The Rosie Result

by Graeme Simsion

  ‘He’s had a meltdown?’

  ‘No. It seems he brought a knife to school. And killed a bird. It’s not entirely clear. But I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that this sort of behaviour is well outside what we can allow.’

  It seemed incredible. Unbelievable.

  At the school, the principal’s assistant made an appointment for Rosie and me to meet with the principal the following day. She gave me the knife, which was in fact a scalpel I had purchased in anticipation of future dissections. Hudson had not asked me if he could borrow it.

  The assistant directed me to the sick bay, where Hudson appeared to have been crying. He was now so angry that he was unable to give a coherent account of events. An actual meltdown. There was no point interrogating him until he was able to control his emotions. He had made some progress on that by the time we arrived home.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, when we were seated in the kitchen.

  ‘I broke the rules and now I’m going to be expelled.’

  ‘This is definite?’

  ‘The first part is.’

  ‘We should restrict the discussion to the facts first. Table the evidence, then consider our options. Understand the problem, explore solutions.’

  ‘You’re not mad?’

  ‘Mad-angry or mad-crazy?’

  Hudson actually laughed, which suggested that he might be the one who was at least temporarily crazy. ‘As a dad, you’re pretty mad-crazy. Not to be mad-angry.’

  ‘Do I generally get mad-angry with you?’

  ‘I guess not, but I was sort of expecting it. Do you care that I might get expelled?’

  ‘Obviously. But it wouldn’t be a disaster. Like being fatally injured by a kickboxer.’ It was probably a bad example.

  ‘You remember the pigeon we dissected?’

  ‘Of course. Blanche and I dissected it. You observed.’

  Hudson nodded. ‘Same thing happened at school. I didn’t see it hit the window, but it was definitely dead. I didn’t kill it. There’s no knife mark. Proof. I bet they’ve got rid of it, so they can say there was a knife wound.’

  ‘You consider you’ve been framed?’

  ‘Someone must have dobbed. Only kids knew.’

  ‘Possibly the student who threatened to get you—the one you didn’t consider physically dangerous. He may have found a non-physical solution.’

  Hudson nodded. ‘I was going to dissect it, so it was in my locker.’

  ‘Until you got the scalpel.’

  Hudson nodded. ‘Sorry I took it.’

  ‘You didn’t ask, so you knew it was the wrong thing to do.’ I recognised my father’s voice as I spoke.

  ‘I said I was sorry.’ That was my voice of forty years earlier. I needed to update the conversation.

  ‘I thought you weren’t interested in dissection.’

  ‘I wanted to see if I could do it.’

  ‘To impress classmates and win friends?’

  ‘I just wanted to do it.’

  Rosie spoke to Hudson independently and formed a different conclusion. ‘I don’t think he was trying to prove anything to his classmates. He’s been uncomfortable about doing dissections—which I’d think would apply to ninety-nine per cent of primary-school kids. Blanche is a weird kid and you shouldn’t take her as representative of anything. I think he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t afraid of it. Without you looking over his shoulder, judging him.’

  It turned out, as it invariably does when analysing human motivation, that there were more possibilities. I had scheduled coffee with Claudia, intending to review progress on the Hudson Project. I related the events and, at her insistence, the entire history of dissection training, even though most of it had involved Blanche rather than Hudson.

  ‘Sometimes, if you want to understand a situation where things seem to have gone wrong, it’s helpful to imagine that what has happened is exactly what the person—in this case Hudson—wanted to happen.’

  ‘You’re suggesting Hudson wanted to get into trouble and possibly be expelled? It seems totally irrational, and Hudson is not generally irrational. Unless overcome by emotions.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting it’s conscious.’

  ‘Of course not. You’re a psychologist.’

  ‘Look at what’s happened. He’s demonstrated he’s prepared to do a dissection, without actually having to do it. He’s got a reason for leaving the school. And he’s got yours and Rosie’s attention: whatever else has been on your plates, for the next day or two it’s all about Hudson. Proving you love him.’

  ‘You think he might have doubts about that? Incredible. We—’

  ‘Do you ever have doubts that Rosie truly loves you? Irrational doubts?’

  ‘Excellent point. Possibility accepted.’

  ‘It seems to me that you’ve been giving a lot of encouragement to his friend, but you’ve been critical of him. Maybe that’s because you’re more concerned about his development than hers, but all he’s going to hear at his age is the criticism. And he’ll translate that as you loving him less than her.’

  Cycling home, I reflected on Claudia’s theory that we have more control over our lives than we acknowledge. Was it possible that I had subconsciously engineered my suspension from the university? That I knew my class demonstration was likely to result in disciplinary action, and that I had then walked away rather than present an excuse which I had been assured would be accepted? That I had chosen to work in a bar and spend time with Hudson rather than continue what I had been doing all my adult life?

  The more I thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed.

  34

  Rosie took emergency leave the following day to meet with the principal. She was furious when she hung up the phone after advising Judas.

  ‘So fucking predictable. First he gives me chapter and verse about why I need to be there—as if I didn’t know.’

  ‘Is there some unusual reason to be at work today?’

  ‘It’s our preliminary meeting with the funding body. Judas wanted me there as the lead researcher, obviously, but there’s also a difficult person on the committee…’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that last night. It would have been—’

  ‘Another argument for you to throw at me. I need to be at the school: it’s not negotiable. Anyway, then he switched. “We understand completely. Of course you can take whatever time you need.” We. Him and fucking Stefan. He might as well have just come out and said, “Walk out and leave us in the shit—Stefan and I will deal with it. We get that you’re a mum before you’re a researcher.”’

  ‘I thought that was exactly your reasoning. Putting motherhood ahead of work.’

  ‘You’re not being helpful.’

  ‘I’m being incredibly helpful. I offered to go alone. The offer is still in place. But you don’t trust me.’

  ‘I trust you, but I don’t trust the school not to…’

  ‘Fool me?’

  ‘Shit, Don. It’s a big deal. It needs both of us.’

  I had one argument left, an argument based on empathy. ‘If you had been Hudson’s primary carer and I had been required at work, I probably wouldn’t have considered attending.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s what Judas said.’

  Hudson had the day off—Rosie assessed that he was informally suspended—and we had dropped him at Jarman’s Gym after establishing that, with one term remaining at primary school, he did not want to change schools again: ‘I just moved class.’ He was significantly less distressed and correspondingly more rational.

  We agreed that our goal should be simple: explain that Hudson had not killed the bird, that he was motivated by scientific curiosity and that he had been tutored in dissection. Unconscious motivations were not to be raised.

  Rosie had, surprisingly, endorsed Claudia’s analysis, even to the extent that I was routinely critical of Hudson. ‘No worse than your dad was of you,’ she said. I did not regard this comparison as a compliment.

/>   We needed the school to agree that Hudson should not be subject to any undue punishment, which was unlikely to have any beneficial effect. Hudson already knew he had done wrong and was hugely regretful.

  ‘If he’d killed the bird, it’d be different,’ said Rosie, ‘but he was just repeating something he’d been taught at home. He may be doing it in a few years in the high-school science lab, right next door. And they say he’s not ready to move up. They can’t have it both ways.’

  I recommended that Rosie not project her anger towards Judas onto the principal. I thought it was an excellent insight on my part, but Rosie responded by projecting it onto me. She was calmer by the time we reached the school.

  The principal, who in the past had seemed reasonable and open to discussion and argument, was noticeably unfriendly. There was another woman present—estimated age twenty-five, BMI not estimated due to stress—whom the principal introduced as a student counsellor.

  ‘Ms Keen works with the senior school, but she helps us out in cases like this one, where we need some professional expertise. She’s a qualified psychologist.’

  ‘You’re a clinical psychologist?’ said Rosie. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘It’s Kellie. I’ve got a degree in psychology and—’

  ‘Mr and Ms Tillman. We’re not here to discuss Ms Keen’s qualifications. She’s a school counsellor and we trust her—’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Rosie, ‘but I’m Hudson’s mother and I like to know who’s assessing my child.’

  ‘Ms Tillman…’

  ‘I’m Dr Jarman or Rosie, Bronwyn. I don’t see that what happened yesterday needs a counsellor involved.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to excuse me if I disagree. Hudson brought a knife to school…’

  ‘A scalpel,’ said Rosie. ‘A scientific instrument.’

  ‘We’re not here to—’

  I interrupted in my role as good cop. ‘The term knife is sometimes used as a synonym for scalpel. As in “she went under the knife.” We understand that Hudson broke a rule, but we assume the purpose is relevant in determining the penalty. If he brought a knife to assist with eating his lunch…’

  ‘He brought it to kill an animal. Your son cold-bloodedly killed a pigeon. If he were my child, I’d be concerned. I might be pleased to have some professional help.’

  ‘Incorrect. He brought it to dissect the bird. A scientific experiment.’

  ‘Mr Tillman, I’m afraid you’re not listening. He killed a bird. Tell them what you think, Kellie.’

  ‘I understand your son might have autism. If so, killing a bird would make sense.’

  ‘You’re an expert on autism?’ I asked.

  ‘Mr Tillman, please,’ said the principal. Bronwyn. That was helpful in reducing the intimidation factor.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Kellie is correlating autism with cruelty to animals. That will inform her judgement of Hudson. I want to know the basis of that correlation.’

  ‘I’m not a scientist so I can’t give you…data,’ said Kellie. ‘But I think we all know that people with autism don’t feel empathy. Not like…people without autism. So, him not caring about how the bird would feel makes sense.’ She smiled and nodded as though she had solved an equation that she had initially considered too difficult. ‘Psychopaths would do that too. They don’t care about other people’s feelings either.’

  ‘Aren’t we missing something?’ said Rosie. ‘He didn’t kill the bird.’

  ‘I’m afraid he did,’ said Bronwyn.

  ‘You found a knife wound?’ I said.

  ‘Mr Tillman…’

  ‘It’s Professor Tillman,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Professor Tillman. This is not CSI and the bird has been disposed of. But I’m advised that Hudson killed it.’

  ‘By whom?’ said Rosie.

  ‘The child who reported it was understandably traumatised. I may well hear from…their…parents. But they were absolutely clear that they saw him kill the bird. I have no reason to disbelieve them. And everything else was consistent with that: the knife and the bird in the locker. Hudson’s story changed when he was challenged.’

  Bronwyn’s argument was compelling. But Kellie’s had a flaw.

  ‘Do you think Hudson lied?’ I said to her.

  ‘Well, it does seem that he hasn’t been open and honest…’

  ‘I thought that autistic people were incapable of deception,’ I said.

  I could see that Kellie was struggling to find an answer to my statement, which was, of course, a simplistic generalisation, consistent with her understanding of autism. But Bronwyn refused to be distracted.

  ‘Professor Tillman,’ she said. ‘Let me cut to the chase. Hudson is suspended for the final week of the term. If he wants to come back, we expect him to get an autism diagnosis—which we are prepared to concede may be negative. But you heard Kellie say what the alternative is.’

  ‘You think Hudson’s either autistic or a psychopath, is that it?’ said Rosie. ‘Because a child claims he killed a bird. Do you—both of you, in your professional roles—realise what getting that wrong might mean for an eleven-year-old? Do you have any—’

  I knew Rosie well. She would shortly insert a profanity, and the conversation would become emotional.

  ‘I think we need a time-out,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Bronwyn. ‘I chose my words poorly, and I can see that you are both trying to defend your son, as any parents would. But we’ve been having this conversation all year, not just because of one incident, and now it’s come to a head. If we don’t have a clear idea, from a professional—someone you’re prepared to trust as well—about what we’re dealing with, we can’t ask our teachers at the senior school to manage him. I think that’s fair, don’t you?’

  ‘When do you need the assessment?’ I asked.

  ‘We need to know by…no later than the end of the year. And, I’m sorry, but I have to be quite clear, if another incident like this—even slightly like this—occurs in the meantime, before we have a diagnosis, we’ll have to ask you to withdraw Hudson from the school.’

  We did not go to the bar that night, despite being scheduled to do so. Hudson had another meltdown, triggered by Rosie conveying the information that we had been unable to overturn the charge of pigeon killing. This was despite her telling him that we had not reached any conclusion ourselves, that we expected he would be able to remain at the school at least until the end of the year and that we would support him whether or not he had initially lied.

  His anger did not seem to be directed at Rosie, me, the principal or even the informant: it appeared to be with the sum of the people and events that had resulted in what he perceived as a miscarriage of justice. ‘Totally unfair.’

  Hudson was insistent that he had not killed the bird. He admitted that he may have claimed that he saw it die: he had assumed it had been killed in the manner of the bird in our yard.

  As a child, I had never killed an animal, but if I had, I was reasonably certain I would have lied to my parents, through shame at performing such an act. There had been a parallel situation when I had lost my watch through carelessness. I had to accept that Hudson might be doing the same.

  While we were talking to Hudson, I had missed a call from Allannah’s number. When I checked my messages, the voice was not Allannah’s, but the one I had heard behind me at the swimming carnival and from the top of the stairs in the shop. As in both previous instances, it was belligerent.

  ‘Gary Kilburn. We haven’t met, but you know who I am. Calling to let you know that our daughter won’t be having anything to do with your boy in future. I don’t need to explain why. I hope you get some help for him before he does what he did to that bird to a human being.’

  The following night, Rosie arrived at the bar with Hudson.

  ‘You’re not scheduled to work tonight,’ I said.

  ‘I know. Hudson wanted to talk to his friends and I need to talk to you. Maybe you too, Min
h. I might need to work here full-time.’

  ‘What happened?’ said Minh.

  ‘Judas.’

  ‘It’s always the boss who gets blamed. Rightly so.’ Minh laughed.

  ‘We had our first meeting with the funding body. Yesterday. I couldn’t go because…it doesn’t matter. A colleague went in my place. Afterwards Judas called his inside contact and apparently they loved him—the colleague.’

  ‘So? They’ll probably love you more,’ said Minh.

  ‘Judas has an issue with a woman on the selection panel. She’s the consumer representative—which means she has a mental-health history herself. Judas translates that as unstable. Stefan won her over, so why risk someone else?’

  ‘He can do that?’ I asked. ‘Put Stefan back in charge?’

  ‘He can do whatever he likes from here on in. I’m resigning tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’ said Minh. ‘Besides punishing your boss.’

  ‘It’s a good start.’

  ‘I get it. But the work you’re doing is so important.’

  ‘Which is what he’s blackmailing me with.’

  ‘Wait till you’ve got another job lined up. One day someone with bipolar disorder who would have killed themselves or maybe just not been who they could have been is going to have made it because of you. And she’s not going to care if your boss was a jerk or what your job title was or even who you are. Do the best for yourself and your dreams and the world. Forget about punishing your boss.’ Minh laughed and sipped her mojito. ‘I would say that. I’m a boss.’

  ‘Does it make you behave like a jerk?’

  She laughed. ‘Ask my staff. They’d probably tell you I’m drunk on power.’

  Lying in bed, I assessed the overall state of our lives. Three months earlier, I had been faced with a series of apparently insurmountable problems. I had, I believed, found a strategy for solving all of them, plus the unrecognised problem of not participating sufficiently in my family.

  That problem had been solved: I was seeing more of Hudson, and Rosie and I were spending time together. I had seen my father more often before his death and learned something about him and our relationship. The bar—in hindsight, the riskiest part of my solution—was a success. If it continued to grow, and I paid off my share, I could one day be making as much money as I had as a stressed and underqualified researcher. The racism charge had presumably resumed its path towards being forgotten after the setback of the newspaper article. Dave was in Australia, earning money, losing weight and regaining self-esteem.