Page 80 of Birds of a Feather

What my family had shared, with infuriating regularity, was that I was a challenging baby. They had an anthology of humiliating stories to illustrate that I was an unsettled infant and had a fiery temper as a toddler. I hated that they held me accountable for my behaviour from a time when I couldn’t control my bowels, much less my temperament.

‘You were so different to Jarrah,’ she continued. ‘She was so placid; she just slept and ate for the first few months. But you definitely turned our world upside down.’

I huffed loudly.

‘We did have a different name picked out for you, actually.’

She hesitated as if deciding whether she should continue. Jarrah and I inched our bodies slightly forward in unison.

‘Well?’ I asked impatiently. ‘What was it?’

‘Harmony,’ she said finally.

‘Harmony?’ Jarrah laughed. ‘Can you even imagine?’

‘Really?’ I stared at Mum in disbelief.

‘You were going to call me Harmony? And then, what, I arrived, and you decided that a name that means peace and tranquillity didn’t suit me because I was a difficult baby who nearly died at birth and killed you in the process?’

‘It wasn’t …’ she started.

‘Gee, thanks very much, Mum. That makes me feel much better,’ I said sarcastically.

‘If you’ll let me finish,’ she continued calmly. ‘We decided that you needed a stronger name. A more linear name. One that would serve you well throughout a life that I knew would be filled with achievement and excellence.’

‘So you named her after the Queen?’ Jarrah quipped. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re such a fan of the royal family.’

Mum gave Jarrah her ‘you’re not helping things but, as always, I have no intention of doing anything about it’ look.

‘No,’ she said, turning back to me. ‘We named you after another Elizabeth. It was Gran who suggested it, actually.’

‘Who then?’ I urged impatiently.

‘We named you after Elizabeth Gould,’ she replied with a gentle smile.

I was floored. How did I not know this?

‘Who’s that?’ Jarrah asked.

‘Elizabeth Gould was the wife of John Gould, a scientist who came out to Australia,’ I offered. ‘But, more than that, Elizabeth Gould was a brilliant artist. She travelled to Australia with her husband and worked for him as an illustrator. She died young, but her work is celebrated to this day. Including on Gran’s wall.’

‘Oh yes,’ Mum said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘You’re right. The painting of the finches.’

‘Is that the picture of the birds near the toilet?’ Jarrah asked.

I nodded.

Mum walked towards me and put her hands on my arms.

‘Bethie, my darling, I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt like an odd man out.’

She squeezed my biceps.

‘Dad and I have always tried to include you in everything we’ve done and everywhere we’ve gone. Maybe I should have tried harder to get you to come along, but you were never that interested, and we never wanted to push you to do anything you didn’t want to. Or be anything other than yourself.’ Her bottom lip quivered slightly. ‘We only ever wanted you to be the best version of yourself. And look at you!’

She took a step back and looked me up and down. ‘You’re incredible. We’re so very proud of you.’ A big wet tear cascaded down her face.

‘But there was never any room for me,’ I said, my voice shaking.

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