i went back to my office and changed from my gregory peckcostume into my new trousers and jacket. then i made aphone call. the receptionist was not prepared to make anappointment for a personal matter, so i booked a fitnessevaluation with phil jarman, rosie’s father in air quotes, for4.00 p.m.

as i got up to leave, the dean knocked and walked in. shesignalled for me to follow her. this was not part of my plan,but today was an appropriate day to close this phase of myprofessional life.

we went down in the lift and then across the campus to heroffice, not speaking. it seemed that our conversation needed totake place in a formal setting. i felt uncomfortable, which was arational response to the almost-certain prospect of beingdismissed from a tenured position at a prestigious university forprofessional misconduct. but i had expected this and myfeelings came from a different source. the scenario triggered amemory from my first week at high school, of being sent tothe headmaster’s office as a result of allegedly inappropriatebehaviour. the purported misconduct involved a rigorousquestioning252/290of our religious education teacher. in retrospect, i understoodthat she was a well-meaning person, but she used her positionof power over an eleven-year-old to cause me considerabledistress.

the headmaster was, in fact, reasonably sympathetic, butwarned me that i needed to show ‘respect’. but he was toolate: as i walked to his office i had made the decision that itwas pointless to try to fit in. i would be the class clown forthe next six years.

i have thought about this event often. at the time my decisionfelt like a rational response based on my assessment of thenew environment, but in retrospect i understood that i wasdriven by anger at the power structure that suppressed myarguments.

now as i walked to the dean’s office another thought occurredto me. what if my teacher had been a brilliant theologian,equipped with two thousand years of well-articulated christianthinking? she would have had more compelling arguments thanan eleven-year-old. would i have then been satisfied? i suspectnot. as a scientist, with an allegiance to scientific thinking, iwould have had a deep-seated feeling that i was being, asrosie would say, bullshitted. was that how faith healer hadfelt?

had the flounder demonstration been an instance of bullying asheinous as the one committed by my religious educationteacher, even though i was right?

as we entered the dean’s office for what i expected to be thelast time, i took notice of her full name on the door, and aminor confusion was resolved. professor charlotte lawrence. ihad never thought of her as ‘charlie’, but presumably simonlefebvre did.

we entered her office and sat down. ‘i see we’re in our jobinterview clothes,’ she said. ‘i’m sorry you didn’t see fit tograce us with them during your time here.’

i did not respond.

‘so. no report. no explanation?’

253/290again, i could not think of anything appropriate to say.

simon lefebvre appeared at the door. obviously this had beenplanned. the dean – charlie – waved him in.

‘you can save time by explaining to simon and me together.’

lefebvre was carrying the documents that i had given him.

at that point, the dean’s personal assistant, regina, who is notobjectified by having the words ‘the beautiful’ included in hername, entered the room.

‘sorry to bother you, professor,’ she said, ambiguously, as wewere all professors, for the next few minutes at least, but thecontext made it clear she was addressing the dean. ‘i’ve got aproblem with your booking at le gavroche. they seem to havetaken you off the vip list.’

the dean’s face registered annoyance but she waved reginaaway.

simon lefebvre smiled at me. ‘you could’ve just sent me this,’

he said, referring to the documents. ‘no need for theidiot-savant impression. which i have to concede was beautifullydone. as is the proposal.

we’ll need to run it by the ethics guys, but it’s exactly whatwe’re looking for. genetics and medicine, topic’s current, we’llboth get publicity.’

i attempted to analyse the dean’s expression. it was beyondmy current skill set.

‘so congratulations, charlie,’ said simon. ‘you’ve got your jointresearch project. the medical research institute is prepared toput in four mill, which is more than the budget actuallyspecifies, so you’re set to go.’

i presumed he meant four million dollars.

he pointed to me. ‘hang on to this one, charlie. he’s a darkhorse.

and i need him to be part of the project.’

i got my first real return on my investment in improved socialskills.

i had worked out what was going on. i did not ask a sillyquestion. i did not put the dean in a position of untenableembarrassment where254/290she might work against her own interests. i just nodded andwalked back to my office.

phil jarman had blue eyes. i knew this but it was the firstthing i noticed. he was in his mid-fifties, about ten centimetrestaller than me, powerfully built and extremely fit-looking. wewere standing in front of the reception desk at jarman’s gym.

on the wall were newspaper cuttings and photos of a youngerphil playing football. if i had been a medical student withoutadvanced martial-arts skills, i would have thought carefullybefore having sex with this man’s girlfriend. perhaps this wasthe simple reason that phil had never been informed of theidentity of rosie’s father.

‘get the prof some gear and get his signature on a waiverform.’

the woman behind the counter seemed puzzled.

‘it’s just an assessment.’

‘new procedure starts today,’ said phil.

‘i don’t require an assessment,’ i began, but phil seemed tohave fixed ideas.

‘you booked one,’ he said. ‘sixty-five bucks. let’s get you someboxing gloves.’

i wondered if he realised that he had called me ‘prof’.

presumably rosie had been right, and he had seen thedancing picture. i had not bothered to disguise my name. butat least i knew that he knew who i was. did he know that iknew that he knew who i was? i was getting quite good atsocial subtleties.

i changed into a singlet and shorts, which smelled freshlylaundered, and we put on boxing gloves. i had only done theoccasional boxing workout, but i was not afraid of getting hurt.

i had good defensive techniques if necessary. i was moreinterested in talking.

‘let’s see you hit me,’ said phil.

i threw some gentle punches which phil blocked.

255/290‘come on,’ he said. ‘try to hurt me.’

he asked for it.

‘your stepdaughter is trying to locate her real father becauseshe’s dissatisfied with you.’

phil dropped his guard. very poor form. i could have landed apunch unimpeded if we were in a real bout.

‘stepdaughter?’ he said. ‘that’s what she’s calling herself? that’swhy you’re here?’

he threw a hard punch and i had to use a proper block toavoid being hit. he recognised it and tried a hook. i blockedthat too and coun-terpunched. he avoided it nicely.

‘since it’s unlikely she’ll succeed, we need to fix the problemwith you.’

phil threw a straight hard one at my head. i blocked andstepped away.

‘with me?’ he said. ‘with phil jarman? who built his ownbusiness from nothing, who bench-presses a hundred andforty-five kilos, who plenty of women still think is a better dealthan some doctor or lawyer? or egghead?’

he threw a combination and i attacked back. i thought therewas a high probability that i could take him down, but ineeded to continue the conversation.

‘it’s none of your business but i was on the school council,coached the senior football team –’

‘obviously these achievements were insufficient,’ i said. ‘perhapsrosie requires something in addition to personal excellence.’ ina moment of clarity, i realised what that something might be inmy own case. was all my work in self-improvement in vain?

was i going to end up like phil, trying to win rosie’s love butregarded with contempt?

256/290fighting and contemplation are not compatible. phil’s punchtook me in the solar plexus. i managed to step back andreduce the force, but went down. phil stood over me, angry.

‘maybe one day she’ll know everything. maybe that’ll help,maybe it won’t.’ he shook his head hard, as though he wasthe one who had taken a punch. ‘did i ever call myself herstepfather? ask her that. i’ve got no other children, no wife. idid all the things – i read to her, got up in the night, tookher horseriding. after her mother was gone, i couldn’t do athing right.’

i sat up and shouted. i was angry too. ‘you failed to take herto disneyland. you lied to her.’

i scissored his legs, bringing him down. he didn’t fallcompetently, and hit the floor hard. we struggled and i pinnedhim. his nose was bleeding badly and there was blood all overmy singlet.

‘disneyland!’ said phil. ‘she was ten!’

‘she told everyone at school. it’s still a major problem.’

he tried to break free, but i managed to hold him, despite theim-pediment of the boxing gloves.

‘you want to know when i told her i’d take her todisneyland? one time. once. you know when? at her mother’sfuneral. i was in a wheelchair. i was in rehab for eightmonths.’

it was a very reasonable explanation. i wished rosie hadprovided this background information prior to me holding herstepfather’s head on the floor with blood pouring from hisnose. i explained to phil that at my sister’s funeral i made anirrational promise to donate to a hos-pice when the moneywould have been better applied to research. he seemed tounderstand.

‘i bought her a jewellery box. she’d been on her mother’scase forever to buy it. i thought she’d forgotten aboutdisneyland when i came out of rehab.’

‘predicting the impact of actions on other people is difficult.’

257/290‘amen to that,’ said phil. ‘can we get up?’

his nose was still bleeding and was probably broken, so it wasa reasonable request. but i was not prepared to let him goyet.

‘not until we solve the problem.’

it had been a very full day but the most critical task was stillahead. i examined myself in the mirror. the new glasses, vastlylighter, and the revised hair shape made a bigger differencethan the clothes.

i put the important envelope in my jacket pocket and the smallbox in my trouser pocket. as i phoned for a taxi, i looked atmy whiteboard. the schedule, now written in erasable marker,was a sea of red writing – my code for the rosie project. itold myself that the changes it had produced were worthwhile,even if tonight i failed to achieve the final objective.