‘If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t have woken you up to ask.’
‘What do you think of people who take scientific findings out of context to push their own barrows?’
‘You’re referring to Gene?’ I said.
‘Him too. These women are trying to make a point that two women can bring up a child as well as a heterosexual couple.’ She sat up in bed. ‘They don’t want to publish something that suggests otherwise.’
‘Surely that’s pushing their own barrow.’
‘Not to the extent of some dinosaur who’s going to pick it up and say kids who don’t have a father are deprived. Which is an issue that’s a little close to my heart right now. So don’t expect me to be rational about it.’
‘But the results don’t indicate any requirement for a father,’ I said. ‘Both carers can raise the baby’s oxytocin. It’s just that an unconventional parent uses an unconventional method. I predict zero problem for the child.’
‘Don’t expect the Wall Street Journal to see it that way.’
I had turned to leave when Rosie spoke again.
‘And Don. I’ve got a flight home tomorrow. Judy’s taking me to JFK. I got the cheapest fare. It’s non-refundable.’
I was leaving to check the beer again before dinner when Sonia stopped me.
‘Wait an hour and I’ll come with you.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re going to see Lydia.’
‘She indicated she was unavailable for further consultation. And it’s a Sunday. A Sunday evening.’
‘I know. I called her. I told her that you and Rosie—you and I—had split up as a result of what she said to you. She was a bit blown away: she thought she’d reassured you to stay with me—with Rosie.’
‘She merely provided objective advice.’
‘Well, she’s feeling responsible now. She overstepped the line and she knows it. We’re meeting at your apartment. I couldn’t do it here because of Dave. I’ve told him I’m taking you to see Rosie before she flies home. I haven’t mentioned Lydia. Obviously.’
‘What about Rosie?’
‘Gene’s taking her out.’
‘Gene’s involved in this?’
‘Everyone’s involved, Don. We think you’re both making a mistake, and if you won’t listen to anyone except Lydia, then she can tell you. I’m going to channel Rosie—I’ll be Rosie—and Lydia is going to tell us to stay together. And when she does, you’re going to solve the Marriage Disaster Problem. Am I speaking your language?’
Sonia and I arrived at the apartment two minutes before Lydia was due. I realised Sonia had never visited; it had not occurred to me to invite her and Dave to dinner. It was probably a social error.
‘My God, what’s that smell?’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to throw up. I’ve been feeling terrible all day.’
‘Beer. There’s a small leak that’s impossible to access. Dave blames the workman who replaced the ceiling.’
Sonia smiled. ‘That’s so Dave. How does Rosie cope with it?’
‘Humans adapt to smells quite quickly,’ I said. ‘It’s only recently that regular washing has been conventional. Prior to that humans did not wash for months, and there was no problem. Except disease, obviously.’
Lydia arrived on time.
‘My God, what’s that smell?’ she said.
‘Beer,’ said Sonia. ‘Humans adapt to smells quite quickly. It’s only recently that regular washing has been conventional.’
‘I guess hygiene was not quite at New York standards in a small Italian village.’
‘That’s right. Lucky Don’s a hygiene freak or the baby—’
I gave Sonia a look intended to remind her that she was supposed to be Rosie, who would not be defending weirdness and had not been raised in a small Italian village with poor hygiene. Of course, neither had Sonia. I suspected things were going to become confusing.
Then one of the Georges began drumming.
‘What’s that?’ asked Lydia.
It was a reasonable question, as the initial beats could have been confused with the discharge of a firearm. But the drumming became more rhythmic, and a bass and two electric guitars joined in. Now the answer would be obvious to Lydia, which was fortunate as she could not have heard mine.
We attempted to communicate in rudimentary sign language for approximately three minutes. I deduced that Lydia was asking, ‘How will the baby sleep?’ and Sonia was responding, ‘Skull, bye-bye, bird, kangaroo, no, no, no, eating spaghetti.’
The music stopped. Sonia said, ‘I am thinking about flying home to Italy.’
‘And if you stay? If you and Don are able to get through this misunderstanding?’
I led them to Gene’s room, where I had stowed the gift from my father.
‘Oh God, it’s a coffin,’ said Lydia. ‘A transparent coffin.’
‘Don’t be ludicrous,’ said Sonia. ‘I feel like you’re trying to find reasons to criticise Don.’
‘What is it then? A spaceship?’
In fact the soundproof crib was incompatible with space travel as it was permeable to air. I set the alarm on my phone, and as soon as it started ringing put it in the crib and secured the lid. The noise disappeared.
‘But if the phone needed to breathe, it could do so,’ I said.
‘What if it cries?’ asked Lydia.
‘The phone?’ I realised my error and pointed out the microphone and transmitter in the crib. ‘Rosie will sleep with earphones. I will have earplugs, hence not be disturbed by the baby myself.’
‘Nice for you,’ said Lydia. She looked around. ‘Is someone else sleeping here?’
‘My friend. His wife evicted him for immoral behaviour and now he’s living with Rosie.’
‘In the baby’s room.’
‘Correct.’
‘Rosie,’ Lydia said, and Sonia glanced at the door before realising that Lydia was speaking to her. ‘You’re comfortable with this?’
Sonia’s response suggested extreme discomfort. She returned to the living room and looked around frantically. I diagnosed panic.
‘I need to use the bathroom. Where’s the bathroom?’ she asked in what was supposed to be her own apartment.
We were standing just outside my bathroom-office. I opened the door for Sonia.
‘There’s a desk in the bathroom,’ said Lydia as Sonia closed the door behind her. I was aware of this. I had not taken it with me to Dave and Sonia’s, as it would have been impractical to carry it on the subway.
We were interrupted by Sonia calling from the bathroom-office. ‘I’ve got a problem.’
‘With the plumbing?’ I asked. The toilet sometimes jammed in flush mode.
‘With my plumbing. Something’s wrong.’
It is socially extremely inappropriate to enter a bathroom containing an unrelated individual of the opposite gender. I was aware of this, but my behaviour was justified by the probability that the problem was related to Sonia’s advanced state of pregnancy. I guessed the onset of labour.
I entered the forbidden zone, and Sonia explained the problem. Her description of the symptoms was unambiguous.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Lydia. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Making a phone call,’ I said. ‘No.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Prolapsed umbilical cord. I’ve called an ambulance. The problem should not require immediate intervention if labour hasn’t commenced.’