The Rosie Project (Don Tillman #1)(17)

‘Proceed.’ I was back in the world I knew.

‘Someone told me you can tell if a person’s monogamous by the size of their testicles.’

The sexual aspects of biology regularly feature in the popular press, so this was not as stupid a statement as it might appear, although it embodied a typical misconception. It occurred to me that it could be some sort of code for a sexual advance, but I decided to play safe and respond to the question literally.

‘Ridiculous,’ I said.

Rosie seemed very pleased with my answer.

‘You’re a star,’ she said. ‘I’ve just won a bet.’

I proceeded to elaborate and noted that Rosie’s expression of satisfaction faded. I guessed that she had oversimplified her question and that my more detailed explanation was in fact what she had been told.

‘There may be some correlation at the individual level, but the rule applies to species. Homo sapiens are basically monogamous, but tactically unfaithful. Males benefit from impregnating as many females as possible, but are able to support only one set of offspring. Females seek maximum-quality genes for their children plus a male to support them.’

I was just settling into the familiar role of lecturer when Rosie interrupted.

‘What about the testicles?’

‘Bigger testicles produce more semen. Monogamous species require only sufficient for their mate. Humans need extra to take advantage of random opportunities and to attack the sperm of recent intruders.’

‘Nice,’ said Rosie.

‘Not really. The behaviour evolved in the ancestral environment. The modern world requires additional rules.’

‘Yeah,’ said Rosie. ‘Like being there for your kids.’

‘Correct. But instincts are incredibly powerful.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Rosie.

I began to explain. ‘Instinct is an expression of –’

‘Rhetorical question,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve lived it. My mother went gene shopping at her medical graduation party.’

‘These behaviours are unconscious. People don’t deliberately –’

‘I get that.’

I doubted it. Non-professionals frequently misinterpret the findings of evolutionary psychology. But the story was interesting.

‘You’re saying your mother engaged in unprotected sex outside her primary relationship?’

‘With some other student,’ replied Rosie. ‘While she was dating my’ – at this point Rosie raised her hands and made a downwards movement, twice, with the index and middle fingers of both hands – ‘father. My real dad’s a doctor. I just don’t know which one. Really, really pisses me off.’

I was fascinated by the hand movements and silent for a while as I tried to work them out. Were they a sign of distress at not knowing who her father was? If so, it was not one I was familiar with. And why had she chosen to punctuate her speech at that point … of course! Punctuation!

‘Quotation marks,’ I said aloud as the idea hit me.

‘What?’

‘You made quotation marks around “father” to draw attention to the fact that the word should not be interpreted in the usual way. Very clever.’

‘Well, there you go,’ she said. ‘And there I was thinking you were reflecting on my minor problem with my whole f*cking life. And might have something intelligent to say.’

I corrected her. ‘It’s not a minor problem at all!’ I pointed my finger in the air to indicate an exclamation mark. ‘You should insist on being informed.’ I stabbed the same finger to indicate a full stop. This was quite fun.

‘My mother’s dead. She died in a car accident when I was ten. She never told anyone who my father was – not even Phil.’

‘Phil?’ I couldn’t think of how to indicate a question mark, and decided to drop the game temporarily. This was no time for experimentation.

‘My’ – hands up, fingers wiggled – ‘father. Who’d go ape-shit if I told him I wanted to know.’

Rosie drank the remaining wine in her glass and refilled it. The second half-bottle was now empty. Her story was sad, but not uncommon. Although my parents continued to make routine, ritual contact, it was my assessment that they had lost interest in me some years ago. Their duty had been completed when I was able to support myself. Her situation was somewhat different, however, as it involved a stepfather. I offered a genetic interpretation.

‘His behaviour is completely predictable. You don’t have his genes. Male lions kill the cubs from previous matings when they take over a pride.’

‘Thanks for that information.’

‘I can recommend some further reading if you are interested. You seem quite intelligent for a barmaid.’

‘The compliments just keep on coming.’

It seemed I was doing well, and I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction, which I shared with Rosie.

‘Excellent. I’m not proficient at dating. There are so many rules to remember.’

‘You’re doing okay,’ she said. ‘Except for staring at my boobs.’

This was disappointing feedback. Rosie’s dress was quite revealing, but I had been working hard to maintain eye contact.

‘I was just examining your pendant,’ I said. ‘It’s extremely interesting.’