The Rosie Effect
Page 30
‘This is not the first time you have gotten yourself into a sticky situation?’ she said when I had finished.
‘Correct.’
‘But there has been no problem with children before?’
‘Only when I was at school. When children were my contemporaries.’
She laughed. ‘You have survived so far. If you had not been a bit awkward with the police they would have probably just told you the rules and sent you off. It’s not against the law to be awkward.’
‘Fortunately. Or I would have already been sentenced to the electric chair.’ It was only a small joke, but Rani laughed again.
‘I’ll write something for the police, and you will be free to get back to your research about children. I suggest visiting your relatives, which is a good thing to do in any case. Wish your wife good luck with the birth.’
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.’
‘Correct.’
‘But there has been no problem with children before?’
‘Only when I was at school. When children were my contemporaries.’
She laughed. ‘You have survived so far. If you had not been a bit awkward with the police they would have probably just told you the rules and sent you off. It’s not against the law to be awkward.’
‘Fortunately. Or I would have already been sentenced to the electric chair.’ It was only a small joke, but Rani laughed again.
‘I’ll write something for the police, and you will be free to get back to your research about children. I suggest visiting your relatives, which is a good thing to do in any case. Wish your wife good luck with the birth.’
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.’
