As we start walking again I mumble half to myself, ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
‘What did you say?’
I start biting on my lower lip again, then stop myself. ‘Look, I don’t want Jillian hurt. She means everything to me. Do you understand, Jarrod?’
He nods but remains quiet.
I stare at our dusty shoes. ‘She’s more than just my grandmother. She … she loves me.’
‘I can see that,’ he says softly.
There’s more I need to say, I just don’t know how.
‘She didn’t …’
‘What is it, Kate?’
‘She didn’t abandon me, all right?’ I hope this is enough. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
It turns out Jillian isn’t home, the Crystal Forest temporarily closed, the sign reads. I take Jarrod round the back through the herb garden, under the bare wisteria vines that weave through the back verandah. Once there I hunt for the key I know is here somewhere. Jillian is mostly always home. I guess her absence now is related to her plan. She locks up only because of the valuable pieces, crystals and irreplaceable antique books and equipment in her room, not for anything she has in her shop, that’s mostly costume stuff for tourists.
At last I find the key, but Jarrod is sitting on a stone pillar at the edge of the verandah that backs on to the rainforest, watching the currawongs, bower birds and brush turkeys come to feed on the scraps Jillian put out earlier. Jillian loves the forest too. Our backyard is the forest, a place where birds know they can always find food, water and a safe haven.
He looks so comfortable, at peace with himself for a change, I don’t want to spoil the image with Jillian’s far-fetched scheme. I pull up a pinewood garden stool and sit quietly opposite him, enjoying the play of afternoon sun on the giant buttressed trees, palms, ferns and eucalyptus that make up the vast majority of forest up here.
‘You’re so lucky to have this, Kate,’ he says softly.
‘I know.’
He drags his eyes away from the array of bird life spread out before him and locks into mine. ‘Your self-assurance scares me.’
‘That’s only because you don’t have any.’
‘I admit it, I’m a gutless coward. You deserve so much better.’
This last statement surprises me. It sounds as if he’s thought about, perhaps even considered me a prospective girlfriend. I feel empathy for him, but his self-pity is still disgusting. ‘If you accepted the gift, Jarrod, your self-confidence would improve like out of this world.’
His expression changes from awe to exasperation. ‘You’re not going to start on that again, are you?’
I almost stomp my feet, the frustration is so real. ‘If only there was some way to prove it to you. I could make you angry enough to spark that temper of yours, but because you don’t know how to handle your strength, your mind triggers some sort of catatonic trance and you don’t remember very much. So there’s no point in destroying my home and Jillian’s livelihood just to prove a point you might easily brush off with one of your ridiculous explanations.’
‘We know this is a dead end conversation, Kate, so tell me Jillian’s idea.’
‘It’s crazy.’ I’m totally honest.
‘OK, so what is it?’
I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see the smirk I know will follow, so I pretend fascination in the squawking currawongs arguing over a few remaining food scraps. ‘To stop the curse from being affixed on your family in the first place.’ I flick him a quick glance. His eyes are narrow, his elbows resting on his knees. He leans forward, hanging on my every word.
‘Jillian thinks the curse has created a link so strong it surpasses time and space and matter. She thinks she can generate a spell that will physically forge you back to the time and place the curse was first created. Or near enough.’ I choose to use simple language so he will grasp the idea quickly and I won’t need to repeat myself with long explanations. I also rush this before I lose my nerve. ‘Simply put, Jillian believes she can take you back in time and place. Back to Britain during the Middle Ages, to that same spot up near the border of Scotland where the first family in your father’s heritage book lived.’
He stares at me, a funny little crooked smile playing around his lips as if he wants to ask something but wouldn’t dare in case it encourages insanity. Sometimes it’s there, and a hint of a dimple appears in one cheek to complement the hint of cleft in his chin; then it disappears as his eyes roll upwards. ‘Swing it past me again, will you?’
He doesn’t believe me. Well, what a surprise? I don’t even believe it’s possible, and I’ve witnessed Jillian do amazing things. I groan. ‘That first family listed as your ancestors is littered with controversy – deceit, abduction, illegitimacy – you name it. Even sorcery. It has to be through them the curse originated. Jillian thinks so too. She’s been studying your heritage book day and night.’