Naming children

Barry Brand was not, strictly speaking, allowed in the kitchen cupboards.

This was not a vague rule, like “don’t eat too many biscuits” (which everyone knew meant “don’t get caught eating too many biscuits”). No, this was a clear, repeated, slightly desperate instruction from both parents: “Barry, stay out of the cupboards.”

Naturally, Barry was in the cupboard.

“Do you think,” he whispered, crouched between a bag of flour and something suspiciously labelled chia seeds, “that this is where they keep the important things?”

Marmaduke—known as Marm to anyone who valued efficiency—peered in beside him. “Important like what?”

Barry considered this. “Secrets.”

Marm nodded, impressed. “Or snacks.”

“Exactly,” Barry said, as if he had been thinking that all along.

From the other side of the kitchen came the unmistakable voice of Alfie, their older brother and part-time destroyer of fun.

“You’re both going to get in trouble,” Alfie said, not even looking up from his homework. “Again.”

Barry leaned out of the cupboard just enough to roll his eyes. “Alfie, you love trouble. You just don’t admit it.”

“I do not love trouble,” Alfie replied stiffly. “Trouble is inefficient.”

Marm blinked. “What’s ineffishent?”

“It means,” Barry said, “Alfie’s boring.”

“I am not boring,” Alfie said, which was exactly the sort of thing a boring person would say.

Before the argument could escalate into something involving flour (Barry had plans), the front door opened and closed, followed by the sound of adult voices.

“Right,” said Mrs Brand, breezing into the kitchen with her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. “Yes, I’ve sent the email—no, I know—just check the attachment—yes—no—Barry, why are you in the cupboard?”

Barry froze.

Marm froze.

The flour bag did not freeze. It tipped slightly.

“We’re… inspecting,” Barry said.

“For what?” Mrs Brand asked, still half on her call.

“Structural integrity,” Barry replied.

Alfie snorted, which was deeply unhelpful.

“Out,” Mrs Brand said, pointing firmly.

The boys emerged, slightly dusty but otherwise intact. Marm brushed flour off his jumper. Barry attempted to brush it onto Marm.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

“Oh good,” Mrs Brand said. “That’ll be Margaret.”

Marm’s face lit up. “Mum!”

He bolted for the hallway, Barry close behind because where Marm went, Barry usually followed—especially if there was potential for biscuits.

Margaret swept in like a very elegant whirlwind. She wore a smart coat, slightly crooked glasses, and the expression of someone whose brain had been solving extremely complicated problems all day and was now trying to remember where she’d put her car keys.

“Hello, darling,” she said, hugging Marm tightly. “Have you been good?”

Marm hesitated.

Barry stepped in. “He’s been excellent.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear.”

They all moved into the kitchen, where tea was quickly made—because in London, this is how all serious conversations begin.

Margaret sat at the table, finally relaxing slightly. “I’ve had a day,” she said.

“You always have a day,” Mrs Brand replied, handing her a mug.

“That’s because brains are complicated,” Margaret said. “And people insist on having them.”

Barry climbed onto a chair. “What do you do again?”

“I’m a neurosurgeon,” Margaret said.

Barry nodded slowly. “So… you fix brains.”

“That’s right.”

Barry leaned closer. “Can you fix Alfie?”

Alfie looked up, horrified. “There is nothing wrong with me!”

Margaret smiled. “I’ll put you on the waiting list.”

Marm giggled.

There was a brief, peaceful moment where everyone sipped tea and pretended the children were calm, sensible beings.

Then Barry said, “Why is Marm called Marmaduke?”

Margaret nearly choked on her tea.

Mrs Brand laughed. “Oh, that’s a good question.”

Marm looked at his mum. “Yeah. Why am I Marmaduke? It’s a big name.”

“It is a big name,” Margaret agreed. “You needed something that would grow with you.”

Barry considered this. “I think he’s still quite small.”

“I can hear you,” Marm said.

Margaret smiled softly. “Your name is… special,” she said. “It comes from a few different places.”

Barry leaned in immediately. “Like a recipe?”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “A recipe.”

Alfie sighed but didn’t leave. Even he was curious now.

“Well,” Margaret began, “part of your name comes from me.”

“Margar-et,” Marm said carefully.

“Exactly,” she said. “We took the ‘Mar’ from Margaret.”

Barry nodded. “That’s efficient. Alfie likes that.”

“I do not—” Alfie began, then stopped. “Well. It is logical.”

Margaret continued. “Then there’s your dad.”

Marm’s smile softened slightly. He didn’t talk about his dad much, but he always listened closely when others did.

“His name was Mark,” Margaret said gently. “So we kept the ‘Mar’ sound for him too.”

Barry frowned. “That’s two Mars.”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “You’re very well supplied with Mars.”

“Like the chocolate?” Barry asked.

“Not exactly.”

“And then,” Margaret said, “there was Duke.”

“Who’s Duke?” Marm asked.

“My dog,” Margaret said, smiling. “When I was a little girl. He was enormous, very loyal, and completely convinced he was in charge of everything.”

Barry brightened. “I like him already.”

“So,” Margaret finished, “Marmaduke is a bit of me, a bit of your dad, and a bit of Duke.”

Marm sat very still for a moment. Then he smiled. “I like it.”

Barry nodded approvingly. “It’s a good name. Long, though. I’d lose bits of it.”

“You lose your shoes,” Alfie pointed out. “Daily.”

“That’s different.”

Mrs Brand sipped her tea. “Speaking of names, Barry, do you know where your name comes from?”

Barry grinned. “Because I’m brilliant?”

“Not quite.”

Alfie smirked.

“You were named after someone very important,” Mrs Brand said.

Barry puffed up slightly. “A king?”

“No.”

“A superhero?”

“Not exactly.”

“A pirate?”

“Definitely not.”

Mrs Brand smiled. “You were named after Barry Edwards.”

Barry blinked. “Who’s that?”

“A very famous equine veterinarian,” she said.

There was a pause.

Barry frowned. “A what?”

“A horse doctor,” Alfie translated.

Barry’s eyes widened. “I’m named after a horse doctor?”

“A very good horse doctor,” Mrs Brand corrected. “He once operated on my childhood pony.”

Barry leaned forward. “You had a pony?”

“Yes,” she said. “His name was Evil Canevil.”

Marm burst out laughing. “That’s the best name ever!”

“He lived up to it,” Mrs Brand said fondly. “He was stubborn, mischievous, and caused no end of trouble.”

Barry beamed. “Like me.”

“Exactly like you,” Alfie muttered.

“But he was also wonderful,” Mrs Brand added. “And when he got very ill, Barry Edwards saved him.”

Barry sat back, processing this. “So… I’m named after a man who fixed a naughty pony.”

“Yes.”

Barry nodded slowly. “I think that suits me.”

“It does,” Mrs Brand agreed.

Marm leaned over. “Do you think he could fix you too?”

“I don’t need fixing,” Barry said.

Alfie coughed loudly.

“Right,” Mrs Brand said, turning to Alfie. “And do you know where your name comes from?”

Alfie straightened slightly. “Yes.”

“Go on, then.”

“I was named after Grandad,” Alfie said. “Your dad.”

Mrs Brand’s expression softened. “That’s right.”

“He died before I was born,” Alfie added quietly.

There was a brief pause, the kind that feels different from all the others.

“But he would have liked you very much,” Mr Brand said from the doorway, having just come in and clearly been listening for a while.

Alfie looked up. “Do you think so?”

“I know so,” Mr Brand said. “He was sensible. Very sensible.”

Barry groaned. “Of course he was.”

“And kind,” Mr Brand added. “And he always tried to do the right thing.”

Alfie nodded slowly. “I try to do that.”

“I know you do,” Mr Brand said.

Barry leaned over to Marm. “That explains a lot.”

Marm whispered back, “Yeah. It’s genetic.”

“I can hear you both,” Alfie said.

“Of course you can,” Barry replied. “You’re very… efficient.”

Margaret laughed into her tea.

“So,” Barry said, clapping his hands, “we’ve got a brain doctor name, a horse doctor name, and a sensible grandad name.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Mrs Brand said.

Barry stood on his chair, full of excitement. “We should name things!”

“No,” Alfie said immediately.

“Yes,” Barry said, ignoring him. “We’ll name everything after important people.”

Marm nodded enthusiastically. “I want to name something Duke.”

“You don’t have anything to name,” Alfie pointed out.

“I have my jumper,” Marm said.

“You’re not naming your jumper.”

“I’m naming it Duke,” Marm said firmly.

Barry gasped. “I’m naming the cupboard Barry Edwards!”

“No, you’re not,” Mrs Brand said.

“It saved the biscuits,” Barry argued.

“It absolutely did not.”

Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is chaos.”

“This,” Barry said proudly, “is history.”

Margaret stood, finishing her tea. “I think it’s time we headed home before anything else gets named.”

Marm hopped down. “Can Duke come with me?”

“You are not taking the jumper off,” Margaret said.

“Okay.”

Barry followed them to the door. “Bye, Marmaduke!”

“Bye, Barry Edwards!”

“Bye, Alfie Sensible Grandad!”

Alfie sighed deeply.

The door closed, and for a moment, the house was quiet.

Barry turned back to his parents. “Can we get a pony?”

“No,” both parents said instantly.

Barry thought for a moment. “Can we get a dog called Duke?”

“No.”

“A hamster called Evil Canevil?”

“Absolutely not.”

Barry shrugged. “Worth asking.”

Alfie picked up his homework again. “One day,” he said, “you’re going to understand consequences.”

Barry grinned. “One day,” he said, “I’m going to name them.”

And with that, he wandered back toward the kitchen cupboard—just to check, you understand, on its structural integrity.

Because some names are inherited.

And some trouble is simply… tradition.