‘He’s not qualified to determine the difference between play and cuddling.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘I sent the videos to experts for analysis.’
‘Who? Who did you send the videos to?’
‘The original researchers in Israel, obviously. They confirmed that the second protocol should be classified as cuddling. Hence your research establishes that the secondary carer, if female, stimulates the production of oxytocin in the child by cuddling rather than play. Which is a clear difference from the results with male secondary carers. Hence interesting.’
It seemed that B1 had not understood my point, as she stood up with an expression that I provisionally diagnosed as angry. I clarified. ‘Hence highly publishable. The researcher I spoke to on Skype was extremely interested.’
‘What Don’s done is totally unethical,’ said B1. ‘Showing our results to other researchers.’
‘Naive, perhaps. Not unethical. This is the Columbia medical school, open and cooperative with researchers around the world. Don has our support.’
After B1 had left, the Dean congratulated me on my persistence. ‘They tried to cut you out, Don. I think most researchers would have walked away. Refusing to take no for an answer has given us a good result.’
The weather had turned cold, as was usual for early December. Bud’s diagram was now taking up four tiles. At twenty-nine weeks, with the medical services available in New York, he could possibly survive in the external world.
Our marriage was surviving in shared-house mode.
Rosie had invited her study group to our apartment to celebrate the end of classes prior to exams and also her deferral from the course.
‘It’ll probably be the last time I see these guys,’ she said. ‘We’ve got nothing much in common—most of them are younger than me.’
‘Only by a few years. They’re adults.’
‘Just. And they’re not into babies and stuff. Anyway, if you and Gene want to go out with Dave—’
‘We had a boys’ night out last night. Dave is being criticised for insufficient attention to Sonia and also has to perform paperwork. Gene has a date with Inge.’
‘A date.’
‘Correct.’ It was pointless to use a less accurate term. Gene had confessed that he was in love with Inge. George had argued that the age difference was irrelevant, and Dave had no opinion. Gene’s visa allowed him to remain in the US for a month’s vacation on completion of his sabbatical, and he planned to spend the time looking for a permanent position in New York.
‘How about George?’ Rosie had not met George.
The persistent suggestion of alternatives led to an inevitable conclusion. I had learned something from the Lesbian Mothers Project.
‘You don’t want me here?’
‘It’s my study group.’
‘This is also my apartment. The study-group meeting is a social occasion. I’m your partner. Are other people bringing partners?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Excellent. I am RSVPing in the affirmative.’
The Dean would have been impressed.
27
Gene provided me with some guidelines for hosting a party.
‘Loud music, low lights, salty food, plenty of booze. Fresh shirt and jeans. The shoes you wore for Dave the Calf, if you’ve cleaned them. Don’t tuck your shirt in. The unshaven look is fine. Shake hands, serve food, serve drinks, don’t do anything to embarrass Rosie.’
‘What makes you think I’ll embarrass her?’
‘Experience. And she told me. Not in so many words, but she tried to get me to break my date with Inge so I could take you off her hands. Fat chance. This is the big one.’
‘The big one? You plan to have sex with Inge?’
‘Believe it or not, it’s been remarkably chaste so far. But my professional instincts tell me that tonight’s the night.’
I made the party arrangements, and Rosie confirmed that all was going according to plan when I arrived home.
‘What’s all this booze?’ she asked. ‘I had to sign for five cases of liquor. We can’t afford to be spending like this.’
‘Delivery was free. And there was a discount for the quantity. Based on past behaviour, you’ll be drinking to excess again once Bud is born.’
‘I told people to bring their own. We’re just students.’
‘I’m not,’ I said.
‘And Don, I’m thinking of moving back to Australia, remember. Before the baby is born. I won’t be around to drink it.’
I had moved my weekly discussion with my mother forward by thirty minutes to accommodate the party and made a decision to lie in order to avoid inflicting emotional pain.
‘Has it arrived yet?’ my mother asked.
I told the truth. ‘It arrived on Thursday.’
‘You should have called. Your father was in a state about it. It cost a fortune to send. God knows what he’s spent on it already. He was talking to people in Korea—Korea—half the night and then the boxes arrived and he had to sign all these documents about patents and secrecy and of course he had to read every word—you know what your father’s like, he’s worked on it day and night, Trevor’s had no help in the shop for weeks… I think you should speak to him.’ She turned away and called out, ‘Jim, it’s Donald.’
My father’s face replaced my mother’s. ‘Is it what you wanted?’ he said.
‘Excellent. Perfect. Incredible. I’ve tested it. Meets all requirements.’ This was true too.
‘What does Rosie think?’ asked my mother in the background.
‘Totally satisfied. She considers Dad the world’s greatest inventor.’
This was a deception. I had not shown Rosie the crib. It was in Gene’s closet. After the pram problem, I considered there was a high probability that she would reject my father’s most amazing project.
The first to arrive for the study-group celebration was a couple, vindicating my decision to be present. Rosie introduced them.
‘Josh, Rebecca, Don.’
I extended my hand which they shook in turn. ‘I’m Rosie’s partner,’ I said. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘We’ve brought some beer,’ said Josh.
‘There’s cold beer in the fridge. We can drink it while yours returns to optimum temperature.’
‘Thanks, but this is English beer. I worked in London in a pub for six months. Got a taste for it.’
‘We have six real ales on tap.’
He laughed. ‘You’re kidding me.’
I showed him to the coolroom and drew off a pint of Crouch Vale Brewers Gold. Rebecca followed and I asked if she wanted beer or would prefer a cocktail. The social protocols were familiar and I was feeling very comfortable as I mixed her a Ward 8 and performed a few tricks with the cocktail shaker.
Other guests arrived. I mixed cocktails to their specification and handed around the salted Padrón peppers and edamame. Rosie turned off the music I had selected and replaced it with a more current recording. The noise level remained high, lights low, alcohol consumption steady. People appeared to be having fun. Gene’s formula was working. So far, there were no indications that I had embarrassed anyone.
At 11.07 p.m. there was a knock. It was George. In one hand he had a bottle of red wine and in the other a guitar case.
‘Revenge, eh? Keeping an old man awake. Mind if I join you?’