She put her head down and I watched her sob.
I didn’t comfort her. I didn’t defend her.
I saw who she was, not who I wanted her to be.
My mum looked up.
‘I almost lost you then, but I got you back. And now I almost lost you again. I don’t deserve to have you back this time, I know, but I hope you can forgive me. Sam, you’re the best thing in my life. You’re the only thing I’ve ever been proud of. Sometimes, when I’m really down, I think to myself that there must be some good in me, because I made you. You’re a part of me. But you’re better. You’re better than me. You always have been. You should hate me, but you don’t. I don’t deserve to be loved by you. I’ve never done enough for you. The way you are, the person you’re going to be. You’re a miracle. You don’t need me anymore. You’ve outgrown me. But this baby will need me. And I’m going to do better this time. I’m going to be better. It’s going to be different.’
I looked around. It didn’t feel different. It seemed like she was trying to convince herself. She wanted to believe it so badly.
And so did I.
I reached across the table and took her arm.
I didn’t let go.
I was hanging over the edge of the rail, and I needed her to save me.
‘I do need you,’ I said. ‘I still need you. I need you to be my mum right now. It’s important.’
‘Really? You still want that?’
She sounded hopeful and grateful.
‘Of course I do. You’ve been my whole world. I always wanted to grow up to be just like you. Did you know that? You were so beautiful and stylish. I wore your clothes all the time.’
‘I know. You loved to play dress-ups.’
‘But that wasn’t dress-ups for me. When I went to school or I had to go outside, that’s when I was playing dress-ups. That’s when I was pretending to be somebody else.’
She leaned back and stared at me. I held onto her. I had to make myself keep going.
‘This is hard to say. I’m not … comfortable in myself. It’s been really confusing and hard and I have hated myself for a really long time and I didn’t know why. I’m not happy in my body. I never have been. It isn’t who I am inside. And it’s getting worse. And I can’t do it. I can’t be the person that you want me to be. I have to be who I am.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been talking to somebody, a counsellor. Her name’s Diane. There’s medicine I can take to stop my body going in the wrong direction. Then later I can take hormones that will help me to live as who I really am and look the way I’d like to look. But I’m not allowed to choose that for myself. I’m too young. You have to come with me to talk to the doctors and say it’s okay. And I need to hear you say it too.’
She thought about it for a long time.
‘What are you saying? I have a daughter now?’
‘No. You always did,’ I said.
‘Are you sure about this? How can you know?’
‘Because it’s me.’ I pointed at my chest. ‘This is me.’
She frowned.
‘It must be something I did wrong.’
‘It has nothing to do with you. And I’m not wrong, I’m me. And I don’t want to be invisible anymore. I want people to see who I am.’
‘Sam, I don’t know. I need to think about it.’
‘There’s no time. If you won’t help me, I have to go to a court and ask them.’
And as soon as I said it, I knew that I would. I knew I had the strength to fight for myself. I let her arm go.
‘A court?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fuck that. Fuck them. You’re my child.’
‘So will you do this for me?’ I asked.
She looked at me for a long time. Then she nodded.
‘Do you promise?’
She reached over and put her hand over mine.
‘Yes. I want you to be who you are.’
‘Thank you.’
She smiled and shook her head.
‘You’re growing up. You’re changing. And if this is part of it, then I want to help. You know, I always had this fantasy of going back in time so I could pull myself aside and tell myself not to fuck my life up. You’re the closest I get to that. Seeing you, knowing you’re not going to make any of the mistakes I made. It’s like a second chance.’
I picked up my handbag and put it on my lap.
‘There’s something else I need to ask you.’
I pulled out a document. And a pen. My hands were shaking.
‘I need you to sign this.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a form. To register a change of name.’
‘You want to change your name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Change it to what?’
I pointed.
‘It’s here on the form.’
She read it out.
‘Victoria Edith Watson.’
Hearing it out loud made me blush and tear up. It made my back straighten.
‘That’s me,’ I said. ‘That’s my name.’
‘Victoria. It sounds very proper.’
She picked up the pen. But she didn’t sign.
‘It makes me sad,’ she said. ‘Can’t you still be Sam?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because this is my second chance.’
She read the form. I could barely breathe. Then she bent down, and she signed it.
And just like that, Sam Watson was dead.
I had killed him.
‘Victoria,’ she said. ‘Why Victoria?’
‘It’s a name I want to live up to.’
‘Victoria. I’ll get used to it, I guess.’
‘It’s still me,’ I said. ‘It fits me better. It’s who I am. And soon I’m going to look like me too.’
She went quiet again.
I got a message. I dug into my bag and checked my phone. It was from Aggie. She was asking about tonight. The band was getting there early to set up and rehearse. I had so much to do. I still had to cook appetisers and a chocolate cherry cake for everyone. I had told Peter to dress up and be ready by seven o’clock, but he didn’t know why. I had hired a limousine to collect Fella Bitzgerald and take her to the studio. I couldn’t wait to surprise her. I couldn’t wait to tell her my name. I felt light-headed. There were electric tingles going down my back.
I stood up and put the form in my bag.
‘I have to go.’
‘You’re leaving already?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wait. Don’t go. Stay with me.’
‘I’ll come back,’ I said.
‘I thought you might want to live here too. There’s room.’ I shook my head. She grabbed my arm.
‘Wait. Don’t go yet. I’m on my own. I don’t have anyone. I don’t have anything.’
She sounded so desperate. It hurt me to hear.
‘I’ll come around again soon. And I’m going to bring you food and make sure you’re eating and help you clean up. I’ll get you some furniture and some curtains and a proper bed. I’ll get everything delivered. And I’ll get your gas connected. I’ll get a cot and clothes and all the things you need for the baby too.’
‘How? Do you have money?’ she asked.
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.’
‘You can just give the money to me and I can get all that stuff.’
I knew what she was really saying. I looked down at my mum. She looked so small. I felt sorry for her. And I knew I had to be the strong one.
‘No. I’ll arrange everything.’
‘Okay.’
She nodded and looked down.
‘Are you having all your check-ups and scans and all that? I have a friend who is a nurse. He can help.’
‘I’ve delivered a child before.’
‘I know. But you don’t have to do it all by yourself.’
She started to cry again.
; ‘Don’t go. Don’t go yet.’
‘I have to go meet my friends. But I’ll be back again soon.’
I walked towards the door.
‘Sam?’
I turned around fast.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Victoria.’
‘Sorry, Victoria. Victoria. Wait. Wait there a second.’
She got to her feet and shuffled slowly towards the bedroom. She opened the door, and I took a step back. But there was nothing in there except a mattress and her clothes. I heard her rummaging through some plastic bags. Then she came back out.
‘Look what I found! It turned up when I was unpacking.’
She was holding the honeybee costume.
It looked so small. It was hard to believe I ever fit inside it.
‘See?’ she said. ‘I had it all this time. You thought I left it behind, remember? You loved it so much.’
‘I remember.’
She stuffed it back into the plastic bag.
‘Here.’
She held it out for me to take, but I shook my head.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘You keep it.’
Acknowledgements
Writing is a solitary pursuit, but crafting a novel requires a team. I’ve been blessed with the assistance and support of many remarkable people:
Firstly, a lifetime of gratitude to my mother, Chris, as strong, kind and considerate a lady as you’ll ever encounter.
To Clare, a reliable sounding board for good and bad material; a Captain’s compass. Your belief in me will always ring out louder than my doubts.
To the Gang and to the Boys—Sammy Swish, Szabo, Dizzy, Kettle, Ed, Marko, Rizz. To Johnboy and Wan and Foreman Frank. And, of course, to Mac. Frankly, you should all be thanking me, but before you do, you’re welcome.
To my biggest fan, Brooke Davis, who is paying $1100 for this acknowledgement. Also you’re very talented and beloved, but I didn’t say that out loud.
A crisp, clear hoot across the seas to Ali J. Bowden.
Admiration and awe for the glittering firecracker that is Kate Mulvany. Thank you for seeing something in this story when it was an awful play.
Thank you to Johnny Schnitzel. Thank you to my favourite social assassin Genevieve Hegney, and to Matthew F. Moore. You couldn’t be closer to my heart.
To Benython—Obrigado, Merci, Danke.
To the astoundingly generous Clare Drysdale and Brad Johnson, who gobbled me at gammon and kept me warm in their Eagle’s Nest through the power of puns. I’ll never forget your kindness and I miss you both dearly.
Thank you to Willy Vlautin. And to Lesley Thorne: here’s to new adventures.
To the infinite graciousness of a man called Clancy, universally admired and adored for very good reason. You’re a wise counsellor, an all-weather friend, and a reminder to write boldly, lad, and never fear the spills.
To the incomparable Frances O’Brien, formerly Bald E. Frontbum. Thank you for your guidance, your judgement, your inscrutable eyebrows and your fearsome backhand.
I do not care to speculate on where I would be without Jane Palfreyman. Thank you for your conviction, your courage, your vision, your strength, your wit, your passion, your intelligence, your friendship and your belief. I’m deeply indebted to you.
To the shit-hot Ali Lavau—you’re a genius, and you made this novel shine. Thank you for your judicious advice, and above all for your care. I appreciate it so much.
To Christa Munns, Aziza Kuypers, Peri Wilson and my extended family at Allen & Unwin. Thank you to the immeasurably talented Lisa White. Thank you to Dan Grant. Thank you to Lee Tiger Halley.
To Wendy, as always.
To the generosity of Rachel Perkins, may our bickering never cease. Thank you for believing in me, and for making me a better storyteller.
A very special thank you to the incisive, forthright and formidably wise Charlie Murphy of Trans Action Warrang. To the illuminating, genuine, and dazzlingly talented Veronica Jean Jones. To the articulate and insightful Lauren Butcher. To the brilliant Lu Bradshaw. To the poised, determined and inspirational Alyce Schotte of TransFolk of WA.
Thank you to the totemic, towering Skye Scraper for leading me through the depths of drag. Thank you to the Queens of The Court.
And while I’m here, my deepest gratitude to every crew and cast member whose efforts brought my work to life on stage and screen. Thank you to every teacher who has introduced my writing to the classroom, every librarian and every bookseller who has been an advocate for my stories. To every reader who has given me the honour of their time. It is sincerely appreciated.
And lastly, to Renée Senogles, one of the most wonderful, vivacious, kind-hearted and adventurous people I ever had the privilege to call a friend.
Honeybee Page 32