What's in a Name?

That which we call a 'Rosie' may not actually be as sweet as a 'Rose'.

I was happily pottering about the kitchen garden, trying to fight back the mint I’d thoughtlessly planted without a pot to limit its spread, when Biscuit brought me a glass of cold lemonade.

“Geoff’s asking if you need anything from the garden centre?” He said as I thanked him. You can’t beat proper, homemade lemonade on a hot day.

“Who?” I asked, confused, because I don’t know anyone called Geoff. Biscuit looked as though I’d lost my mind.

“Geoff.” He said again and I shrugged. “From the knitting shop. Our neighbour.”

“You mean Geoffrey?” I said.

“I don’t mind Geoff.” Geoffrey said, following Biscuit into the garden. I sat back on my heels in surprise.

“Do you prefer Geoff?” I wondered, mentally chastising myself for never having asked what he preferred to be called! How remiss! Geoffrey shrugged.

“I’ve never thought about it.” He answered. “I don’t mind what people call me, really. I get Geoff, Geoffrey, G, G-man, G-dog…” I had to cut across at this, I couldn’t hold the laughter in.

“You do not get G-dog.” I assured him because absolutely not. Geoffrey gave a little chuckle.

“I have a nephew, he’s ten.” He explained and I made an ‘ah’ of understanding. “I have a few other nicknames too. So call me what you like.” One or two possibilities occurred to me but I wasn’t about to voice any of them.

“But what do you prefer to be called?” I pressed. “What’s your real name?” Geoffrey looked bemused so Biscuit came to the rescue.

“She’s weird about names.” He explained, flapping his way to the lowest branch of a nearby apple tree.

“I’m not.” I defended myself at the same time Geoffrey said “In what way?”

“It’s because no one ever calls her anything except Quill and she thinks it means they don’t like her.” Biscuit stated. I could have wished my tiny comrade-in-arms who I tended to think of as the closest confidant of my heart was a little more cautious about sharing my deepest secrets with people but there we have it.

“You can’t shorten Quill.” Geoffrey noted and I sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be shorter.” I argued huffily, just like I’ve argued before. “Janes get called ‘Janey’, James gets Jimmy. They can be the same length too, like Matthews get ‘Matty’.”

“But I couldn’t call you ‘Qui’, could I? That just sounds odd.” Biscuit argued. “It’s like no one calls me ‘Bis’.”

“I tried calling you ‘Kit’ for a while, you didn’t like it.” I reminded him and Biscuit nodded. “Besides, nicknames don’t have to sound like the name. Take William, how did that become Bill? How did Charles become Chuck? Whoever met a ‘Richard’ and thought ‘Dick’?” There was a momentary, awkward silence as we each came up with our own witty but possibly inappropriate comeback to that question. No one voiced it.

“Quill is a lovely name.” Geoffrey offered instead and I appreciated his attempt to mollify me but he was up against an ancient grudge. “And it’s just a name.” Biscuit sucked in a breath and made a desperate sign to Geoffrey to take it back.

“Names matter.” I stated and Biscuit let his face fall onto the branch in defeat. “They carry meaning, and not just nominative determinism, your name shapes who you become in subtle ways and what people call you matters because it tells you what they think of you.”

“I don’t follow.” Geoffrey responded. Biscuit made the sound everyone makes when they know they’re about to hear the same conversation they’ve heard a thousand times before.

“Well, you know how there’s a spectrum of names…?”

“No.” Geoffrey said flatly. I shook my head in irritation.

“Yes, you do.” I told him. “Take Miss Hollis from the local primary school. She’s having a baby and, last time I spoke to her about names, she said they’d got it down to two possibilities. And I would say, they are names from opposite ends of the baby name spectrum. And when I tell you what they are, you will agree with me.”

“What are they?” Geoffrey asked.

“One is ‘Ace’.” I said and Geoffrey nodded. “And the other is ‘Bernard’.” Geoffrey tried not to agree with me.

“Both perfectly good names.” He stated, to my mind feigning confusion.

“Yes, they are.” I concurred. “I’m not arguing that some names are better, just that it matters what you’re called. Imagine the future for this same child depending on the name she chooses. Ace Hollis is a daredevil fighter pilot who will one day save the world! Whereas Bernard Hollis is a chartered accountant from Hereford. And I know which one I’d choose for my son.”

“Well, obviously.” Geoffrey agreed easily. “Hereford is a lovely place to live and chartered accountants have fantastic job security.”

“Exactly.” I confirmed, very pleased to find Geoffrey understood my point so well. “You’d spend your whole life worrying about Ace as his mother, he’d forever be jumping off high things or being a spy or getting into fights just because people will hear ‘Ace’ and think ‘I will gain status if I take this guy on’.”

“But it’s just a name, he’ll still just be called ‘Ace’ or ‘Bernard’.” Biscuit pointed out. “Like you’re called Quill, I don’t see why you get so upset about it all.”

“I don’t get upset.” I defended, sounding upset. “It’s just that his birth certificate will say ‘Bernard’ but his mum will no doubt call him ‘Bernie’ and his friends will call him ‘Bern’ and ‘Bernard’ will just be what people call him at work. And what people call him will tell him what they think of him. He’ll know that people who call him ‘Bernard’ see him as an acquaintance but people who call him ‘Bernie’ are fond of him. ‘Bernie’ will make him feel special while ‘Bernard’ will make him think he’s about to be told off.”

“Well, now I think I’d prefer you call me Geoff.” Geoffrey mused. “If you calling me ‘Geoffrey’ means you’re about to tell me off.” I tutted.

“It doesn’t.” I waved it aside. “And you’re not a ‘Geoff’, it doesn’t fit you. You’re a ‘Geoffrey’.”

“That’s… not in line with your previous argument.” He responded and there was a slight hesitation in which I was sure Geoffrey had moderated whatever he was about to say.

“Oh, it’s not a coherent theory.” Biscuit announced, making me want to push him off his branch. I didn’t because I’m a grown up. “It’s her mistaking emotions for logic. She just wants someone to give her a cute pet name so she feels loved.” There was another pause in which I was sure Geoffrey was holding his breath. Even Biscuit looked like he knew he’d gone too far.

“Is that so bad?” I enquired a little haughtily, sipping at my lemonade. Biscuit shook his head and Geoffrey breathed out. “It was easier in the olden days, of course.” I moved the conversation on from what could have been a touchy topic.

“How so?” Geoffrey wondered.

“Well, everyone was ‘Miss WhatNot’ and ‘Mr Whojamacall’, weren’t they?” I explained, going back to tugging at the mint as if it were personally responsible for my strange, inner, name-based turmoil. “Your first name was a gift you gave someone when you trusted them. You asked permission to use someone’s first name or they granted it to you. No one just waltzed into an office and immediately started calling you ‘Andy’. You were ‘Mr Somebody’ until you felt ready to say ‘Oh! Call me Derek’. And everyone felt pleased about it. It was the equivalent of saying ‘I’m your friend now’.”

“Do you ever think you’ve overthought this?” Geoffrey wondered. I threw my hands in the air.

“All the time!” I exclaimed. Sometimes, I wondered if anyone truly knew who I was. Anyone who knows me at all would know that I am CONSTANTLY overthinking things! Why else would I keep a chatty dragon with an irritating tendency to question every thought I have?!

“It’s not like the Fae are real, you know.” Geoffrey smiled cheerfully. “People can’t steal your soul if you give them your real name, can they?”

“Oh! No!” Biscuit groaned, spotting another well-rehearsed argument on its way.

“Ah, but they can.” I retorted. “What’s in a name, my good fellow? Well, everything! Because if someone has your name they can smear it, besmirch it, blacken it, sully it, drag it through the mud! You can clear it too, restore it, defend it. You can make a name for yourself! You can uphold it, live up to it, trade on it, lend your name to something or put your name on it. You can drop a name or take a name or give your name. Things can exist in name only, or be done in the name of! You can be unworthy of your name. And if that’s the case, names have inherent worth all of their own. Names matter.”

“Okay.” Geoffrey muttered in a placating tone. “You have a point.”

“Yes, because if names didn’t matter, people would never change their names.” I added. “Or Miss Hollis wouldn’t have ruled out a whole raft of names simply because she’s taught children who have that name and she wasn’t particularly fond of them.”

“Names matter.” Geoffrey concurred. “You’re right.”

“Thank you.” I replied, finding I was breathing more heavily than I’d realised. I took another sip of lemonade and thought back over just how passionately I’d been arguing this point. I sighed. “And, the thing is, I’d just like to not be Quill to everyone. I’d quite like it, sometimes, if someone called me something that said they thought about me differently, as something more than just a person they know.”

“We could call you ‘Minty’.” Biscuit chipped in from his tree branch. “The whole garden smells of it now!” I looked down at my hands to find I’d been tearing the mint leaves apart apparently in anguish. I put the shredded greenery down and dusted off my palms.

“Do not ever call me Minty, thank you.” I said flatly. “It makes me sound like I went to an all girls’ school and I know what dressage is.”

“Then you’ll just have to put up with Quill.” Biscuit commented. I shrugged, my little tirade over. He was right, of course. It didn’t actually matter, not to normal people whose brains didn’t obsess over nonsense. I finished my lemonade and gave Geoffrey an apologetic look.

“Sorry I’ve kept you.” I offered. “You were on your way to the garden centre, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” He confirmed with a nod. “Did you want anything?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” I replied, grateful to him for not showing how clearly unhinged he must think I am.

“Okay.” He smiled. He has such a nice smile. He turned towards the kitchen door and raised his hand in farewell. “See you later, Q.” He offered and vanished inside. My heart thudded, my face flushed, my whole brain reacted as if he’d given me a hug.

“Are you going to start calling him Geoff now?” Biscuit chortled, seeing my flustered reaction.

“No.” I declared. Geoffrey was not a ‘Geoff’. But there were a whole host of other things I wanted to call him, chief of which was ‘friend’.

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