Post by Jack Trove on Dec 29, 2007 16:08:37 GMT
Sir Daniel Trove, husband of Shirley Trove (nee. Hal) and father of Malcolm Trove and Jack Trove, was a billionaire.
How? Well, there wasn’t much to it.
Born to the upper-middle class, Daniel rose like a bullet through school and university. He wasn’t the brightest of students, no, but he was great in sports, and got the scholarship he needed to get into Oxford University of all places! From then on, it was easy. He networked- with his good looks, sport record, and a pretty girl on his arm at every party; he was able to charm anything out of anyone. No doubt there were dirty deals going on behind the scenes too, but Jack didn’t know much about those. So by the time Daniel Trove was 25, he had made himself.
He was the head of a major network of banks; controlling finances for thousands of influential companies across the world. Eventually, he married one of those pretty girls, Shirley Hal; though he was 39 at the time, and her 21. Still, they married, and now have two sons, one 20, the other 16.
The other being Jack.
Now, they had a mansion- the ol’ Trove place, as the kids now call it. It was absolutely massive- five floors- and of simple structure; decorated with pillars that ran the length of the balconies. In the drive, a good four limos sat; each a different colour- black, white, pink for Shirley and a charcoal grey. Behind the limos, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Mini and a motorbike hid away in a well-kept garage. They cars alternated use between the family members- though usually, the sons took the bike and the Porsche, the father the Ferrari and the mother the Mini.
And the grounds! They sprawled wildly in all directions- spattered with forestry that stretched for 100 acres all around. The gardeners were under-paid, Jack was convinced of it. His mother liked to sit on the porch at the back of the house, over-looking the garden in the deck chair, and she would hmm and hah to herself about the ‘rogue beauty’ and the ‘deliberate destruction’ of the garden. Mostly, Mal said she just liked to hear herself speak.
And Jack was inclined to agree.
Inside, you had your basic snobby décor. You had all the fancy, useless ornaments that sat around, constantly needed to be dusted by the maids; you had your massive tiled kitchen with the mood lighting that only the cook ever saw the inside of; the ballroom (why in hell did they need a ballroom?); the bedrooms (18 in total); a bathroom for each member of the family and three extra for guests- and let’s not forgot the random tapestry room, the five lounges, the games room and the indoor pool.
For Christmas, a massive, 7 foot tree had been erected in the largest lounge; the front room of the house. Underneath it, there were four, equal piles- one pink, the other three a variation of blacks, reds and blues.
The second Jack stepped into the room, a boyish grin lit his features, and he raced towards his pile; diving for it and beginning to rip through his presents like lightning. All that old Christmas excitement you got as a kid had just exploded in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly, he was feeling a lot happier than he had all of last night.
He was home. So… didn’t that mean he should be happy? He guessed he was. Yeah, of course he was. So what if Mal was acting a little different?
Okay. A lot different. In the car, on the way up… Jack had thought maybe… maybe he was just a little drunk. That was all. Just a little drunk, or hung-over, or something. Drink just made Mal that little bit worse. Mal and Jack were awful; sort of sex on the brain 24/7- and Jack knew he pushed the boundaries. One of the things he loved so much about Olivia was that she pushed them too. It’s why they got on so well as a couple. But in the car… well, Jack had never heard Mal that bad. It unnerved him- and the laughter! That constant, cackling, cruel laughter. It was a whole new level of sick. Vanessa had woken up on Christmas Eve swearing like a trooper about her headache, and Mal sent her packing without a second glance. Jack had never seen that before either. Mal… Mal had girlfriends, sure, and a lot of them… but he’d never been so…
So…
So.
At least later that evening, when Jack had seen his mother and father, they were acting normal, though his mother’s hair was now a cheap-looking, dyed blonde. It didn’t make any sense to Jack, because it wasn’t like she didn’t have the money to get it done properly.
“I experimented in D.I.Y. is all, sweetheart,” she rasped, patting his cheek, before her pale grey eyes grew large and alarmed. “Oh no! Don’t you like it?!”
“Of course he likes it, woman,” Jack’s dad had grunted from the armchair as he set his feet up on the table. Mal’s eyes followed him carefully, and quickly and smoothly matched his casual pose. “Why else would he have noticed it?”
“Yeah,” sneered Mal, the feeble echo.
“Oh!” The poor woman’s cheeks flushed with an off-colour mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. One of her long, chipped red talons reached for a lock of the ugly yellow straw and ran through it self-consciously. “You sure it looks alright?”
“Me sure? For God’s sake, of course I’m sure! I’m always sure!”
“Always,” echoed Mal, like a little parrot.
“Jack?” Her pale eyes focused on him now.
Jack groaned inwardly, wishing he’d never said anything. “Yes, Mum.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She dug her front tooth into her lip, breaking the skin and drawing a faint dribble of blood. Feeling the wet taste of it in her mouth, she gave a little gasp of drama, and her hands flew to the cut. However, her eyes remained on her husband, waiting for his reaction.
There was none.
She excused herself soon after, moving away with her usual slump and sigh. And in her wake a faint trail of vodka and gin remained.
“Is Mum okay?” Every time Jack saw her, he felt obliged to ask. And every time, it was the exact same answer.
“She’s Mum,” Mal said, rolling his eyes at Jack. “She’s always okay.”
“Right,” Jack said blankly. “Yeah. Okay.”
“How’s the school, then?” Daniel Trove sat up now, removing his feet and rolling his shoulders; cricking his neck with a resounding crack as he now focused in on his youngest son.
“It’s really good,” Jack said stonily. “There was a dance recently... and the rugby's going well... Oh! I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“That’s nice,” his dad said softly. “Pretty girl?”
“Very.”
“That’s nice,” he repeated, sighing. “That’s nice...”
“But he hasn’t done her yet,” Mal said, now sitting up himself. He was grinning strangely at Jack; a smug, taunting smile.
His father raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between his two sons. “Jack, do you intend to… do this girl?”
Jack reddened now; unable to stop himself. It felt like a trick question- and all he could feel were Mal’s eyes bleeding into him.
“Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer,” his father said sternly. “Alright then, Jack- would you like to do this girl?”
“Her name’s Olivia.”
“Would you?”
Jack’s eyes slid from his father’s. He sat, shoulders hunched; like a ashamed, naughty schoolboy accused of scribbling dirty words all over the girl’s bathroom. But what Jack was being accused of, he couldn’t say.
“I guess so.”
“Atta’ boy,” Jack’s dad grunted, as Mal wolf-whistled in the background. “Now then… how are you going to go about achieving this goal?”
“I can get you beer, if you like,” Mal offered.
“No,” his father snapped, glaring at Mal. “Don’t you understand, Malcolm? If the boy is to learn, he’s got to do things himself. Now-” he returned to Jack- “how are you going to get this girl in bed?”
Jack’s cheeks’ red colour deepened in hue. “Mmm.”
“Words, Jack,” his father said slowly, sternly. “Words.”
“I haven’t worked out all the kinks yet, is all,” Jack said; matching his father’s slow pace. “I want it to be planned properly... before I... em... discuss it any further.”
The smallest of frowns creased his father’s forehead. He stared at Jack; blue eyes blazing into blue; before finally, Jack felt something inside him break, and he looked away.
His father sounded oddly satisfied when he next spoke. “Yes… yes, Jack. That’s a solid, careful approach. Just don’t spend too much time working on the theory, rather than the practice.”
“Yes, Dad,” Jack felt it safe to look up once more. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Think I got to where I am today by thinking?” his dad chortled now, resting his chin on his fist. “No. It’s doing, not thinking. That’s the key part. Malcolm here will tell you so. He’s become a fine young man in the past few months- he's really beginning to shoulder his share of responsibility.”
Mal’s chest puffed out slightly with pride.
“You know…” Jack’s father said thoughtfully, moving his arm and resting his head on the opposite fist. “I thought that Malcolm and you were lost causes, Jack, I really did. All that rugby. All those silly stories about getting to the World League. That or the army. Imagine! My boys in the army…” he laughed delightedly, and Mal’s cackled joined it.
“Us in the army, little brother, d’you remember that conversation?” grinned Mal, looking at Jack. “We’d have been great, though.”
“You had no place in the army,” their father cut in again, and Mal’s grin flipped.
“Yes, Dad,” he said gravely. “I know.”
“You would’ve made nothing of yourself.”
“Yes, father.”
“Poor, dying army boy- who got his brains blown out for nothing,” their father sneered, stretching. “Who joins the army, and gets rich?”
“That’s not really the point, Dad.”
Both brother and father’s eyes snapped to Jack, who felt his cheeks heat up again, but he pressed on regardless.
“I’m in the Warriors at school, Dad. So was Mal-”
“Malcolm.”
“Yeah, Malcolm. It’s just… the Warriors are like the army of Orchid, you know? And… I’m proud to be part of that-”
“You’re young,” his father said shortly. “You don’t understand yet.”
Jack pursed his lips, but made no reply…
Young.
Young.
He heard the taunts in his head like they were yesterday- the jests of his brother when they were kids. He didn’t go a day without getting told he was being a baby- being a stupid kid- being babyish, childish and selfish. Immature. Why couldn’t he grow up? Grow up, Jack.
Grow up, you big baby.
But those taunts were years ago. They meant nothing. Jack’s brother had been 11, and Jack only a child of 7. It was banter. Kid’s banter.
This was different.
Jack hated Mal’s new, patronizing grin.
This Christmas, Jack opened his presents alone.
Later, when he was passing Mal in the hallway, Mal was on his mobile; blabbing away about something stupid.
Jack held up his brand new rugby ball expectantly. “Hey, Mal, want to go have a game later?”
“What?” Mal glanced at him. “Maybe. Not now though, okay?”
“Okay,” Jack shrugged. He dropped the ball and turned on his heel, leaving to find something better to do with his time.
After all, he hadn’t really been expecting any other answer.
How? Well, there wasn’t much to it.
Born to the upper-middle class, Daniel rose like a bullet through school and university. He wasn’t the brightest of students, no, but he was great in sports, and got the scholarship he needed to get into Oxford University of all places! From then on, it was easy. He networked- with his good looks, sport record, and a pretty girl on his arm at every party; he was able to charm anything out of anyone. No doubt there were dirty deals going on behind the scenes too, but Jack didn’t know much about those. So by the time Daniel Trove was 25, he had made himself.
He was the head of a major network of banks; controlling finances for thousands of influential companies across the world. Eventually, he married one of those pretty girls, Shirley Hal; though he was 39 at the time, and her 21. Still, they married, and now have two sons, one 20, the other 16.
The other being Jack.
Now, they had a mansion- the ol’ Trove place, as the kids now call it. It was absolutely massive- five floors- and of simple structure; decorated with pillars that ran the length of the balconies. In the drive, a good four limos sat; each a different colour- black, white, pink for Shirley and a charcoal grey. Behind the limos, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Mini and a motorbike hid away in a well-kept garage. They cars alternated use between the family members- though usually, the sons took the bike and the Porsche, the father the Ferrari and the mother the Mini.
And the grounds! They sprawled wildly in all directions- spattered with forestry that stretched for 100 acres all around. The gardeners were under-paid, Jack was convinced of it. His mother liked to sit on the porch at the back of the house, over-looking the garden in the deck chair, and she would hmm and hah to herself about the ‘rogue beauty’ and the ‘deliberate destruction’ of the garden. Mostly, Mal said she just liked to hear herself speak.
And Jack was inclined to agree.
Inside, you had your basic snobby décor. You had all the fancy, useless ornaments that sat around, constantly needed to be dusted by the maids; you had your massive tiled kitchen with the mood lighting that only the cook ever saw the inside of; the ballroom (why in hell did they need a ballroom?); the bedrooms (18 in total); a bathroom for each member of the family and three extra for guests- and let’s not forgot the random tapestry room, the five lounges, the games room and the indoor pool.
For Christmas, a massive, 7 foot tree had been erected in the largest lounge; the front room of the house. Underneath it, there were four, equal piles- one pink, the other three a variation of blacks, reds and blues.
The second Jack stepped into the room, a boyish grin lit his features, and he raced towards his pile; diving for it and beginning to rip through his presents like lightning. All that old Christmas excitement you got as a kid had just exploded in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly, he was feeling a lot happier than he had all of last night.
He was home. So… didn’t that mean he should be happy? He guessed he was. Yeah, of course he was. So what if Mal was acting a little different?
Okay. A lot different. In the car, on the way up… Jack had thought maybe… maybe he was just a little drunk. That was all. Just a little drunk, or hung-over, or something. Drink just made Mal that little bit worse. Mal and Jack were awful; sort of sex on the brain 24/7- and Jack knew he pushed the boundaries. One of the things he loved so much about Olivia was that she pushed them too. It’s why they got on so well as a couple. But in the car… well, Jack had never heard Mal that bad. It unnerved him- and the laughter! That constant, cackling, cruel laughter. It was a whole new level of sick. Vanessa had woken up on Christmas Eve swearing like a trooper about her headache, and Mal sent her packing without a second glance. Jack had never seen that before either. Mal… Mal had girlfriends, sure, and a lot of them… but he’d never been so…
So…
So.
At least later that evening, when Jack had seen his mother and father, they were acting normal, though his mother’s hair was now a cheap-looking, dyed blonde. It didn’t make any sense to Jack, because it wasn’t like she didn’t have the money to get it done properly.
“I experimented in D.I.Y. is all, sweetheart,” she rasped, patting his cheek, before her pale grey eyes grew large and alarmed. “Oh no! Don’t you like it?!”
“Of course he likes it, woman,” Jack’s dad had grunted from the armchair as he set his feet up on the table. Mal’s eyes followed him carefully, and quickly and smoothly matched his casual pose. “Why else would he have noticed it?”
“Yeah,” sneered Mal, the feeble echo.
“Oh!” The poor woman’s cheeks flushed with an off-colour mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. One of her long, chipped red talons reached for a lock of the ugly yellow straw and ran through it self-consciously. “You sure it looks alright?”
“Me sure? For God’s sake, of course I’m sure! I’m always sure!”
“Always,” echoed Mal, like a little parrot.
“Jack?” Her pale eyes focused on him now.
Jack groaned inwardly, wishing he’d never said anything. “Yes, Mum.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She dug her front tooth into her lip, breaking the skin and drawing a faint dribble of blood. Feeling the wet taste of it in her mouth, she gave a little gasp of drama, and her hands flew to the cut. However, her eyes remained on her husband, waiting for his reaction.
There was none.
She excused herself soon after, moving away with her usual slump and sigh. And in her wake a faint trail of vodka and gin remained.
“Is Mum okay?” Every time Jack saw her, he felt obliged to ask. And every time, it was the exact same answer.
“She’s Mum,” Mal said, rolling his eyes at Jack. “She’s always okay.”
“Right,” Jack said blankly. “Yeah. Okay.”
“How’s the school, then?” Daniel Trove sat up now, removing his feet and rolling his shoulders; cricking his neck with a resounding crack as he now focused in on his youngest son.
“It’s really good,” Jack said stonily. “There was a dance recently... and the rugby's going well... Oh! I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“That’s nice,” his dad said softly. “Pretty girl?”
“Very.”
“That’s nice,” he repeated, sighing. “That’s nice...”
“But he hasn’t done her yet,” Mal said, now sitting up himself. He was grinning strangely at Jack; a smug, taunting smile.
His father raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between his two sons. “Jack, do you intend to… do this girl?”
Jack reddened now; unable to stop himself. It felt like a trick question- and all he could feel were Mal’s eyes bleeding into him.
“Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer,” his father said sternly. “Alright then, Jack- would you like to do this girl?”
“Her name’s Olivia.”
“Would you?”
Jack’s eyes slid from his father’s. He sat, shoulders hunched; like a ashamed, naughty schoolboy accused of scribbling dirty words all over the girl’s bathroom. But what Jack was being accused of, he couldn’t say.
“I guess so.”
“Atta’ boy,” Jack’s dad grunted, as Mal wolf-whistled in the background. “Now then… how are you going to go about achieving this goal?”
“I can get you beer, if you like,” Mal offered.
“No,” his father snapped, glaring at Mal. “Don’t you understand, Malcolm? If the boy is to learn, he’s got to do things himself. Now-” he returned to Jack- “how are you going to get this girl in bed?”
Jack’s cheeks’ red colour deepened in hue. “Mmm.”
“Words, Jack,” his father said slowly, sternly. “Words.”
“I haven’t worked out all the kinks yet, is all,” Jack said; matching his father’s slow pace. “I want it to be planned properly... before I... em... discuss it any further.”
The smallest of frowns creased his father’s forehead. He stared at Jack; blue eyes blazing into blue; before finally, Jack felt something inside him break, and he looked away.
His father sounded oddly satisfied when he next spoke. “Yes… yes, Jack. That’s a solid, careful approach. Just don’t spend too much time working on the theory, rather than the practice.”
“Yes, Dad,” Jack felt it safe to look up once more. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Think I got to where I am today by thinking?” his dad chortled now, resting his chin on his fist. “No. It’s doing, not thinking. That’s the key part. Malcolm here will tell you so. He’s become a fine young man in the past few months- he's really beginning to shoulder his share of responsibility.”
Mal’s chest puffed out slightly with pride.
“You know…” Jack’s father said thoughtfully, moving his arm and resting his head on the opposite fist. “I thought that Malcolm and you were lost causes, Jack, I really did. All that rugby. All those silly stories about getting to the World League. That or the army. Imagine! My boys in the army…” he laughed delightedly, and Mal’s cackled joined it.
“Us in the army, little brother, d’you remember that conversation?” grinned Mal, looking at Jack. “We’d have been great, though.”
“You had no place in the army,” their father cut in again, and Mal’s grin flipped.
“Yes, Dad,” he said gravely. “I know.”
“You would’ve made nothing of yourself.”
“Yes, father.”
“Poor, dying army boy- who got his brains blown out for nothing,” their father sneered, stretching. “Who joins the army, and gets rich?”
“That’s not really the point, Dad.”
Both brother and father’s eyes snapped to Jack, who felt his cheeks heat up again, but he pressed on regardless.
“I’m in the Warriors at school, Dad. So was Mal-”
“Malcolm.”
“Yeah, Malcolm. It’s just… the Warriors are like the army of Orchid, you know? And… I’m proud to be part of that-”
“You’re young,” his father said shortly. “You don’t understand yet.”
Jack pursed his lips, but made no reply…
Young.
Young.
He heard the taunts in his head like they were yesterday- the jests of his brother when they were kids. He didn’t go a day without getting told he was being a baby- being a stupid kid- being babyish, childish and selfish. Immature. Why couldn’t he grow up? Grow up, Jack.
Grow up, you big baby.
But those taunts were years ago. They meant nothing. Jack’s brother had been 11, and Jack only a child of 7. It was banter. Kid’s banter.
This was different.
Jack hated Mal’s new, patronizing grin.
This Christmas, Jack opened his presents alone.
Later, when he was passing Mal in the hallway, Mal was on his mobile; blabbing away about something stupid.
Jack held up his brand new rugby ball expectantly. “Hey, Mal, want to go have a game later?”
“What?” Mal glanced at him. “Maybe. Not now though, okay?”
“Okay,” Jack shrugged. He dropped the ball and turned on his heel, leaving to find something better to do with his time.
After all, he hadn’t really been expecting any other answer.
