Read Online Allergic To Time by Crystal Gables - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Crystal Gables
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asthma. I travelled through time,” he said, emphasising Martin’s least favourite phrase. “I’m, like, allergic to this time or something. It’s not bloody asthma that’s causing my problem.”
Every time Robert spoke I kept thinking I detected a slight trace of a British accent. I’d thought maybe it was just a 70s accent, but his pronunciation of ‘asthma’ caused me to turn around and ask, “Are you originally from England?”
Robert nodded and sat back in the horrible brown couch. “Yeah, I grew up there. We immigrated to Australia when I was 15.”
“How old are you now?”
“31.”
I thought about this for a moment. “In what...year where you 31?”
“1974.”
I quickly did the maths. “So you’d be 69 now.”
“Oh lord,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. “He would not. If he’s 31 now, that means he was born in 1983.” He looked pointedly at Robert, who turned to me indignant.
“I told you he didn’t believe me!”
I turned to Martin confused, “What - are you saying you still don’t believe that Robert travelled through time?”
“Of course I don’t.” Martin furrowed his brow. “You were there yesterday. I’m not sure how much clearer I could have been.”
“But I thought...I thought you just didn’t want to help the man in black. So you were pretending to disagree with him?”
Martin stared at me as though I was stupid. But then he relented slightly and nodded, glancing up at the ceiling. “Well, you’re right about that part. I’ve never wanted to help him.” His scornful gaze returned to his face. “But that doesn’t mean that I believe this idiot travelled through time.”
“Oh.” I sat back in my seat.
Martin switched his gaze back to Robert. “What happened yesterday after I left the hospital? Why aren’t you still in the ward?”
I cut in. “He tried to kill us,” I said bluntly.
“Who?” Martin switched back to me.
“The man in black of course.” I leant forward and crossed my arms, daring Martin to let that little fact sink in, to comprehend just how much danger we had been in the day before, after he’d abandoned us to go teach a class. “For your information, that’s why we came here: I was worried that he’d come after you as well-”
Martin stood up abruptly, and started to remove his dressing gown. Luckily he was clothed underneath. But I looked up at him in surprise. “What’s the matter?”
“We have to get the university,” he replied, a grave look on his face. “Right now.”
Chapter Eight.
The first thing I saw was Connie Hung staring angrily at me from the physics department student lounge.
“Ah crap,” I muttered, realising it was 8am and I had inadvertently turned up on time for our ‘study date’ (her term, not mine) without even meaning to. I felt the weight of my phone tucked in my pocket, containing a dozen texts from her that I hadn’t replied to. Maybe I could pretend that my appearance in the lounge was on purpose, for her benefit. Whereas usually, on a Tuesday morning before class, I could be found sunning myself in a cafe, not in the prehistoric cave they called the physics building. Not that there was much sun today.
“Connie!” I called out, in a fake cheery tone I barely recognised as my own voice. “So great to see you...”
“Why haven’t you replied to any of my messages?” Connie was dressed in a blue sports hoodie with “University of Sydney” emblazoned across the front. I found the design both obnoxious and hideous. Connie didn’t share my passion for on-campus style however: as she constantly reminded me ‘this is a lecture theatre, not a fashion show.’
“I had other things on my mind,” I said, glancing around behind my back to make sure Martin and Robert were still outside. Robert had made us stop for cigarettes on the way over and Martin was chaperoning him while he had a smoke. I had been supposed to come inside and make sure the coast was clear
Every time Robert spoke I kept thinking I detected a slight trace of a British accent. I’d thought maybe it was just a 70s accent, but his pronunciation of ‘asthma’ caused me to turn around and ask, “Are you originally from England?”
Robert nodded and sat back in the horrible brown couch. “Yeah, I grew up there. We immigrated to Australia when I was 15.”
“How old are you now?”
“31.”
I thought about this for a moment. “In what...year where you 31?”
“1974.”
I quickly did the maths. “So you’d be 69 now.”
“Oh lord,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. “He would not. If he’s 31 now, that means he was born in 1983.” He looked pointedly at Robert, who turned to me indignant.
“I told you he didn’t believe me!”
I turned to Martin confused, “What - are you saying you still don’t believe that Robert travelled through time?”
“Of course I don’t.” Martin furrowed his brow. “You were there yesterday. I’m not sure how much clearer I could have been.”
“But I thought...I thought you just didn’t want to help the man in black. So you were pretending to disagree with him?”
Martin stared at me as though I was stupid. But then he relented slightly and nodded, glancing up at the ceiling. “Well, you’re right about that part. I’ve never wanted to help him.” His scornful gaze returned to his face. “But that doesn’t mean that I believe this idiot travelled through time.”
“Oh.” I sat back in my seat.
Martin switched his gaze back to Robert. “What happened yesterday after I left the hospital? Why aren’t you still in the ward?”
I cut in. “He tried to kill us,” I said bluntly.
“Who?” Martin switched back to me.
“The man in black of course.” I leant forward and crossed my arms, daring Martin to let that little fact sink in, to comprehend just how much danger we had been in the day before, after he’d abandoned us to go teach a class. “For your information, that’s why we came here: I was worried that he’d come after you as well-”
Martin stood up abruptly, and started to remove his dressing gown. Luckily he was clothed underneath. But I looked up at him in surprise. “What’s the matter?”
“We have to get the university,” he replied, a grave look on his face. “Right now.”
Chapter Eight.
The first thing I saw was Connie Hung staring angrily at me from the physics department student lounge.
“Ah crap,” I muttered, realising it was 8am and I had inadvertently turned up on time for our ‘study date’ (her term, not mine) without even meaning to. I felt the weight of my phone tucked in my pocket, containing a dozen texts from her that I hadn’t replied to. Maybe I could pretend that my appearance in the lounge was on purpose, for her benefit. Whereas usually, on a Tuesday morning before class, I could be found sunning myself in a cafe, not in the prehistoric cave they called the physics building. Not that there was much sun today.
“Connie!” I called out, in a fake cheery tone I barely recognised as my own voice. “So great to see you...”
“Why haven’t you replied to any of my messages?” Connie was dressed in a blue sports hoodie with “University of Sydney” emblazoned across the front. I found the design both obnoxious and hideous. Connie didn’t share my passion for on-campus style however: as she constantly reminded me ‘this is a lecture theatre, not a fashion show.’
“I had other things on my mind,” I said, glancing around behind my back to make sure Martin and Robert were still outside. Robert had made us stop for cigarettes on the way over and Martin was chaperoning him while he had a smoke. I had been supposed to come inside and make sure the coast was clear
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