The Rosie Effect

by Graeme Simsion

  I walked up to the stage with Rosie. It was possibly inappropriate to accept a gift that was given on the premise that Rosie and I were remaining together. I was considering what I should say, but Rosie solved the problem.

  ‘Just say “thank you” and take it,’ she said as we walked to the stage. She was holding my hand, which was bound to reinforce the incorrect impression.

  The Dean gave us a parcel. It was obviously a book. After that he offered ritual season’s greetings and people began departing.

  ‘Can we wait a few minutes?’ said Rosie, who seemed to have partially recovered.

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  Within five minutes, everyone had left, including Gene and Lydia. There was only David Borenstein, his assistant and us.

  ‘Would you mind showing the video of Don again?’ Rosie asked the Dean.

  ‘I’m packing up,’ said his assistant. ‘You can have the DVD, if you want.’

  ‘I thought it was the right touch to finish on at this time of year,’ said the Dean. ‘The soft side of the hard man of science. I suppose you know it well,’ he said to Rosie.

  We took the subway to what had been our home. Rosie did not speak. It was only 7.09 p.m. and I wondered whether I should try again to persuade her to participate in the memorable experiences I had planned. But I was enjoying holding her hand on our last night together and thought it advisable not to do anything that might change the situation. I was carrying the Dean’s present in my other hand, so Rosie had to open the door to our apartment.

  Gene was waiting with a magnum of champagne and multiple glasses—because we had multiple guests. More precisely, he had seven glasses. He filled them and distributed six of them to me, Rosie (in violation of pregnancy rules), Lydia, Dave, George and himself.

  I had several questions, including the reason for the presence of Dave and George, but started with the most obvious.

  ‘Who’s the seventh glass for?’

  The question was answered by a very tall, strongly built male, approximately sixty years old, walking in from the balcony, where I guessed he had been smoking a cigarette. It was 34—Phil, Rosie’s father, who was supposed to be in Australia.

  Rosie squeezed my hand very tightly, as though to earn some hand-holding credits, then let go and ran over to Phil. As did I. My brain was taken over by a flood of sympathy for his distress on the night his wife had been killed. It was doubtless the result of the Phil Empathy Exercise and the resultant nightmares, and was so powerful that it overwhelmed my distaste for physical contact. I reached Phil approximately a second before Rosie did and threw my arms around him.

  He was predictably surprised. I expect everyone was surprised. After a few seconds, with his encouragement, I let go. I remembered his promise to come over and beat the shit out of me if I screwed up. Obviously I had fulfilled that condition.

  ‘What have you two done?’ he said. He didn’t wait for an answer, but took Rosie out to the balcony. I hoped the surprise had not motivated her to have a cigarette.

  ‘He was waiting here when we got back,’ said Gene. ‘Camped outside the door with a carry-on bag.’

  Not everyone was as vigilant as I was in preventing the entry of unauthorised visitors, though of course I would have recognised Phil and allowed him access.

  ‘Did he explain why he came?’ I asked.

  ‘Did he need to?’ said Gene.

  I remembered that Phil did not drink alcohol, and quickly drank his glass to avoid embarrassment.

  Gene explained that he had summoned Dave and George so they could collectively give me a present. From its size and shape I deduced that it was probably a DVD. It would be my only DVD, as I source my video material through downloads. I wondered if Lydia had been involved in making an environmentally irresponsible choice.

  When Rosie and Phil returned, I opened the Dean’s present. It was a humorous book on fatherhood. I put it down without saying anything.

  Gene, Dave and George’s present was a video recording of It’s a Wonderful Life, which they advised me was a traditional Christmas movie. It seemed an unimaginative choice for three of my closest friends, but I was conscious that choosing gifts was extremely difficult. Sonia had suggested purchasing Rosie high-quality decorative underwear for Christmas, noting that gifts of this kind were traditional in the early years of marriage. It was a brilliant idea, and had allowed me to replace the items damaged in the Laundry Incident, but the process of matching the stock at Victoria’s Secret with Rosie’s purple-dyed originals had been awkward. The gift was still in my office.

  ‘So,’ said Gene, ‘we’re going to drink champagne and watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Peace on earth and goodwill.’

  ‘We don’t own a television,’ I said.

  ‘At my place,’ said George.

  We all went upstairs.

  ‘Metaphors are not Don’s strength,’ Gene said as George loaded the DVD. ‘So, Don, we bought you this film because you bear some resemblance to George.’

  I looked at George. It was an odd comparison. What did I have in common with a former rock star?

  Gene laughed. ‘There’s a George in the movie. James Stewart. He does a lot for his friends. Allow me to testify first. When my marriage was beyond saving, Don was the last to give up on it. He gave me somewhere to live even though Rosie had every reason to make that a hard decision for him. He was a mentor for my son and daughter and’—Gene took a breath and looked at Lydia—‘he set me straight when I screwed up. Not for the first time.’

  Gene sat down and Dave stood up. ‘Don saved my baby and my marriage and my business. Sonia’s going to take over the administration. So I’ll have some time with her and with Rosie. Our baby.’

  Rosie looked at me and then back at Dave, and then at me again. She had not been informed of the choice of name.

  George stood up. ‘Don…’ He was overcome by emotion and could not continue.

  George attempted to hug me, and probably found me unresponsive. Gene took over. ‘Rosie and I were there on the night that Don decided that the most important thing in his life could wait while he looked after someone else. For the rest of you, Don has the event on video.’

  I was feeling embarrassed. I am adept at problem-solving, but only in the practical sense. Solutions such as suggesting that an accountant could contribute to her husband’s business or recommending a change of personnel in a rock band were deserving of credit, but not such an emotional response.

  Then Lydia—Lydia—stood up. ‘Thank you for letting me be a part of this. Can I just say that Don’s example has helped me overcome a…prejudice. Thank you, Don.’

  Lydia’s testimony was a little less emotional, which was a relief. I was surprised that my arguments had persuaded her of the acceptability of eating unsustainable seafood.

  Everyone looked at Phil for a few seconds, but he said nothing.

  George started playing the movie, then all four of the Dead Kings, including the Prince, arrived. George the Third drew everyone beers and was about to start the movie again when the Eslers buzzed, followed shortly afterwards by Inge. Gene and Rosie had made phone calls. Lydia and Judy Esler went out on the balc
ony and were gone for some time.

  It seemed appropriate that I should invite my remaining local friends. I called the Dean and Belinda—B3—and within an hour we had the entire B Team as well as the Borensteins. George drew more beers and, for the first time, his apartment actually resembled a functioning English pub. He seemed extremely happy in his role as host. Rosie had resumed holding my hand.

  The story of the James Stewart character’s struggles and near suicide was interesting and highly effective at manipulating emotions. It was the first time I had cried at a movie, but I was aware that others were having the same response. I was also experiencing emotional overload due to Rosie’s proximity, the endorsement of the most important people in my life and the pain of my marriage ending. Rosie was going to leave an awful hole.

  She had to explain at the end of the movie that she had changed her mind.

  39

  Rosie and I had the best Christmas ever. We were on the plane from Los Angeles to Melbourne and crossed the International Date Line, thus virtually eliminating the day that had given me so much stress in the past. We were further upgraded to first class and the cabin was only half-full. The stewards were incredibly friendly. Rosie and I talked about Christmases of the past, which had been painful to her also, due to the absence of her mother as a result of death. Phil’s family and her mother’s relatives were good people but annoyingly intrusive. I could relate to this.

  We talked about our plans. Rosie had accepted my theory of three relationships and was willing to trial my approach to the division of responsibilities. My performance with the lesbian mothers’ baby had given her reassurance that I would be able to relate emotionally to Bud. I warned her that it might take some time.

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I guess I was worried that you would somehow mess up my relationship with him or her.’

  ‘You should have just said so. I’m good at solving problems and following instructions. I would have done whatever was necessary to preserve our relationship.’ The responsibility I had volunteered for aligned with my instincts in the same way that Rosie’s giving priority to the baby aligned with hers.

  Rosie would defer her decision about continuing at Columbia for a few months. This seemed sensible.

  Phil decided to stay in New York for Christmas, sharing our apartment with Gene, as well as Carl and Eugenie, who were due to join their father for January. He was extremely happy about everything—seeing Rosie, the Bud situation, and Rosie and me being together—but recognised that we would enjoy some time in his house alone in Melbourne to recover from jet lag and acclimatise to summer.

  Nobody else knew we were coming, so we had eight days together without interruption. It was incredible! The enjoyment of interacting with Rosie was amplified by the realisation that I had almost lost her.

  Phil’s house in suburban Melbourne had broadband-internet facilities, and that was all I needed to communicate with Inge and the B Team and continue writing up the two projects.

  Phil returned on 10 January. All relatives wanted us to stay in Melbourne for the birth, and David Borenstein supported the decision. Rosie had already cancelled her US arrangements and booked at a Melbourne hospital after deciding to leave me, so it was less disruptive to plans overall.

  We spent three days at my family home in Shepparton. The stress of interaction was alleviated by the debriefing of the Soundproof Crib Project with my father. We talked for hours beyond bedtime without the support of alcohol. My father had solved some practical problems with the use of the materials, and the Korean research team was negotiating the rights to the improvements and my father’s ongoing participation. It was unlikely my father would become rich but, in a scenario reminiscent of the passing of the batons, he would need to hand the hardware store responsibilities to my brother Trevor. My brother was extremely pleased with this development. I wondered if one day I would hand over something of my life to Bud.

  To my surprise, and in contradiction to predictions from Gene, my mother and Rosie got on well and seemed to have a great deal in common.

  Our baby emerged without problems (other than the expected discomfort of birth, which my reading had prepared me for) at 2.04 a.m. on 14 February, the second anniversary of our first date, the Jacket Incident and the Balcony Dinner. Everyone noted that it was Valentine’s Day, which explained why I had encountered difficulty in reserving a table at a prestigious restaurant two years earlier.

  The birth process would have been fascinating to watch, but I followed Gene’s advice to ‘stay at the head end’ and provide emotional support rather than observe as a scientist. Rosie was extremely happy with the outcome, and I was surprised to find that I had an immediate emotional reaction myself, though not as strong as when Rosie had decided to rejoin our relationship.

  The baby’s gender is male, and accordingly we have given it a conventional male name. There was some debate.

  ‘We can’t call him “Bud”. It’s a nickname. An American nickname.’

  ‘American culture is pervasive. Bud Tingwell was Australian.’

  ‘Who’s Bud Tingwell?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Famous Australian actor. He was in Malcolm and The Last Bottle.’

  ‘Name one scientist called Bud.’

  ‘Our son may not be a scientist. Abbott from Abbott and Costello was Bud. Bud Powell was one of jazz’s most important pianists. Bud Harrelson was an All-Star shortstop.’

  ‘With the Yankees?’

  ‘The Mets.’

  ‘You want to name him after a Mets player?’

  ‘Bud Cort was Harold in Harold and Maude. Bud Freeman. Another influential jazz player. A saxophonist. Plus numerous Buddys.’

  ‘You’ve looked it up, haven’t you? You don’t know anything about jazz.’

  ‘Of course. So I would have a convincing argument for retaining the name. It seems odd to change someone’s name because of a single event in their lives. You didn’t change your name when we got married.’

  ‘We’re talking about his birth. Anyway, it stands for Baby Under Development. First: he’s not under development any more, he’s an actual baby, and second: he won’t always be a baby.’

  ‘Unfortunately Hud isn’t a name.’

  ‘Hud?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Human Under Development.’

  ‘It’s the name of a prophet. An Islamic prophet. You’re not the only one who knows stuff.’

  ‘Unacceptable. Blatant connection to a religion is inappropriate.’

  ‘Short for Hudson, maybe.’

  I considered Rosie’s suggestion for a few moments.

  ‘Perfect solution. Concatenation of Human Under Development and Son. Connection to New York, the place of conception, via the river and the associated explorer. Australian usage with connection to the Terrorist Incident which saved our relationship.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hudson Fysh was the founder of Qantas. Common knowledge from the airline magazine.’

  ‘And Peter Hudson, the footballer, was Phil’s hero. One little problem. Remember what it stands for. Under Development. He’s a full human now. Actually, it makes him sound like the son of a human u
nder development.’

  ‘Correct. Humans should be permanently under development.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘Hudson’s father, in particular.’

  ‘Since you nominated only one problem, and it has been dismissed, I assume that he is now named Hudson.’

  ‘Hard to argue with your logic. As always.’

  Another joint task successfully completed. I gave Hudson back to Rosie to feed. I needed to schedule Phil to babysit so that Rosie and I could commence tango lessons.

  Acknowledgements

  The Rosie Project concluded with a long and probably incomplete list of acknowledgements, reflecting its five-year journey from concept to publication. I was learning to write at the same time, and many people helped me with general advice and encouragement as well as specific suggestions about the manuscript.

  Thanks in good measure to the help I received from them, I approached The Rosie Effect with a clearer idea of what I was doing, and wrote the first draft with significant input from only two people. My wife, Anne Buist, to whom the book is dedicated, brought a writer’s understanding of story as well as her expertise as a professor of psychiatry to the table (usually it was a table with a bottle of wine open). She takes no responsibility for Gene’s views on attachment theory. My friend Rod, who, with his wife Lynette, was the inspiration for and dedicatee of The Rosie Project, was my other sounding board. Our conversations as we jogged beside Melbourne’s Yarra River inspired the soundproof crib, the Bluefin Tuna Incident and the Antenatal Uproar.

  I was unusually fortunate in the editing process: in addition to Michael Heyward and Rebecca Starford at Text Publishing, several of my international publishers provided me with detailed notes: Cordelia Borchardt at S. Fischer Verlag; Maxine Hitchcock at Michael Joseph; Jennifer Lambert at HarperCollins Canada; Marysue Rucci at Simon & Schuster; and Giuseppe Strazzeri at Longanesi.