‘Don’s not so easy to shut down. As I think you’ll discover.’

‘You know this is an all-women project? With substantial finance from the Women Working for Women Foundation?’

‘Was an all-women project,’ said the Dean. ‘Don, as you can see, changes the picture. I believe the funding is contingent on the College of Physicians and Surgeons approving the research design and the analysis. I can’t imagine there were any gender restrictions placed on our nominee. I’m sure that would have been considered most inappropriate. I want Don to do whatever he needs to do to ensure the work is scientifically bulletproof. Which is in everybody’s interest.’

‘Is he approved for working with children?’ said B1.

‘Aren’t their mothers with them all the time?’

‘I’m assuming the answer is no. He’ll need a clearance. Which I imagine will take some time.’

B1 looked at me for approximately seven seconds.

‘What do you think of two women raising a child?’

In a scientific setting, I considered her question equivalent to asking, ‘What do you think of potassium?’

‘I don’t have any relevant knowledge. It’s outside my field.’

She turned to the Dean. ‘You didn’t think some appreciation of family models was relevant?’

‘I’d have thought your team had that well covered. I chose Don because he’ll offer something you might have a need for.’

‘And that would be?’ The question was addressed to me.

‘Scientific rigour,’ I said.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well, we can certainly use that, just being psychologists and all.’ She examined me again. Another seven seconds. ‘Do you have any gay friends?’

I was about to tell her that I didn’t, as a result of having only seven friends, including George, rather than because of any prejudice about sexual orientation, but the Dean interrupted. ‘I’ll leave you to your networking. I’ll organise a police clearance for Don. I can’t imagine any problems.’

The Lesbian Mothers Project was vastly more interesting than the genetic factors influencing vulnerability to cirrhosis of the liver in mice, which had been the focus of my research for the past six years. The stimulus for it was an Israeli study that had observed different responses to male and female parents. Babies’ oxytocin levels rose during cuddling by the mother but not by the father, and during active play with the father but not with the mother. Very interesting. But it appeared that the motivation for the project was a newspaper article titled Research Proves Kids Need a Mom and a Dad. Someone had written the word crap in red beside the article. It was an excellent start. Scientists need to cultivate a suspicious attitude to research.

My reading of the original paper provided no indication that the research was crap. The newspaper article offered a typically inexact interpretation, but its broad argument that fathers and mothers had different impacts on babies was supported by the published results.

The original study had involved only heterosexual couples. The B Team would examine lesbian couples. Their hypothesis was that the secondary carer playing with the child would cause the same oxytocin response as the father.

It all seemed straightforward, and I wondered why the Dean had bothered to involve me. But observing the actual research would provide the perfect background for fatherhood, provided I considered myself equivalent to a lesbian secondary carer. The research itself would clarify whether that identification was valid.

The only problem was the police check, which the Dean was arranging. To the risk of prosecution and deportation, I could now add a third consequence of professional disgrace if Lydia gave me an adverse report.

I assumed Rosie would be interested in the Lesbian Mothers Project and impressed that I was acquiring knowledge of babies and parenting. After a week of intense familiarisation, time-shared with ongoing reading on obstetrics, I was ready to discuss it with some authority.

I planned to introduce the topic at dinner. Rosie was now spending so much time on her medical study and thesis that meals and morning subway rides were becoming our only time together, with the exception of bed.

Gene and I had drunk half the bottle of wine before Rosie joined us at the table. She had a glass in her hand.

‘Sorry guys, had to finish what I was doing or I’d have lost the thread.’ She poured a half-glass of wine for herself. ‘I need an hour of being human.’

‘I’ve just started a new research project,’ I said. ‘The basis is a paper by—’

‘Don, can we not talk genetics right now? I just need to chill for a bit.’

‘It’s not genetics. It’s psychology.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’ve been added to a psychology research team to provide scientific rigour.’

‘Because the psychologists aren’t up to it?’ said Rosie.

Gene had screwed his face up and was making small but rapid shaking movements of his head.

‘Correct,’ I said.

‘Great,’ said Rosie. ‘I should be getting some rigour into my thesis instead of wasting time drinking wine with my husband and my supervisor.’

She took her glass into her study.

‘You’re invading her territory, Don. Not for the first time,’ said Gene after Rosie closed the door.

‘How can we have interesting discussions if we don’t identify common domains?’