Carrie hated his name. It wasn’t so much that it was also a girl’s name; it was because it was his mother’s maiden name and she’d run off with a fancy-man when Carrie was four and he’d never heard from her since.
His father had married again, and his step-mother disliked Carrie immensely because his name reminded her of “that other woman”. To be honest, Carrie would have changed his name by deed poll to Bartholomew, but it cost eighty-four dollars, and that amount of money was not something that Carrie could easily scrape up.
His father and step-mother had two other kids, both boys, and Carrie was the only one from his father’s first marriage. His step-mother favoured the other two kids, and Carrie was left to live the life of a Cinderella. Clean this. Do this. Jump to it. His father was as bad as the others.
When he was nineteen, Carrie won a massive monetary prize in a competition. His biological mother suddenly reappeared on the scene. His father and step-mother and two half-brothers all hovered hopefully.
Carrie gave each a million dollars. He was good like that, Bartholomew.