Chapter 10

The next morning, I returned with some relief to the routinethat had been so severely disrupted over the past two days.
My Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday runs to the market are afeature of my schedule, combining exercise, meal-ingredientspurchase and an opportunity for reflection. I was in great needof the last of these.
A woman had given me her phone number and told me tocall her.
More than the Jacket Incident, the Balcony Meal and even theexcite-ment of the potential Father Project, this had disruptedmy world. I knew that it happened regularly: people in books,films and TV shows do exactly what Rosie had done. But ithad never happened to me. No woman had ever casually,unthinkingly, automatically, written down her phone number,given it to me and said, ‘Call me.’ I had temporarily beenincluded in a culture that I considered closed to me. Althoughit was entirely logical that Rosie should provide me with ameans of contacting her, I had an irrational feeling that, whenI called, Rosie would realise she had made some kind of error.
78/290I arrived at the market and commenced purchasing. Becauseeach day’s ingredients are standard, I know which stalls to visit,and the vendors generally have my items pre-packaged inadvance. I need only pay. The vendors know me well and areconsistently friendly.
However, it is not possible to time-share major intellectualactivity with the purchasing process, due to the quantity ofhuman and inan-imate obstacles: vegetable pieces on theground, old ladies with shopping buggies, vendors still settingup stalls, Asian women comparing prices, goods being deliveredand tourists taking photos of each other in front of theproduce. Fortunately I am usually the only jogger.
On the way home, I resumed my analysis of the Rosiesituation. I realised that my actions had been driven more byinstinct than logic.
There were plenty of people in need of help, many in moredistress than Rosie, and numerous worthy scientific projectsthat would represent better use of my time than a quest tofind one individual’s father. And, of course, I should be givingpriority to the Wife Project. Better to push Gene to select moresuitable women from the list, or to relax some of the lessimportant selection criteria, as I had already done with theno-drinking rule.
The logical decision was to contact Rosie and explain that theFather Project was not a good idea. I phoned at 6.43 a.m. onreturning from the run and left a message for her to call back.
When I hung up, I was sweating despite the fact that themorning was still cool. I hoped I wasn’t developing a fever.
Rosie called back while I was delivering a lecture. Normally, Iturn my phone off at such times, but I was anxious to putthis problem to bed. I was feeling stressed at the prospect ofan interaction in which it was necessary for me to retract anoffer. Speaking on the phone in front of a lecture theatre fullof students was awkward, especially as I was wearing a lapelmicrophone.
They could hear my side of the conversation.
79/290‘Hi, Rosie.’
‘Don, I just want to say thanks for doing this thing for me. Ididn’t realise how much it had been eating me up. Do youknow that little coffee shop across from the Commerce Building– Barista’s? How about two o’clock tomorrow?’
Now that Rosie had accepted my offer of help, it would havebeen immoral, and technically a breach of contract, to withdrawit.
‘Barista’s 2.00 p.m. tomorrow,’ I confirmed, though I wastemporarily unable to access the schedule in my brain due tooverload.
‘You’re a star,’ she said.
Her tone indicated that this was the end of her contribution tothe conversation. It was my turn to use a standard platitude toreciprocate, and the obvious one was the simple reflection of‘You’re a star’.
But even I realised that made no sense. She was thebeneficiary of my star-ness in the form of my geneticsexpertise. On reflection, I could have just said ‘Goodbye’ or‘See you’, but I had no time for reflection.
There was considerable pressure to make a timely response.
‘I like you too.’
The entire lecture theatre exploded in applause.
A female student in the front row said, ‘Smooth.’ She wassmiling.
Fortunately I am accustomed to creating amusementinadvertently.
I did not feel too unhappy at failing to terminate the FatherProject.
The amount of work involved in one DNA test was trivial.
We met at Barista’s the next day at 2.07 p.m. Needless to say,the delay was Rosie’s fault. My students would be sitting intheir 2.15 p.m.
lecture waiting for my arrival. My intention had been only toadvise her on the collection of a DNA sample, but she seemedunable to process the instructions. In retrospect, I was probablyoffering too many options and too much technical detail toorapidly. With only seven minutes to discuss the problem(allowing one minute for running to80/290the lecture), we agreed that the simplest solution was to collectthe sample together.
We arrived at the residence of Dr Eamonn Hughes, thesuspected father, on the Saturday afternoon. Rosie hadtelephoned in advance.
Eamonn looked older than I had expected. I guessed sixty,BMI twenty-three. Eamonn’s wife, whose name was Belinda(approximately fifty-five, BMI twenty-eight), made us coffee, aspredicted by Rosie. This was critical, as we had decided thatthe coffee-cup rim would be an ideal source of saliva. I satbeside Rosie, pretending to be her friend. Eamonn and Belindawere opposite, and I was finding it hard to keep my eyesaway from Eamonn’s cup.
Fortunately, I was not required to make small talk. Eamonnwas a cardiologist and we had a fascinating discussion aboutgenetic markers for cardiac disease. Eamonn finally finished hiscoffee and Rosie stood up to take the cups to the kitchen.
There, she would be able to swab the lip of the cup and wewould have an excellent sample. When we discussed the plan, Isuggested that this would be a breach of social convention, butRosie assured me that she knew Eamonn and Belinda well asfamily friends, and, as a younger person, she would be allowedto perform this chore. For once, my understanding of socialconvention proved more accurate. Unfortunately.
As Rosie picked up Belinda’s cup, Belinda said, ‘Leave it, I’ll doit later.’
Rosie responded, ‘No, please,’ and took Eamonn’s cup.
Belinda picked up my cup and Rosie’s and said, ‘Okay, giveme a hand.’ They walked out to the kitchen together. It wasobviously going to be difficult for Rosie to swab Eamonn’s cupwith Belinda present, but I could not think of a way of gettingBelinda out of the kitchen.
‘Did Rosie tell you I studied medicine with her mother?’ askedEamonn.
81/290I nodded. Had I been a psychologist, I might have been ableto infer from Eamonn’s conversation and body languagewhether he was hiding the fact that he was Rosie’s father. Imight even have been able to lead the conversation in adirection to trap him. Fortunately we were not relying on myskills in this arena. If Rosie succeeded in collecting the sample,I would be able to provide a far more reliable answer thanone derived from observations of behaviour.
‘If I can offer you a little encouragement,’ Eamonn said,‘Rosie’s mother was a bit wild in her younger days. Verysmart, good-looking, she could have had anyone. All the otherwomen in medicine were going to marry doctors.’ He smiled.
‘But she surprised us all and picked the guy from left fieldwho persisted and stuck around.’
It was lucky I wasn’t looking for clues. My expression musthave conveyed my total lack of comprehension.
‘I suspect Rosie may follow in her mother’s footsteps,’ he said.
‘In what component of her life?’ It seemed safer to seekclarification than assume that he meant getting pregnant to anunknown fellow student or dying. These were the only facts Iknew about Rosie’s mother.
‘I’m just saying I think you’re probably good for her. Andshe’s had a rough time. Tell me to mind my own business ifyou like. But she’s a great kid.’
Now the intent of the conversation was clear, although Rosiewas surely too old to be referred to as a kid. Eamonn thoughtI was Rosie’s boyfriend. It was an understandable error.
Correcting it would neces-sarily involve telling a lie, so I decidedto remain silent. Then we heard the sound of breakingcrockery.
Eamonn called out, ‘Everything okay?’
‘Just broke a cup,’ said Belinda.
Breaking the cup was not part of the plan. Presumably, Rosiehad dropped it in her nervousness or in trying to keep it fromBelinda. I82/290was annoyed at myself for not having a back-up plan. I hadnot treated this project as serious field work. It wasembarrassingly unprofessional, and it was now my responsibilityto find a solution. It would surely involve deception, and I amnot skilled at deception.
My best approach was to source the DNA for a legitimatereason.
‘Have you heard about the Genographic Project?’
‘No,’ said Eamonn.
I explained that with a sample of his DNA we could trace hisdistant ancestry. He was fascinated. I offered to have his DNAprocessed if he organised a cheek scraping and sent it to me.
‘Let’s do it now, before I forget,’ he said. ‘Will blood do?’
‘Blood is ideal for DNA testing, but –’
‘I’m a doctor,’ he said. ‘Give me a minute.’
Eamonn left the room, and I could hear Belinda and Rosiespeaking in the kitchen.
Belinda said, ‘Seen your father at all?’
‘Next question,’ said Rosie.
Belinda instead responded with a statement. ‘Don seems nice.’
Excellent. I was doing well.
‘Just a friend,’ said Rosie.
If she knew how many friends I had, she might have realisedwhat a great compliment she had paid me.
‘Oh well,’ said Belinda.
Rosie and Belinda returned to the living room at the same timeas Eamonn with his doctor’s bag. Belinda reasonably deducedthat there was some medical problem, but Eamonn explainedabout the Genographic Project. Belinda was a nurse and shetook the blood with professional expertise.
As I handed the filled tube to Rosie to put in her handbag, Inoticed her hands were shaking. I diagnosed anxiety,presumably related to the imminent confirmation of herpaternity. I was not surprised when83/290she asked, only seconds after leaving the Hughes’s residence, ifwe could process the DNA sample immediately. It wouldrequire opening the lab on a Saturday evening but at least theproject would be completed.
The laboratory was empty: throughout the university, thearchaic idea of working Monday to Friday results in anincredible under-utilisation of expensive facilities. The universitywas trialling analysis equipment that could test for parent–childrelationships very quickly. And we had an ideal DNA sample. Itis possible to extract DNA from a wide variety of sources andonly a few cells are needed for an analysis, but thepre-paratory work can be time consuming and complex. Bloodwas easy.
The new machine was located in a small room that had oncebeen a tea-room with sink and refrigerator. For a moment Iwished it had been more impressive – an unusual intrusion ofego into my thoughts.
I unlocked the refrigerator and opened a beer. Rosie coughedloudly. I recognised the code and opened one for her also.
I tried to explain the process to Rosie as I set up, but sheseemed unable to stop talking, even as she used the scraperon her inner cheek to provide me with her DNA sample.
‘I can’t believe it’s this easy. This quick. I think I’ve alwaysknown at some level. He used to bring me stuff when I was akid.’
‘It’s a vastly over-specified machine for such a trivial task.’
‘One time he brought me a chess set. Phil gave me girly stuff– jewellery boxes and shit. Pretty weird for a personal trainerwhen you think about it.’
‘You play chess?’ I asked.
‘Not really. That’s not the point. He respected that I have abrain. He and Belinda never had any kids of their own. I havea sense that he was always around. He might even have beenmy mum’s best friend.
But I’ve never consciously thought of him as my father.’
84/290‘He’s not,’ I said.
The result had come up on the computer screen. Jobcomplete. I began packing up.
‘Wow,’ said Rosie. ‘Ever thought of being a grief counsellor?’
‘No. I considered a number of careers, but all in the sciences.
My interpersonal skills are not strong.’
Rosie burst out laughing. ‘You’re about to get a crash coursein advanced grief counselling.’
It turned out that Rosie was making a sort of joke, as herapproach to grief counselling was based entirely on theadministration of alcohol. We went to Jimmy Watson’s onLygon Street, a short walk away, and as usual, even on aweekend, it was full of academics. We sat at the bar, and Iwas surprised to find that Rosie, a professional server ofdrinks, had a very poor knowledge of wine. A few years agoGene suggested that wine was the perfect topic for safeconversation and I did some research. I was familiar with thebackgrounds of the wines offered regularly at this bar. Wedrank quite a lot.
Rosie had to go outside for a few minutes due to her nicotineaddiction. The timing was fortunate, as a couple emerged fromthe courtyard and passed the bar. The man was Gene! Thewoman was not Claudia, but I recognised her. It was Olivia,the Indian Vegetarian from Table for Eight. Neither saw me,and they went past too quickly for me to say anything.
My confusion at seeing them together must have contributed tomy next decision. A waiter came up to me and said, ‘There’s atable for two that’s just come free in the courtyard. Are youeating with us?’
I nodded. I would have to freeze the day’s market purchasesfor the following Saturday, with the resulting loss of nutrients.
Instinct had again displaced logic.
Rosie’s reaction to finding a table being set for us on herreturn appeared to be positive. Doubtless she was hungry butit was reassuring85/290to know that I had not committed a faux pas, always morelikely when different genders are involved.
The food was excellent. We had freshly shucked oysters(sustainable), tuna sashimi (selected by Rosie and probably notsustainable), eggplant and mozzarella stack (Rosie), vealsweetbreads (me), cheese (shared) and a single serving ofpassionfruit mousse (divided and shared). I ordered a bottle ofMarsanne and it was an excellent accompaniment.
Rosie spent much of the meal trying to explain why shewanted to locate her biological father. I could see little reasonfor it. In the past, the knowledge might have been useful todetermine the risk of genetically influenced diseases, but todayRosie could have her own DNA analysed directly. Practically,her stepfather Phil seemed to have executed the father role,although Rosie had numerous complaints about hisperformance. He was an egotist; he was inconsistent in hisattitude towards her; he was subject to mood swings. He wasalso strongly opposed to alcohol. I considered this to be athoroughly defensible position, but it was a cause of frictionbetween them.
Rosie’s motivation seemed to be emotional, and, while I couldnot understand the psychology, it was clearly very important toher happiness.
After Rosie had finished her mousse, she left the table to ‘goto the bathroom’. It gave me time to reflect and I realised thatI was in the process of completing a non-eventful and in facthighly enjoyable dinner with a woman, a significant achievementthat I was looking forward to sharing with Gene and Claudia.
I concluded that the lack of problems was due to three factors.
1. I was in a familiar restaurant. It had never occurred to meto take a woman – or indeed anyone – to Jimmy86/290Watson’s, which I had only previously used as a source ofwine.
2. Rosie was not a date. I had rejected her, comprehens-ively,as a potential partner, and we were together because of a jointproject. It was like a meeting.
3. I was somewhat intoxicated – hence relaxed. As a result, Imay also have been unaware of any social errors.
At the end of the meal, I ordered two glasses of sambuca andsaid,‘Who do we test next?’