a few years younger!

Thinking about the process of facilitating my development – until I actually became the dominant personality – I thought of Dr Laine’s role. If I was worried about being a character in a sci-fi film, for her it must seem like
Groundhog Day.
All the confusion, all the denial and all the resistance I was showing wasn’t new to her. Dr Laine had seen exactly the same responses from Bonny years earlier, and from Hayley before that. I was just the next in line for the same treatment.

Even realising that hurt.
It’s a bloody conveyor belt! I’m on a production line!

Therapy is meant to make you feel good about yourself but realising your individuality is at stake is a bit of a body blow. Dr Laine, though, just like our friends, had one priority in mind.

The protection of Aimee.

What more incentive do you need?

Thinking about it from Dr Laine’s point of view, I had appeared the most like Bonny and Hayley so I seemed the most capable of taking on the responsibility. Could Dawn do it? Could a woman so traumatised by the loss of her baby that she doesn’t even recognise her today as the young teen she is? Could Judy do it? She’s a teenager herself with low self-esteem and a craving for practical jokes. Could it be Sonia? Another youngster – she’s fourteen – and a sufferer of body dysmorphia? Or could it be Ken, a gay man still struggling to come to terms with society’s treatment of his kind? Julie, so convinced she receives signals from televisions and license plates and sprays bus users with fly spray? Rebecca? Three-year-old Katie?