Chapter 8
EIGHT
He frowns. “Um, am I not supposed to be?”
“I… I just didn’t know you had anything to do with this place.”
“Do I know you?”
Oops. “I think you know my brother, Chris,” I fib. I don’t think Jarvis ever crossed paths with Chris in the nineties, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head.
“Chris who?”
“Morgan.”
He rubs his chin. “The name sounds kind of familiar, but I’m not sure. Anyway…” He looks at the bags I’m holding. “Are you here to donate some clothing?”
“Ah, yes.” I’m struggling to process that I’m here in 1999 talking to my future husband, and he has no idea who I am. Plus, he’s working for a charity organisation?
“Cool. You can just leave them against the wall. I’ll sort through them later.”
“Do you volunteer here?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of stuff do you do?”
“A bit of everything. Right now, I’m putting together the calendar of events for the next month. Later, I’ll go through the clothing donations. But soon, I’ll be running a drama workshop for high school kids.”
I stare at him. This version of Jarvis is so different to the one I married in two decades’ time. What happened to turn this sweet volunteer into the moody actor I know?
“Drama workshop?”
“Yeah. It’s just something I do for fun. I’m teaching basic techniques at the moment, but we’ll probably look at scheduling a play down the track.”
“Do you act?” I ask. I never really asked Jarvis about when he got started.
He’d already been working on his TV show for several years when I met him, and he was always vague about his younger years, joking that he partied so hard, large chunks of his memory disappeared. I now wonder if that was true.
“I dabble. I’ve been in a few productions of Oliver! and Guys and Dolls.”
Wait. I didn’t know Jarvis sang professionally. How am I just finding this out now?
“You sing?” I say dumbly.
He chuckles. “Do I not look like I can?”
I suddenly realise he’s being very kind to a random woman rudely grilling him about his life.
“Oh… no, it’s nothing like that. Sorry. I’m being way too invasive.” Just because I don’t like the future version of the guy, I probably shouldn’t treat this one the same way. Or should I? Are you allowed to judge someone for their future actions?
“You’re not being invasive. Would you like me to sing you something to prove my talent?”
I laugh despite myself. “No, that’s not necessary. Have you ever thought of auditioning for movies or TV work?”
“I wish. But there aren’t a lot of opportunities here on the Sunshine Coast. I’ve thought about checking out Sydney and Melbourne sometime.”
I’m not sure if Jarvis ever made it to those cities because his TV show is filmed in Brisbane.
When we first met, he was living in the city and spent all his downtime on the coast. After we married, he decided he’d rather own property near the beach, so he commuted during filming or temporarily rented an apartment if he was required to stay for an extended period of time.
Which made things more difficult when he was going through an unstable patch.
Sometimes I wondered if he really was needed for work or if he used it as an excuse to escape.
The Jarvis in front of me now furrows his brow. “Are you okay? You looked a bit out of it for a second.”
“Uh, I’m fine. Sorry. I was just thinking about the time I acted in my high school play. It was terrifying.”
I have no idea where that came from since I have never acted in a play. Why did I say that?
“But did it turn out well?”
“I guess.”
“That’s one thing I love about acting, especially when you’re live on stage. There’s no room for error, so it forces you to be completely present.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
I have to admit, it’s nice to see Jarvis so enthusiastic about his craft. I didn’t witness any of that energy in the future.
Wait. I’m not feeling positively toward the guy, am I?
I need to get out of here.
“Anyway, I’ll… I’ll just leave the bags and let you get back to your work.”
“Take your time.” He grins at me.
My heart skips a beat. Damn it. Why is he being like this?
I awkwardly pull both the bags over to the wall, where several others are already waiting.
“What’s your name?” Jarvis asks.
“Rachel.”
“I’m Jarvis. Or maybe you already knew that.” He winks.
“Well, yes, since I thought you were my brother’s friend,” I improvise.
“I don’t think I know your brother, but I’ll be sure to remember you,” he says.
Oh God.
I turn before he can see my face turning red, and I wave without looking at him. “Bye.”
I hurry out of the centre and return to my car, not driving away immediately.
Why do I feel so strange? Is it just the unexpectedness of the situation?
It’s probably that I felt guilty knowing everything about him, but I couldn’t say.
Although, it turns out I didn’t know as much as I thought.
In the future, he’s the last person I’d expect to do volunteer work.
And he never sang—even in the car when a popular song came on.
He always seemed so polished—like he could never let his guard down or show any weakness.
One thing that contributed to the end of our marriage was the way he always said he had an image to uphold, so we could never have any fun in public.
It always felt like a curated experience in case there were people watching.
And if I ever pointed out he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt in terms of recognisability, he’d get super offended.
I know it sounded a little callous, but I was trying to get him to loosen up.
Even when we went to Scotland for our honeymoon, he couldn’t relax, even though we stayed in a small town with limited fellow Australians.
But seeing him today makes me wish I’d met him earlier. He was a much more tolerable person at twenty-three.
I put on my seatbelt and am about to start the engine when Jarvis runs out of the building. He pauses and looks around. When he sees me in the car, he jogs over and makes a motion for me to wind down my window.
I nervously oblige. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I just got a call from the woman who normally helps me out with the drama workshops, and she’s unwell today.
” He pauses for a moment. “And since you sounded so interested in what I do, I was wondering if you wanted to sit in and be my assistant? It’s nothing strenuous—just stuff like putting out chairs and props and getting the refreshments ready.
The centre likes to have a woman around for the schoolgirls as well—just in case any…
female health issues might occur.” He’s awkward as he says the last part, and I can tell it must be difficult for him to ask for help.
Part of me wants to say no, because I don’t think anything good will come from me spending more time with my barely adult ex-husband, but the other part is morbidly curious.
I see him standing there patiently with a hopeful look on his face, and I finally smile.
“Sure. I’d be happy to.”