Mrs Munro's lament for the loss of Marilyn

Maya. What sort of name is that? After that American poet woman. Well, not after. Our Marilyn doesn’t approve of ‘after’. That was what all this was about in the first place. In honour of she says. I expect she’s one of their sort, that poet. Hers and Helen’s I mean. It’s all the fashion in America, of course, living without men. I told her, “It’s all very well managing to put up your own shelves and cutting your grass but there are some things you just have to have a man for.”
“Such as?” she says.
“Such as children.” Well, that shut her up pretty fast! But would you believe it? There she is weeks later declaring she’s pregnant. I swear there’s nothing that girl wouldn’t do to win an argument.
“So who’s the father?” I demanded.
“The biological father is Gary, a friend of mine and Helen’s.” That’s how she put it. Biological. I thought that was for washing powder.
“I suppose ‘biological’ means he’s not going to marry you,” I said. She laughed at that.
“Of course not, Mum. He’s gay!” I’m sure she uses that word on purpose. She knows it makes me wince. In my day it was a nice word. Her lot have hi-jacked it so as no respectable person would dare use it nowadays. She always did like to shock people our Marilyn. That’s what all this name-change business is all about, if you ask me.
I’m just glad her father’s not here to see it. He’d be so hurt. He chose her name specially himself after the film star, what with our name being Munro and all. He’d always been a fan.
He’d have liked our Marilyn to have gone onto the stage. Professionally, I mean. She did have a go, for a while. When she was a child. When I think of the money we spent sending her each Saturday to Miss Iliffe’s School of Ballet, Tap and Modern Dancing! I can see her yet, her fat little legs kicking half a beat behind the rest of the chorus as they belted out ‘All the Nice Girls Love a Sailor’ to Mr Gullick’s piano accompaniment. And the costumes. The hours I spent sewing on sequins and gathering net! She looked so sweet. Well, when she was small, anyway. People can be very cruel once children pass the cute stage.
I can hear Miss Iliffe yet, “Poise, Marilyn, poise!” I don’t think she ever did discover the meaning of that word. She wasn’t interested anyway. Sheer awkward she was. You think she’d be keen to please her father, but not her. Always so contrary.
I wouldn’t say he was disappointed in her, exactly. She’s done well in her career, after all, but engineering isn’t really what you expect of a daughter. He knew she would never be the original Marilyn Monroe. But you can’t blame a man for having a dream, can you?
What’s so wrong with ‘Marilyn’ anyway? It’s a lovely name! She might have had one of those fathers who name their daughters after whole football teams. She ought to be grateful he wasn’t a fan of Doris Day when you think about it. He did suggest calling her Norma Jean but I put my foot down. I didn’t want any daughter of mine to have so dull a name as Norma. A pretty name always improves a plain girl, I think.
I asked her, “But why, Marilyn?”
“Maya,” she corrected. “Marilyn has connotations I don’t like.”
Connotations! I ask you, what name hasn’t got connotations? At least Marilyn has pleasant ones. I was at school with a girl called Chastity and the connotations did nothing to hold her back, I can tell you. She was far more chased than chaste. Some people are just born contrary and our Marilyn’s among them.
I told her, ‘I just don’t understand why you dislike your name so much.’
She said, ‘Can you imagine what it was like whenever anyone asked my name? Whenever I started a new class? Whenever I write a cheque in a supermarket or borrow a library book? Sometimes they say nothing and just smile to themselves, or look surprised and eye me up and down. Other times they’re less kind. “Put on a bit of weight, haven’t you?” and laughing away to themselves as if they’re the first to have thought of the joke.’
‘So what are you going to call your baby?’ I asked.
‘Jude,’ she answered, not a little smugly, I thought.
‘Is that for a boy or a girl?’
‘Either. We chose it because it is gender neutral.’
Let’s hope the baby isn’t gender neutral. Well, you do hear of such things. No doubt the poor little thing will be dressed in brown and khaki dungarees whatever it is.
I haven’t told Marilyn, but I’ve started knitting for it, anyway. I’m pretty sure it’ll be a girl (I can usually tell) so I’m knitting a pretty layette and lacy shawl. I’ve made it white because Marilyn has a passionate hatred of pastel pink. It seems pink has ‘connotations’, too.

The poor little thing will doubtless be brought up on a regime of construction kits and scientific toys, but give her a few years and she’ll be as rebellious as her mother. She’ll need an ally then, so I’m buying in a nice collection of Barbie dolls in readiness. I found a really special one last week that I know she’s going to adore, the Marilyn Monroe Barbie. If only her grandfather had been around to see her.