Golden Boy: A Novel

by Abigail Tarttelin

  He opens the door to his room and gestures to the bed. I sit on the end and he sits at the head of it, on his pillow.

  ‘So,’ he says.

  ‘So,’ I say, my smile fading. His expression is icy. Max has never been cold a day in his life, but today he looks at me as if I’m not Mum and not on his side – as if I’m an enemy.

  ‘Why did you call me Max?’

  I hesitate. ‘What?’

  ‘Why did you call me Max when I could have grown up as either a girl or a boy?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Do I just feel like a boy because you treat me like one?’

  ‘I . . . It was a compromise. We—’

  ‘I just went to see Archie.’

  ‘Who’s . . . You went to see Dr Verma?’

  ‘Yes. I did,’ Max says, quietly.

  I wet my lips. ‘We’ve never kept it a secret from you that you were both, Max.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, and leans forward, imploring me with his hands. ‘But you never told me what type I was. I didn’t know that I was so rare, that I was one of the only ones that were truly intersex. I didn’t know that really I don’t have a choice, that I’m both and neither, and could never be one or the other. I never knew exactly what I was, that I could never have kids as a boy, that my gender is just constructed by how you treated me.’

  ‘Max, I don’t know . . .’ I look towards the door, thinking of Steve. ‘Maybe your dad . . .’

  ‘Why didn’t I get surgery?’ he says, his voice cracking.

  I panic. ‘I wanted you to have surgery so you’d be like everyone else! It was your dad—’

  ‘You wanted me to have surgery?’

  ‘Yes! I told him, but then . . . we agreed that we would wait.’

  ‘For what?’ Max explodes. ‘For me to decide what I was? I wasn’t anything! You should have made the decision and not left it up to me!’

  ‘Your dad was worried that we would make the wrong decision. I thought the worst when we decided you wouldn’t have surgery until you were older. I thought that you’d be so confused, but until now, you’ve been fine—’

  ‘Well, I’m not fine now, am I, Mum?’

  ‘Max!’ I shriek, the veneer of calm breaking. ‘You can’t blame me for that! You’ve been having unprotected sex!’

  Max looks shocked, as if it’s a surprise, as if I’m not supposed to say. He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him.

  ‘Don’t you remember we had a conversation when you were about to turn fourteen and you said you didn’t want an operation?’

  ‘No!’ Max says, but he looks uncertain.

  ‘Well, you did. You’d had the course of hormones, and we were all in agreement that because there hadn’t been a problem before, and because they were making you feel sick and aggressive and unruly, you were going to stop taking them.’

  ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘You hated taking them. And in fact . . . even though your dad talked me round to not having surgery earlier, by that time I agreed with him, because you were always so happy, and then the hormones . . . I was worried the hormones would make you feel like we didn’t love you the way you are . . .’ My voice breaks. ‘I’m sorry, Max. Maybe I was wrong.’

  ‘Why the hormones when I was thirteen?’ Max is frowning.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Why did the doctor say I should have them?’

  ‘He wanted you to have an operation, but we all said no. They told us you might grow breasts if you didn’t have the hormones. We thought it would be distressing.’ I let out a sob.

  ‘For who, Mum? Me or you?’

  ‘Oh, Max.’ I shake my head, wiping my eyes. ‘Don’t be like that. I tried so hard for you. We were under so much stress. This was your life we had to make decisions about. We didn’t want everyone talking about you, staring, saying things. Do you think we should have carried on with the hormones?’

  I look at Max. He is staring at me with an unreadable expression.

  ‘Do you?’ he says, after a minute.

  ‘Maybe now,’ I say softly. ‘Yes. Maybe we should have done the surgeries when you were little. But they wanted to make you a girl when you were born. It would have been awful. Or it might have been fine.’

  ‘I don’t feel like a girl,’ Max murmurs, frowning. ‘But . . . I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.’

  ‘But you’ve been with a boy,’ I say. ‘Haven’t you?’

  ‘Mum . . .’ Max balls his hands up. ‘Stop saying that. It was a mistake, OK? It was . . .’ He sighs deeply, turns crimson and mutters, ‘It was just the one time and it was a mistake.’

  Thank god, I think. Thank god. He’s different already. I don’t want him to be any more different. I watch him for a minute to ascertain whether this is the truth. He doesn’t move. I nod.

  ‘Do you want to do the operations to be a boy?’

  Max stays silent.

  ‘Max, what are you thinking?’ I say, soothingly.

  ‘What does that even mean?’

  ‘It means that you have everything taken out. The . . .’ I struggle to say the words. ‘Ovary, the womb, everything like that. I don’t know quite how they do it but they get rid of the . . . the vagina and then you can have another operation to give you male things, like the fake testicles that men who have testicular cancer have put in.’

  Max puts his hands over his face and speaks through his fingers. ‘I asked Archie to book the operation to have the womb and stuff removed.’

  ‘Oh! Good, well done, sweetheart,’ I say, relieved.

  ‘But I don’t know if I want it!’ Max says. ‘It’s . . . I feel . . .’

  ‘I know it’s a lot, Max, but you have to make these decisions at some point. Isn’t it easier to get them over and done with?’ I smile at him, encouragingly. ‘It’ll be like ripping the plaster off. You think it will be painful but then afterwards you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about. You’ve always been a boy. We always tried to bring you up so you could become who you wanted to be.’

  Max doesn’t look at me and is quiet for a moment, instead concentrating on balling up loose thread from his T-shirt between his fingers.

  ‘I’ve just never thought about all this before,’ he mumbles.

  ‘I think you should, Max. I think you really should,’ I say. ‘You’re so upset. We’re all upset for you. Everyone’s unhappy.’

  I notice a tear drip down from his bent head. ‘Come here, honey,’ I say, and I go over to hug him. He leans his head on my chest and sobs, and I feel sorry I’ve been so distant since the clinic. ‘I’m sorry, baby. You’re right. We should have been more responsible. We should have made this decision a long time ago and not left it up to you to deal with. We thought we could leave it until you were eighteen, but we just made it your burden. I’m sorry. We’ll do the operations and make you a . . . a proper boy.’

  Steve opens the door.

  ‘Hey, I just got in,’ he says softly. ‘Debbie said she heard yelling. Everything alright?’

  I think about inviting him onto the bed to chat to Max. But then I think about how he feels about the surgeries, and what Max has decided. And I wave Steve away.

  Max

  ‘Get your coat, we’re going for a trip to London.’

  ‘What, everybody?’

  ‘No, just you and me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Shhh!’ Mum hisses. ‘Don’t ask questions until we’re in the car and I’ll get you anything you want from Topman.’

  ‘I need some more T-shirts.’

  ‘No you don’t, but fine, yes, if you get in the car in the next ten minutes.’

  I thought Saturday morning was going to be crap, because I’m not allowed to play football at the moment, so I’m missing the matches. I was just going to go and sit on the sidelines so I got up and washed and dressed and was just finishing the last of my homework on the desk in my room when Mum came in.

  ‘Shh, don’t wake Dad!’ s
he whispers as I come down the stairs.

  Debbie is already in the kitchen. She has a key now, and often comes before Lawrence gets here to get everything ready for their meetings.

  ‘Hey Max, I hear you and your mother are going on a trip!’

  ‘Hi Debbie,’ I say, getting orange juice from the fridge. ‘Yes, we’re headed out. I’m getting some clothes for the new year.’

  ‘You look great in what you’ve got on,’ she says, her voice low, and I turn towards her, holding the juice and looking at her like, ‘huh?’

  She smiles. ‘Have fun.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Max, get the sandwiches out the fridge; they’re wrapped in tin foil,’ says Mum, coming in with her coat on.

  I grab the sandwiches and then lace up my Converse on the floor while she puts them in a cool bag.

  ‘Do you want some treats?’ She indicates the treat jar cupboard.

  I nod. ‘’Kay. Cool.’

  She seems better than before. I used to love doing stuff where it was just Mum and I. Because I was a bit older when they had Daniel, I had already got used to lots of time with my parents alone. Mum and I still sneak out together sometimes, so this isn’t unusual, only this time it’s a post-clinic, post-war outing. I am excited, but hesitant at the same time. I stand up and take her hand and squeeze it.

  ‘Where are we going, Mum?’

  ‘Surprise.’ She winks, squeezing back.

  I actually slept pretty well last night after my conversation with Mum. It seemed like a lot of noise was silenced in my head, when she made the decision for me. I would be a boy. It was resolved. After we talked, she put me to bed, and brought me a hot water bottle because it was cold. She stayed until I fell asleep, I think. I woke at eight, so I slept for almost ten hours. It’s funny how refreshed one good night of sleep can make you.

  I slip in the car and turn the engine on with her keys to warm it up. She is still doing something inside the house. She must have already been warming the car, because the windows have clearly been splashed with hot water so the frost will melt. All the other cars in the street have iced-up blue windows.

  Mum has a Jaguar. It’s not the uber-flashy kind, it’s an X-type, with white leather heated seats in the front. I turn ours both on, so Mum will get into a warm seat, and flip the passenger mirror down in front of me so I can check my face for spots.

  None. Not even on my hairline. I haven’t ever had many. Although, now thinking about it, I got a few when I was on the hormones. My skin is really soft and has no blemishes on my face. My tan is going though. It’s just kind of milky-gold now.

  I wonder what I would have looked like if they had given me the surgery to be a girl. Somehow, after yesterday, it doesn’t seem as horrifying a thought. Not that I’d want to be one, just that I cried everything out last night and now I’ve no more energy to be afraid. Plus, now Mum’s kind of on my side, I don’t feel so alone. Even if I don’t know exactly what I want, Mum has my best interests at heart and she’s seen me grow up and knows what will work. I guess she’s right. I need to make a decision to be one or the other. It’ll make everything so much easier: dating, growing up, signing official documents. Whatever.

  I pout my lips and pull my hair over to one side of my face, so the blond is like a half-fringe, like a lot of the girls at school have. I tilt my chin up and give the glass a defiant look with my left eye. I could probably have done androgynous-looking girl. I look way more like a boy though. Especially my body.

  Mum gets in the car and hands me the bags. Her door shuts with a resounding clunk and she sighs, before touching her hands to the wheel. She looks across at me and reaches up with her left hand and strokes my hair around my face.

  ‘Do you want anything else, honey, before we leave?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘Yes, but you always say that. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I grin.

  ‘OK.’ She beams at me, pleased with me, and buckles up.

  ‘Mum?’ I say, as she backs out the drive.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Was the only course of hormones I had the one when I was thirteen?’

  She pulls the car out onto the road and floors the accelerator. The cool thing about living on the outskirts of Hemingway is that we get to drive fast on all the roads close to us. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, I haven’t had any more hormones?’

  ‘Well, you have the natural ones.’

  ‘So, right now I look almost exactly how I would have looked anyway?’

  ‘Mmm, pretty much,’ she says, not looking at me. ‘You grew quite a bit on the course of hormones, but it wasn’t height or anything, just your chest. You got to your full height on your own, I think.’

  ‘I’m five-foot-ten.’

  ‘That’s a good height.’

  ‘How tall are you, Mum?’

  ‘Five-foot-nine.’

  ‘You always look really tall.’

  ‘I wear heels to work.’

  We’re speeding through the countryside, towards the A40.

  ‘So . . .’ I look at myself in the mirror again. ‘I would never really have looked like a girl.’

  Mum clears her throat. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘You’re thinner than me,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, thank goodness.’

  ‘Huh?’

  We laugh giddily, like when you’ve been holding a breath too long.

  She gives me a once-over. ‘It was a good idea to get you involved in football. You’ve bulked up with muscle since you started on the regional squad.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree. There’s a silence, while I look down at my chest. ‘So what would have happened if I’d had the surgery to make me a girl?’

  ‘Um . . .’ Mum flits a glance at me.

  ‘You said last night that you wished I’d had it when I was born.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I was upset. I suppose I’m glad we didn’t. You’d probably have had a lot of hormone treatments.’

  ‘Because I didn’t grow tits?’

  Mum frowns. ‘Don’t say tits.’

  I look down my T-shirt.

  ‘I don’t like thinking about it,’ she says.

  ‘’Kay.’

  This shuts me up for a bit. A few minutes go by, and she starts to talk again.

  ‘The thing was, with the operations, your dad was worried because the doctors said you’d lose, um . . .’ She sighs, like she really doesn’t want to talk about it. ‘Feeling tissue. You know, down there.’

  ‘Yeah but . . .’ I bite my lip, thinking of how I’ll probably never do it with anyone apart from Hunter. ‘Sex isn’t everything, is it?’

  ‘Well.’ She smirks. ‘It’s a pretty big deal!’

  I shrug and look out the window glumly, thinking of all the sex I’ll never have. ‘So why are we going into London?’

  ‘We’re going to see one of the specialists that used to work with us.’ She looks across at me. ‘We’re getting a second opinion. Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.’

  ‘I’m not worried.’

  I watch her look over her shoulder and knock into sixth gear, getting on the M40. She’s wearing a long camel trench coat, a lilac scarf and gold stud earrings, and her hair is up, very nicely. Mum has dark-blonde hair that she dyes caramel streaks into. She has it done at the hairdressers. I have lighter hair than her, like her dad had. Mum’s dad’s family is from Sweden originally, so they have light green eyes and blond hair. Daniel has reddish hair, a bit like a cross between how Dad’s hair used to be and Mum’s hair, and blue eyes. Dad has silver hair now. It used to be a dark chestnut.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When did you book the appointment?’

  ‘I called this morning at seven, when they open. It was easy to get you an appointment. He remembered you. You’re a celebrity to the specialists.’

  ‘Wow,’ I mumble. ‘How fucked up are these specialists?’

  Mum looks over at me and tu
ts. ‘Max, don’t swear.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Get yourself a sandwich. I made your favourite. Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘No,’ I reply, rustling through the cool bag and finding a tuna mayo and brown bread roll. I take a bite. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘Listen,’ Mum says, looking across at me. Rain has started falling on the window and the wipers are squeaking. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  I chew slowly and swallow. ‘Um, about what?’

  Mum purses her lips. ‘About . . . who you’ve . . .’ She sort of grits her teeth. ‘Been with?’

  I look at my knees.

  The raindrops race each other to the bottom of the glass. I think about how many holidays we’ve taken with Leah, Edward and Hunter, and how many we will take in the future; Mum and Leah laughing and going off together to sunbathe, my parents and Hunter’s parents talking late into the night on the verandas of various villas while we listened from our beds, the windows wide open, the night air cool and refreshing. Hunter and I used to climb into bed with each other and talk until we fell asleep, years before Danny came along. I wonder what those times meant to him.

  ‘Who is he?’ Mum asks again.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Max . . . I really need to know.’ She looks at me, and then back to the road, then back to me again. I watch the rain. ‘Is it someone from school?’

  I shake my head slowly.

  ‘Is it . . . is it someone I know?’

  I think about this.

  ‘Max?’

  I shake my head again.

  We sit in silence. The rain gets harder and lashes down on the roof of the car.

  ‘Can we have the radio on?’ I ask.

  Mum looks over and watches me. I keep my face very still. She sighs, like she’s impatient, but says, ‘Yeah, OK.’

  Archie

  The phone rings twice before a female voice answers.

  ‘Walker residence.’

  ‘Hello. Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘This is Debbie Mackenzie, Stephen Walker’s assistant. May I ask who is calling?’

  ‘This is Dr Verma from the clinic. I’m looking for Mr Walker. Could you put him on the phone, please?’