‘On the contrary,’ said Lydia. ‘That’s exactly what they should be judged on.’
Lydia’s information that they were merely two people who had coincidentally been invited to the same lunch was in line with Gene’s theory. It gave me an opportunity to reenter the conversation.
‘A victory for evolutionary psychology. The theory predicts that you would not be attracted to each other; I observe evidence that is counter to the theory; more detailed examination of the data supports the theory.’
I was not seriously offering a scientific analysis, but using scientific language for the purpose of amusement. I have considerable experience with the technique, and it usually results in some level of laughter. In this case it did not. If anything, Lydia’s expression became less happy.
Seymour at least smiled. ‘I think your hypothesis rests on some invalid assumptions,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a bit of a thing for tall women.’
This seemed like very personal information. If I had shared what I found physically attractive about Rosie, or women in general, I am sure it would have been judged as inappropriate. But people with better social skills have more leeway to take risks.
‘Luckily,’ Seymour continued. ‘Or I’d be limiting my options in a big way.’
‘You’re searching for a partner?’ I asked. ‘I recommend the internet.’ My extraordinary success in finding the perfect partner as a result of random events did not invalidate the use of more structured approaches. At this point, Isaac and Judy arrived, increasing the conversational complexity by a factor of 3.33 but improving my comfort level. If I had been left alone with Seymour and Lydia for longer, I would probably have made some sort of social error.
We exchanged formulaic greetings. Everyone else ordered tea, but I concluded that if I had made a mistake in drinking sake, it was too late to recover, and ordered a second flask.
Then our waiter brought the menu. There was an array of fascinating food, consistent with the research I had undertaken on the restaurant, and Judy suggested we order one plate each and share. Excellent idea.
‘Any preferences?’ she asked. ‘Isaac and I don’t eat pork, but if someone else wants to order the gyoza, that’s fine.’ She was obviously being polite, and ordering the gyoza would have made their meals less interesting than the others due to reduced variety. I did not make that mistake. When my turn came, I took advantage of Rosie’s absence to try something that would normally have provoked an argument.
‘The bluefin tuna sashimi, please.’
‘Oh,’ said Lydia. ‘I didn’t see that. Don, you might not be aware that bluefin is an endangered species.’
I was aware of this fact. Rosie ate only ‘sustainable seafood’. In 2010, Greenpeace had added the southern bluefin tuna to its seafood Red List, indicating a very high risk of it being sourced from unsustainable fisheries.
‘I know. However, this one is already dead and we will only be sharing a single portion among five people. The incremental effect on the world tuna population is likely to be small. In exchange we have an opportunity to experience a new taste.’ I had never eaten bluefin tuna and it had a reputation for being superior to the more common yellowfin, which is my favourite food component.
‘I’m up for it, as long as it’s definitely dead,’ said Seymour. ‘I’ll skip my rhino horn pills tonight to make up.’
My mouth was open to comment on Seymour’s extraordinary statement but Lydia spoke first, giving me time to consider the possibility that Seymour was making a joke.
‘Well, I’m not up for it,’ she said. ‘I don’t accept the argument that individuals can’t make a difference. That’s the attitude that’s stopping us doing anything about global warming.’
Isaac offered a useful if obvious contribution. ‘Plus the Indians and Chinese and Indonesians wanting to have our standard of living.’
Lydia may or may not have agreed. But she was talking to me.
‘I suppose you don’t think about what sort of car you drive or where you shop.’
Her supposition was incorrect, as was the implication that I was environmentally irresponsible. I do not own a car. I ride a bike, use public transport or run. I have relatively few clothes. Under the Standardised Meal System, only recently abandoned, I had virtually zero waste in food and I now treated the efficient use of leftovers as a creative challenge. But I consider my contribution to reducing global warming negligible. My position on rectifying the problem seems to be unattractive to many environmentalists. I had no desire to spoil our lunch with unproductive arguments, but Lydia seemed to be already in irrational greenie mode, so, as with the sake, there was no point in holding back.
‘We should be investing more in nuclear power,’ I said. ‘And finding technological solutions.’
‘Such as?’ said Lydia.
‘Removing carbon from the atmosphere. Geoengineering. I’ve been reading about it. Incredibly interesting. Humans are poor at restraint but good at technology.’
‘Do you know how abhorrent I find that type of thinking?’ said Lydia. ‘Do whatever you like and hope that someone will come along and fix it. And get rich doing it. Are you going to save the tuna that way too?’
‘Of course! It’s highly possible we could genetically engineer the yellowfin tuna to taste like bluefin. Classic example of a technological solution to a problem created by humans. I would volunteer for the tasting panel.’
‘You do whatever you want. But I don’t want us, as a group, to order the tuna.’
It is incredible what complex ideas can be conveyed by a human facial expression. Although no guide was likely to include it, I believe I was correct in interpreting Isaac’s as For fuck’s sake, Don, don’t order the tuna. When our server arrived, I ordered the scallops with foie gras de canard.
Lydia began to stand up, then sat down again.
‘You’re actually not trying to upset me, are you?’ she said. ‘You’re really not. You’re just so insensitive you don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘Correct.’ It was easiest to tell the truth and I was relieved that Lydia did not consider me malicious. I saw no logical reason why a concern about sustainability should be a predictor of what I assumed was an objection to the treatment of farmed poultry. I consider it wrong to stereotype people, but it might have been useful in this situation.
‘I’ve met people like you,’ she said. ‘Professionally.’
‘You’re a geneticist?’
‘I’m a social worker.’
‘Lydia,’ said Judy, ‘this is getting too much like work. I’m going to order for the whole table, and we should all start again. I’ve been dying to hear about Seymour’s book. Seymour’s writing a book. Tell us about your book, Seymour.’
Seymour smiled. ‘It’s about growing meat in laboratories. So vegetarians can have a guilt-free burger.’
I began to respond to this unexpectedly interesting topic but Isaac interrupted.
‘I don’t think this is the right time for a joke, Seymour. Seymour’s book is about guilt, but not about burgers.’
‘Actually I do mention lab burgers. As an example of how complex these issues are and the way deeply rooted prejudices come into play. We need to be more open to thinking outside the box. That’s all Don’s been saying.’