And though it’s all fascinating, especially the mention of magic, I force myself not to dwell too long in one place. By late afternoon I recognise a definite pattern, adding credence to the story of the oldest recorded family. ‘It has to be it,’ I announce, sitting back on my heels, folding my arms, quietly satisfied. ‘I think I know who the sorcerer is.’
Jarrod’s head swings up. ‘What did you say?’
I flick the pages back to the first family. ‘The illegitimate half-brother used sorcery. It must’ve been something extraordinary to have passed down through those early generations. I’m guessing – ’
‘Yeah, right,’ Jarrod scoffs, interrupting me.
‘It’s all there, Jarrod. All you have to do is look.’
‘Sounds like a matter of interpretation. Didn’t you say the information in those early registers could be suspect?’
I groan. He’s impossible. Totally negative. ‘I admit the information’s a little scattered, and sure, some of it could be exaggerated, but you have to look at the book as a whole. There’s a definite trend of bad luck, disasters and deaths in the larger families. This is evidence, Jarrod. It stands for itself. All these things happened mostly to families with at least seven male births. And that first family was shrouded in sorcery. Don’t you see? This is when it must have started.’
‘So there’s been a lot of bad luck,’ Jarrod concedes. ‘But sorcery? You’re kidding, right?’ He still can’t see the reality, and goes on to add, ‘The fact that all these families are unfortunate has nothing to do with how many births are in their families, and especially doesn’t mean they’re cursed.’ He’s trying to rationalise my theory. In fact, he’s trying to rationalise everything. An annoying habit.
‘How can you say that?’ I argue. ‘Every family with seven or more male births is jinxed.’
‘That’s ridiculous. Besides, most people experience difficulties at some time or other. Especially, I would imagine, in those medieval days. Even more so the families with seven or more kids. Your family’s just so small you haven’t had the benefit of experience.’
I stare at him and even though it hurts, I try to ignore his last comment. My main concern is Jarrod’s lack of faith. Why can’t he just let himself believe? Why does he hold himself back from the obvious? ‘What would you call hard times, Jarrod? Bankruptcy? Lost limbs? Unexplained deaths? Kidnapping? Murder? It’s all there, in every family that gave birth to seven or more sons.’
Frowning, he glances across the top of my head to the window. When his eyes come back he looks uncertain. I have an inner battle to stop myself from probing his mind. Finally he shrugs and stands, apparently deciding it’s time to leave. ‘Look,’ he begins, ‘it’s an interesting theory, but it has no substance with me. My only brother is Casey. I’m the first-born, not the seventh. So try explaining that.’
Of course he’s right, and suddenly I feel so stupid. All this talk of ancient evil curses and sorcery. It’s ludicrous. At least that’s how Jarrod must see it. How he must see me. I shake my head, stand and hand him the heritage book. But I can’t meet his eyes.
‘Keep the book if you like, Dad won’t miss it for a few days. But I’d better go. Mum should have been here hours ago. She must have forgotten she said she’d pick me up. I’ll start walking.’
‘Jillian could drive you home,’ I mumble.
‘No!’ His reply is too quick. He’s obviously had enough of this insanity and can’t get away fast enough. ‘I mean,’ he mutters, ‘I don’t mind the walk. It’s not that far. Really. Downhill all the way.’
The phone rings downstairs. I’m so embarrassed I leave it to Jillian. We’re quiet for a minute, facing each other, neither knowing what to say. Downstairs I hear Jillian talking but I can’t quite make out her words. Finally, I say, ‘I’ll see you out then.’
‘Nah, don’t bother.’ He moves towards the door really quickly and bumps into Jillian.
‘That was your father, Jarrod,’ she says gently, and instantly I know something is wrong. ‘There’s been some sort of accident …’
Both our heads shoot up, Jarrod’s hits the ceiling with a bang. He rubs it unconsciously. ‘What’s happened?’ His voice is unsteady. ‘Is Dad still on the phone?’
‘Sorry, no,’ Jillian replies. ‘He was in a hurry, said for you to meet him at the hospital, where he’ll explain everything. I’ll get the car out and run you in.’