‘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.

I took Inge to the lab, without Gene, and introduced her to the alcoholic mice—collectively rather than individually. It is unwise to form attachments to individual mice. Given her attractiveness and nationality, I thought it important to offer a subtle warning. The mice provided an opportunity.

‘Basically, they get drunk, have sex and die. Gene’s life is similar except for his duties as a professor. He may also have some incurable sexually transmissible disease.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Gene is extremely dangerous and should be avoided socially.’

‘He didn’t seem dangerous to me. He seemed very nice.’ Inge was smiling.

‘That’s why he’s dangerous. If he seemed dangerous, he would be less dangerous.’

‘I think he’s lonely here in New York. He told me he’s just arrived. We are in similar situations. There is no rule against me having a drink with him this evening, is there?’

12

Rosie arrived home before Gene, which gave me the opportunity to screen her for depression. She kissed me on the cheek then took her bag into her study. I followed.

‘How was your week?’ I asked.

‘My week? It’s only Thursday. My day has been okay. Stefan emailed me a tutorial about multiple-regression analysis. Made heaps more sense than the textbook.’

Stefan had been one of Rosie’s fellow PhD students in Melbourne. He had a careless attitude to shaving and had accompanied her to the faculty ball before Rosie and I became a couple. I found him irritating. But the immediate problem was to situate our discussion in the timeframe specified by the EPDS.

‘A single day is a poor indication of your overall happiness. Days vary. A week is a more useful indicator. It’s conventional to say “How was your day?” but more useful to say “How was your week?” We should adopt a new convention.’

Rosie smiled. ‘You could ask me how my day was every day, and then average it out.’

‘Excellent idea. But I need a starting point. So, just for today, how have things been since this time last Thursday? Have things been getting on top of you?’

‘Since you ask—a bit. I’m feeling like crap in the morning. I’m behind with the thesis; there’s Gene; I’ve got the counsellor on my case—I think she’s being wound up by David Borenstein; I’ve got to organise an OBGYN; and the other night I felt that you were sort of putting pressure on me to think about stuff that’s months away. It’s pretty overwhelming.’

I ignored the elaboration that followed the basic quantification: a bit. Not very much.

‘Would you say you’re not coping as well as usual?’