A huge burden was lifted from my shoulders. I had solved the problem without stressing Rosie. Tonight I would tell her the story and she would say, ‘Don, I said when I agreed to marry you that I was expecting constant craziness. You’re incredible.’
Then I realised that someone was looking at us through the glass. It was not until she signalled to Rani, who left the interview room to join her, that I recognised her. It had been fifty-three days since our encounter but the tall stature, low BMI and associated deficit of fat deposits on her face were unmistakable. Lydia from the Bluefin Tuna Incident.
Rani talked to Lydia for a few minutes, then walked away. Lydia joined me in the office.
‘Greetings, Lydia.’
‘My name is Mercer. Lydia Mercer. I’m the senior social worker and I’m taking responsibility for your case.’
‘I thought everything was resolved. I assumed you had recognised me—’
She interrupted. ‘Mr Tillman, I’m prepared to believe we may have crossed paths in the past, but I think it would be helpful if you put it out of your mind. You’ve been arrested for a crime, and a…conservative…assessment from us could put the police in a position of having to follow through. Am I being clear enough for you?’
I nodded.
‘Your wife’s pregnant?’
‘Correct.’
Don’t ever have children, she had said. I had violated her instruction, though not through any deliberate action of my own. I added, in my defence, ‘It wasn’t planned.’
‘And you think you’re equipped to be a father?’
I recalled Gene’s advice. ‘I’m expecting that instinct will ensure essentially correct behaviour.’
‘As it did when you assaulted the police officer. How’s your wife coping?’
‘Coping? There’s no baby yet.’
‘She works?’
‘She’s a medical student.’
‘You don’t think she might require some additional support at this time?’
‘Additional to what? Rosie is self-sufficient.’ This was one of Rosie’s defining characteristics. She would have been insulted if I suggested she required support.
‘Have you talked about child care?’
‘Minimally. Rosie is currently focused on her PhD thesis.’
‘I thought you said she was a medical student.’
‘She’s completing a PhD concurrently.’
‘As you do.’
‘No, it’s extremely uncommon,’ I said.
‘Who does the housework, the cooking?’
I could have answered that housework was shared and that the cooking was my responsibility, but it would have undermined my statement about Rosie’s self-sufficiency. I found a neat way around it. ‘It varies. Last night she cooked her own meal and I purchased a hamburger independently at a sports bar.’
‘With your buddies—your mates—no doubt.’
‘Correct. No need to translate. I am familiar with American vernacular.’
She looked again at the file.
‘Does she have any family here?’
‘No. Her mother is dead, she’s passed, hence being here is not possible. Her father is unable to be here as he owns a gym—a fitness centre—which requires his presence.’
Lydia made a note. ‘How old was she when her mother died?’
‘Ten.’
‘How old is she now?’
‘Thirty-one.’
‘Professor Tillman. I don’t know if this makes any sense to your mind, but what we have is a first-time mother, an independent professional high achiever, an over achiever, loss of mother before the age of eleven, no role model, no supports, and a husband who hasn’t a clue about any of this. As a professor, as an intellectual, can you see the point I’m making?’
‘No.’
‘Your wife is a sitting duck for postnatal depression. For not coping. For ending up in hospital. Or worse. You’re not doing anything to prevent it and won’t see it if it happens.’
Much as I disliked what Lydia was saying, I had to respect her professional expertise.
‘You’re not the only unsupportive partner out there, not by a long way. But you’re one I can do something about.’ She waved the file. ‘You’re going to do some work. You assaulted a police officer. I don’t know how that lack of control translates into a domestic situation, but I’m referring you to a group. Attendance is compulsory until the convenor says you’re safe. And I want to see you in a month for an assessment. With your wife.’
‘What if I fail?’
‘I’m a social worker. You’ve been referred to me because of inappropriate and illegal behaviour around children. At the end of the day, people will listen to me. Police: I only have to write a report to put this back in their hands. Immigration: I’m guessing you’re not a citizen. And there are protocols for fathers we consider dangerous.’
‘What should I do to improve my suitability?’
‘Start paying attention to your wife—and how she’s coping with becoming a mother.’
Lydia was not scheduled to work on 27 July, and I wondered briefly if that would solve the problem of bringing Rosie in for assessment in ‘a month’s time’. The receptionist was adamant that it was not a valid reason for non-attendance, and made an appointment for 1 August, five weeks away. I had previously been stressed by the idea of waiting eight days for an appointment; now I would have thirty-five days of higher-level anxiety with no option but to involve Rosie.
There was a more critical issue. Lydia had raised the problem of Rosie’s mental state. I was fortuitously equipped to take immediate action. When my sister died three years earlier, I had been concerned that I might have become clinically depressed as a result. With some reluctance, Claudia had administered the only depression questionnaire she had at home: the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale.
I had continued to use the EPDS to assess my emotional state, putting consistency ahead of the fact that I was not a new mother. Now it was the perfect instrument: despite the name, the accompanying guide specified that it was designed for use antenatally as well as postnatally. If the instrument indicated that Rosie was not at risk, I could present the results at the next appointment and Lydia would have to withdraw her intuitive diagnosis in the face of scientific evidence. Perhaps, with the data in hand, I would not even need to bring Rosie.
I knew Rosie well enough to predict that she would be unwilling to complete the questionnaire, and even if she did she might falsify the answers to reassure me of her happiness level. I would need to slip the questions unobtrusively into conversation. The EPDS has only ten short questions with four possible answers each, so it was trivial to memorise.
In the meantime, I needed to spend some time at Columbia after a day and a half absent. I planned to see Gene to raise the issue of moving out, then meet with my new research assistant.
My sequencing of the tasks turned out to be irrelevant. Inge was in Gene’s office, where he was explaining his research on human sexual attraction. Gene’s methods and findings are not intrinsically humorous, but he is experienced in supporting them with anecdotes and comedic observations, and Inge was laughing. I estimated both her age and BMI as twenty-three. Gene considers that no woman under the age of thirty is unattractive and Inge provided support for this proposition.