Jarrod politely replies but I can see, and feel, he’s uncomfortable. He’d rather be anywhere right now than sitting here pretending politeness.
It doesn’t take Jillian long to comprehend. Her fingers slide all the way round her glass, while her eyes lift and settle quietly on Jarrod’s frowning face. ‘I see Kate has told you my theory.’
He swallows, hard. I watch his Adam’s apple bob deeply up then down. I wonder if he can maintain the calm, polite facade much longer. ‘I don’t believe it’s possible, Jillian,’ he says.
At least he didn’t call her a crazy mad woman.
She smiles, nods her head understandingly. ‘You don’t believe in very much, do you, Jarrod?’
He takes the defensive. ‘Look, I believe Kate has certain talents. Some things are undeniable. I feel her in my head sometimes – ’
Jillian shoots me a reprimanding look. ‘Kate, you haven’t. I thought I taught you better than that.’
‘Sorry, Jillian,’ I mutter.
‘That’s intrusive, darling.’
‘I know. I don’t do it often. Really, I don’t,’ I add at her disbelieving look.
‘It’s all right, Jillian,’ Jarrod says quietly. ‘Most of the time I don’t mind. It doesn’t hurt or anything. I can block her out if I want to.’
‘Really?’ Jillian queries. ‘That’s impressive, Jarrod. Most people can’t detect she’s even there, let alone forge a block against the intrusion.’
Jarrod’s lips shut tightly. He looks annoyed, probably thinks he’s been manipulated into an admission of some sort. The water and juice in our glasses starts fizzing furiously. Jillian notices and slips me an interesting look.
‘Don’t you start too, Jillian. I’ve explained to Kate she’s on the wrong track about this gift rubbish.’
‘You don’t have to get nasty, Jarrod,’ I snap.
He stands and his chair falls backwards, hitting the timber floor with a loud crash. ‘Look, I’ve had it, OK. So forget your … your crazy plans. I’m out of here.’ He turns and rights his chair, then looks for my eyes. When he finds them he says slowly, making sure I understand the meaning behind every word, ‘I’ve gone along with your theories, Kate. Hell, I even started believing them. And now my head’s all messed up.’ He drives a hand roughly through his hair. ‘But this time travel stuff, it crosses a line with me. I want nothing to do with it. I’m leaving now, and I’m not coming back, Kate. Never!’
His words hurt. The thought of Jarrod not ever talking to me again, or coming over and doing stuff together, rips into me. He has no need for specifics, I understand what he’s telling me clearly enough: if I approach him, he will ignore me, pretend we’re strangers. I want to hate him. I want to cry. But Jillian is watching and I feel sympathy pouring out – a thing I despise. So I just say quietly while my voice is still under some form of control, ‘That’s fine with me. You know your way out.’
He turns and leaves.
The second the front door tingles shut, the water and juice in all three glasses fizzes over the sides and spills on to the tablecloth.
Kate
The next day Jarrod misses school. I don’t know what to make of this, just hope nothing else has happened. At first I try to tell myself I don’t care, but as the day progresses a dreadful sense of foreboding kicks in that no amount of mental distraction can shake. By the end of the day the feeling of impending doom is so real I can’t concentrate. I feel wasted. Even Hannah is steering clear.
Walking home I come to the fork in the road and fight the temptation to take the bitumen track to Jarrod’s. After all, I could be dead wrong and Jarrod could simply have missed school for any number of insignificant reasons. Maybe he’s got a cold, or a headache, or goodness knows what. If I turn up at his front door and nothing tragic’s happened, I will look like a complete idiot, or worse – he’ll think I’m obsessed. His message yesterday was humiliatingly clear – Stay out of my life!
So I trudge home and decide to check with Jillian to see if she’s heard anything.
She hasn’t, but says she’s been thinking of Jarrod and his family all day too, harbouring a strong sense of prophetic gloom. She tries to put it down to the unpleasant scene in the kitchen yesterday, but admits, she doesn’t often get such strong feelings.
There is nothing we can do, so Jillian finishes off the medieval garments she’s been working on, deciding to make a shop front display out of them. ‘Someone might want them for the fancy dress party coming up.’