Chapter 8

As I completed dinner preparation, Rosie set the table – notthe conventional dining table in the living room, but a makeshifttable on the balcony, created by taking a whiteboard from thekitchen wall and placing it on top of the two big plant pots,from which the dead plants had been removed. A white sheetfrom the linen cupboard had been added in the role oftablecloth. Silver cutlery – a housewarming gift from myparents that had never been used – and the decorative wineglasses were on the table. She was destroying my apartment!
It had never occurred to me to eat on the balcony. The rainfrom early in the evening had cleared when I came outsidewith the food, and I estimated the temperature at twenty-twodegrees.
‘Do we have to eat right away?’ asked Rosie, an odd question,since she had claimed that she was starving some hours ago.
‘No, it won’t get cold. It’s already cold.’ I was conscious ofsounding awkward. ‘Is there some reason to delay?’
‘The city lights. The view’s amazing.’
63/290‘Unfortunately it’s static. Once you’ve examined it, there’s noreason to look again. Like paintings.’
‘But it changes all the time. What about in the early morning?
Or when it rains? What about coming up here just to sit?’
I had no answer that was likely to satisfy her. I had seen theview when I bought the apartment. It did not change much indifferent conditions. And the only times I just sat were when Iwas waiting for an appointment or if I was reflecting on aproblem, in which case interesting surroundings would be adistraction.
I moved into the space beside Rosie and refilled her glass. Shesmiled. She was almost certainly wearing lipstick.
I attempt to produce a standard, repeatable meal, but obviouslyingredients vary in their quality from week to week. Today’sseemed to be of unusually high standard. The lobster salad hadnever tasted so good.
I remembered the basic rule of asking a woman to talk aboutherself.
Rosie had already raised the topic of dealing with difficultcustomers in a bar, so I asked her to elaborate. This was anexcellent move. She had a number of hilarious stories, and Inoted some interpersonal techniques for possible future use.
We finished the lobster. Then Rosie opened her bag and pulledout a pack of cigarettes! How can I convey my horror?
Smoking is not only unhealthy in itself, and dangerous toothers in the vicinity. It is a clear indication of an irrationalapproach to life. There was a good reason for it being the firstitem on my questionnaire.
Rosie must have noticed my shock. ‘Relax. We’re outside.’
There was no point in arguing. I would not be seeing heragain after tonight. The lighter flamed and she held it to thecigarette between her artificially red lips.
‘Anyhow, I’ve got a genetics question,’ she said.
‘Proceed.’ I was back in the world I knew.
64/290‘Someone told me you can tell if a person’s monogamous bythe size of their testicles.’
The sexual aspects of biology regularly feature in the popularpress, so this was not as stupid a statement as it mightappear, although it embodied a typical misconception. Itoccurred to me that it could be some sort of code for a sexualadvance, but I decided to play safe and respond to thequestion literally.
‘Ridiculous,’ I said.
Rosie seemed very pleased with my answer.
‘You’re a star,’ she said. ‘I’ve just won a bet.’
I proceeded to elaborate and noted that Rosie’s expression ofsatisfaction faded. I guessed that she had oversimplified herquestion and that my more detailed explanation was in factwhat she had been told.
‘There may be some correlation at the individual level, but therule applies to species. Homo sapiens are basicallymonogamous, but tac-tically unfaithful. Males benefit fromimpregnating as many females as possible, but are able tosupport only one set of offspring. Females seekmaximum-quality genes for their children plus a male tosupport them.’
I was just settling into the familiar role of lecturer when Rosieinterrupted.
‘What about the testicles?’
‘Bigger testicles produce more semen. Monogamous speciesrequire only sufficient for their mate. Humans need extra totake advantage of random opportunities and to attack thesperm of recent intruders.’
‘Nice,’ said Rosie.
‘Not really. The behaviour evolved in the ancestral environment.
The modern world requires additional rules.’
‘Yeah,’ said Rosie. ‘Like being there for your kids.’
‘Correct. But instincts are incredibly powerful.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Rosie.
65/290I began to explain. ‘Instinct is an expression of –’
‘Rhetorical question,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve lived it. My mother wentgene shopping at her medical graduation party.’
‘These behaviours are unconscious. People don’t deliberately –’
‘I get that.’
I doubted it. Non-professionals frequently misinterpret thefindings of evolutionary psychology. But the story wasinteresting.
‘You’re saying your mother engaged in unprotected sex outsideher primary relationship?’
‘With some other student,’ replied Rosie. ‘While she was datingmy’
– at this point Rosie raised her hands and made a downwardsmovement, twice, with the index and middle fingers of bothhands – ‘father.
My real dad’s a doctor. I just don’t know which one. Really,really pisses me off.’
I was fascinated by the hand movements and silent for a whileas I tried to work them out. Were they a sign of distress atnot knowing who her father was? If so, it was not one I wasfamiliar with. And why had she chosen to punctuate herspeech at that point … of course!
Punctuation!
‘Quotation marks,’ I said aloud as the idea hit me.
‘What?’
‘You made quotation marks around “father” to draw attentionto the fact that the word should not be interpreted in theusual way. Very clever.’
‘Well, there you go,’ she said. ‘And there I was thinking youwere reflecting on my minor problem with my whole fuckinglife. And might have something intelligent to say.’
I corrected her. ‘It’s not a minor problem at all!’ I pointed myfinger in the air to indicate an exclamation mark. ‘You shouldinsist on being informed.’ I stabbed the same finger to indicatea full stop. This was quite fun.
66/290‘My mother’s dead. She died in a car accident when I was ten.
She never told anyone who my father was – not even Phil.’
‘Phil?’ I couldn’t think of how to indicate a question mark, anddecided to drop the game temporarily. This was no time forexperimentation.
‘My’ – hands up, fingers wiggled – ‘father. Who’d go ape-shitif I told him I wanted to know.’
Rosie drank the remaining wine in her glass and refilled it. Thesecond half-bottle was now empty. Her story was sad, but notuncommon. Although my parents continued to make routine,ritual contact, it was my assessment that they had lost interestin me some years ago.
Their duty had been completed when I was able to supportmyself. Her situation was somewhat different, however, as itinvolved a stepfather.
I offered a genetic interpretation.
‘His behaviour is completely predictable. You don’t have hisgenes.
Male lions kill the cubs from previous matings when they takeover a pride.’
‘Thanks for that information.’
‘I can recommend some further reading if you are interested.
You seem quite intelligent for a barmaid.’
‘The compliments just keep on coming.’
It seemed I was doing well, and I allowed myself a moment ofsatisfaction, which I shared with Rosie.
‘Excellent. I’m not proficient at dating. There are so many rulesto remember.’
‘You’re doing okay,’ she said. ‘Except for staring at my boobs.’
This was disappointing feedback. Rosie’s dress was quiterevealing, but I had been working hard to maintain eye contact.
‘I was just examining your pendant,’ I said. ‘It’s extremelyinteresting.’
Rosie immediately covered it with her hand. ‘What’s on it?’
67/290‘An image of Isis with an inscription: Sum omnia quae fueruntsun-tque eruntque ego. “I am all that has been, is and willbe.” ’ I hoped I had read the Latin correctly; the writing wasvery small.
Rosie seemed impressed. ‘What about the pendant I had onthis morning?’
‘Dagger with three small red stones and four white ones.’
Rosie finished her wine. She seemed to be thinking aboutsomething. It turned out not to be anything profound.
‘Want to get another bottle?’
I was a little stunned. We had already drunk therecommended maximum amount. On the other hand, shesmoked, so obviously she had a careless attitude to health.
‘You want more alcohol?’
‘Correct,’ she said, in an odd voice. She may have beenmimicking me.
I went to the kitchen to select another bottle, deciding toreduce the next day’s alcohol intake to compensate. Then I sawthe clock: 11.40p.m. I picked up the phone and ordered a taxi. With any luckit would arrive before the after-midnight tariff commenced. Iopened a half-bottle of shiraz to drink while we waited.
Rosie wanted to continue the conversation about her biologicalfather.
‘Do you think there might be some sort of genetic motivation?
That it’s built into us to want to know who our parents are?’
‘It’s critical for parents to be able to recognise their ownchildren. So they can protect the carriers of their genes. Smallchildren need to be able to locate their parents to get thatprotection.’
‘Maybe it’s some sort of carry-over from that.’
‘It seems unlikely. But possible. Our behaviour is stronglyaffected by instinct.’
‘So you said. Whatever it is, it eats me up. Messes with myhead.’
68/290‘Why don’t you ask the candidates?’
‘ “Dear Doctor. Are you my father?” I don’t think so.’
An obvious thought occurred to me, obvious because I am ageneticist.
‘Your hair is a very unusual colour. Possibly –’
She laughed. ‘There aren’t any genes for this shade of red.’
She must have seen that I was confused.
‘This colour only comes out of a bottle.’
I realised what she was saying. She had deliberately dyed herhair an unnaturally bright colour. Incredible. It hadn’t evenoccurred to me to include hair dyeing on the questionnaire. Imade a mental note to do so.
The doorbell buzzed. I had not mentioned the taxi to her, sobrought her up to date with my plan. She quickly finished herwine, then stuck her hand out and it seemed to me that Iwas not the only one feeling awkward.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s been an evening. Have a good life.’
It was a non-standard way of saying goodnight. I thought itsafer to stick with convention.
‘Goodnight. I’ve really enjoyed this evening.’ I added, ‘Goodluck finding your father’ to the formula.
‘Thanks.’
Then she left.
I was agitated, but not in a bad way. It was more a case ofsensory overload. I was pleased to find some wine left in thebottle. I poured it into my glass and phoned Gene. Claudiaanswered and I dispensed with pleasantries.
‘I need to speak with Gene.’
‘He’s not home,’ said Claudia. She sounded disoriented. Perhapsshe had been drinking. ‘I thought he was having lobster withyou.’
69/290‘Gene sent me the world’s most incompatible woman. Abarmaid.
Late, vegetarian, disorganised, irrational, unhealthy, smoker –smoker! – psychological problems, can’t cook, mathematicallyincompetent, unnatural hair colour. I presume he was making ajoke.’
Claudia must have interpreted this as a statement of distressbecause she said, ‘Are you all right, Don?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘She was highly entertaining. But totallyunsuitable for the Wife Project.’ As I said these words,indisputably factual, I felt a twinge of regret at odds with myintellectual assessment. Claudia interrupted my attempt toreconcile the conflicting brain states.
‘Don, do you know what time it is?’
I wasn’t wearing a watch. And then I realised my error. I hadused the kitchen clock as my reference when phoning the taxi.
The clock that Rosie had reset. It must have been almost 2.30a.m. How could I have lost track of time like that? It was asevere lesson in the dangers of messing with the schedule.
Rosie would be paying the after-midnight tariff in the taxi.
I let Claudia return to sleep. As I picked up the two plates andtwo glasses to bring them inside, I looked again at thenight-time view of the city – the view I had never seen beforeeven though it had been there all the time.
I decided to skip my pre-bed aikido routine. And to leave themakeshift table in place.