What’s in a name?

When James left me for someone called Yolande I blamed my mother – after all it was her idea to call me Gladys. I should be a Sophie or a Laura, a Jessica or a Madelaine – not Gladys, Gladys Brown! I’m sure Gladys was fine years ago but not now, not for a 21st century woman. Anyway, as I said, I blamed my mother. The night she went into labour, The Inn of The Sixth Happiness was on television. She watched the story of the Englishwoman, Gladys Aylward lead more than a hundred children to safety across the Chinese mountains and this made a huge impression on her. Of course I’ve often seen the film and I can quite understand why, because Gladys Aylward was an intrepid and courageous woman. But in the film Ingrid Bergman played the part of Gladys Aylward and every time I saw the film I’d complain, “Why couldn’t you have called me Ingrid?That would’ve been OK.”

Mum would smile and say as she always did that I should be proud to be called after such a wonderful woman. “And anyway,” she’d quote, “What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” There never seemed any answer to that and I would turn away grumpily.
When James left me for Yolande it was the final straw.

“That’s it,” I said to my best friend Sarah, “I’ve had enough. I’m going to change my name.”

Sarah swallowed a mouthful of almond croissant and shook her head.

“Is it worth it? All the bother and everything. Is he worth it? I mean, it isn’t as if you were in love with him.”

“That’s not the point,” I retorted crossly and untruthfully. I had to admit that Sarah was right. I’d had real doubts about how much longer my relationship with James could continue. He’d been quite put out when I said that we were fine as we were and I didn’t think he should move into my flat.

I spooned extra sugar into my decaff coffee and stirred it round gloomily

“It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d gone off with a Beth or an Amy but Yolande! I can’t compete with a Yolande!”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think it might have been her long red hair and her size ten figure that attracted him, rather than her name?”

I thought about it as I chewed my chocolate brownie and the more I chewed the more I had to acknowledge that I was suffering from hurt pride and not a broken heart. If there had been any dumping to be done I should have been the one doing it!

“It’s all right for you,” I said to Sarah, “Your name is fine – it’s short, it’s simple, and it doesn’t go out of fashion.”

“It’s boring, you mean,” replied Sarah.

We’d had this conversation many times before but it was reassuring to have it again.

“I mean it,” I declared as I drained my coffee cup, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to change my name!”

Sarah looked sceptical but I was determined and events were on my side.
The following Monday my line manager asked me if I’d like to be part of a new team over at the main offices. I was flattered but Gary Webster was put out – he thought he should have been chosen. I was pleased because it meant I could start in a new place with new people – and a new name! It was just the opportunity I needed and I began to make plans.

I already knew that it would be legal to change my name but I wanted to keep it simple so I could still be G. Brown, just not Gladys Brown. I looked on my laptop for names beginning with G. The list wasn’t very long and I ruled some out straight away and whittled the rest down to a short list of three: Georgina, Grace and Gemma. I liked them all but after a lot of thought I decided on Gemma, Gemma Brown. It had a nice ring to it.

Sarah bought me a mug with Gemma written on it and I took it with me on my first day in the new office. Everything went well. People were friendly and I made no mistakes with my new name. When introductions were being made, I’d say, “My name’s Gemma, Gemma Brown.” And it felt great. There was none of the anxiety I usually got when I had to say my name, none of the heart-sink feeling as I waited for people’s reaction when I told them I was Gladys, Gladys Brown. No one laughed or pulled surprised face or guffawed loudly. It was wonderful.

I thought things couldn’t get much better but on Friday I met the departmental manager. He had been away but I had heard what an efficient, organised, innovative and pleasant person he was. No one had told me he was drop-dead gorgeous! Even his name was lovely – Oliver, Oliver Redmayne. I said it to myself as I looked at his dark, dark blue eyes and I had to hold onto my desk because my legs went weak. I’d never felt like that when I looked at James! That weekend I spent hours deciding what I’d wear to work and planned different ways of doing my hair. It didn’t make any difference – he didn’t seem to notice me. He didn’t ignore me or anything, he always smiled and was pleasant but that was all.

“Perhaps he’s got a girlfriend,” suggested Sarah.

“No, no wife, no girlfriend. I checked that out straight away,” I said. “He just doesn’t seem to notice me.”
I spoke too soon. A week later I was sitting in front of my computer when I heard a shout, “Gladys! Gladys!”
Instinctively I looked up at the sound of my old name. There in the doorway of the main office stood Gary Webster. “Oh no!” I thought and ducked behind the screen but it was too late, Gary had seen me and his loud voice got louder as he got nearer.

“Gladys, Glad. Stop hiding behind that computer and say hello to your old mate.”
I wanted to crawl under the desk and hide but this wasn’t a movie, so I raised my red and embarrassed face from the screen and said hello to Gary.

“They wanted a report bringing over here so I volunteered. I wanted to have a look at where you worked. And look at it, state of the art or what!”

He leaned against my desk.

“But what’s all this ‘Gemma’ business? I asked at Reception for Gladys Brown and they said they didn’t have a Gladys Brown working here but there was a Gemma Brown. So I came up here to see. And here you are. But what’s with the Gemma?”

Gary’s voice had not quietened and I could tell that everyone was listening. I was just thankful that Oliver was in his office and hadn’t heard all this. I’d never felt so embarrassed in my whole life. My face burned and I wished Gary would go away so I could make a dash to the Ladies and get away from all the interested eyes and ears.

Suddenly Gary was interrupted by a familiar voice. He sprang away from my desk.

“Is that the W.B.P. report you’ve got there?” asked Oliver and Gary handed it over.

“Thanks very much for bringing it,” said Oliver and waited so that there was nothing Gary could do but say a quick goodbye and leave. I looked at Oliver and again my legs felt weak but this time it was because I knew he must have heard every word. He smiled that lovely smile and quietly suggested that I might like to go and have an early break. I almost ran from the room

In the Ladies I got out my mobile and rang Sarah. I poured out the story of Gary’s visit and how the whole building would now know that I was Gladys, not Gemma and how I wished I was dead. “What am I going to do?” I wailed.

“Bluff it out,” said Sarah, “Make light of it, pretend it’s not a big deal. It’s the only thing to do.”
I thought quickly. She was right. If I pretended it didn’t matter much then other people might think it didn’t and wouldn’t make anything of it.

“You’re brilliant,” I said.

“I know,” replied Sarah, “But wasn’t your Oliver thoughtful!”

“He’s not my Oliver and he never will be after all this! He’ll never take me seriously again.”
Oddly enough I was wrong. That evening as I was trying to leave work in an unobtrusive way Oliver caught up with me and asked if I had time for a drink. Time for a drink? I’d have cancelled a holiday in the Seychelles for half an hour on my own with him!

We went into a new wine bar and I made remarks about how nice it was, and what original seating it had and thought how ridiculous I sounded. Oliver waited until I stopped speaking and then put his drink on the table, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He put it next to his glass and looked at me. I looked back – he was so nice to look at.

“Well,” he said, “What do you think?”

I was confused. “About what?”

“About this,” he said and pointed to his wallet.

“It’s a wallet,” I said, adding lamely, “A very nice wallet.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “It is nice. My mother bought it for me. She had my initials put on it.”

I must have looked blank for he tapped the wallet with a long, slim forefinger. “N.O.R. “ he spelled out, “Norman Oliver Redmayne.”

The significance of what he was saying hit me. Norman. He was called Norman! My face broke into a beaming smile and he smiled back.

“I was called Norman after my grandfather but I always got Oliver at home to avoid confusion. But every new place – school, college, wherever - I’d get Norman at first because of my initials. It’s not the trendiest of names so I can understand why you might want to change yours.”

Somehow I couldn’t stop smiling and he was smiling back. I picked up my glass.

A toast.” I said. “To difficult names. To Norman and Gladys.”

“Gladys and Norman,” he repeated.

And that was it. Well, that was the start of it. And funnily enough I did get to change my name after all – well not the Gladys part – I reckon I’m stuck with that. But now I’m Gladys Redmayne and it sounds great to me.