Post by Jack Trove on Jul 31, 2008 20:52:08 GMT
The house had felt empty without Kelly and the kids, but it was a good kind of empty. It was peaceful and although he missed them a bit, he couldn't help but appreciate the quiet, and appreciate being back with Miranda. Time spent together suddenly seemed to matter more; because he was returning to Orchid Hill in a fortnight. Miranda hated this- she didn't want him to go, she said, because then she'd have to talk to Jonas all the time, and she didn't like that idea.
Jonas only ever talked about his daughter, she said.
But as Jonas' daughter was a new topic to Jack, it was an endlessly fascinating one. Abigail seemed like one of those brilliant children who did everything right. She'd gotten As in everything, gone onto do medicine, and now worked as some kind of super-mum in a hospital. Her new baby was adorable, of course, and Jonas just couldn't get enough of being good ol' gramps.
Jack thought it sounded nice.
The cook, Daisy, told him upon her return to the kitchen that Monday that Miranda had put the frying pans in the wrong place, and that she was most agrieved about it. However, the cook was a melodramatic character. She loved to gossip, and she loved to exaggerate the facts- especially over a stove. She spent so many hours in the kitchen, it'd had soon become the only place she ever wanted to be. She confessed to Jack once that, if ever she found herself somewhere else in the house, she'd have no idea how to find her way about.
Jack offered to make her a map, but she declined; not wanting to be too much trouble. He made it for her anyway.
The gardener, Kevin, was especially gratified when Jack admired his orchids. He told him proudly they were the pride of his own garden back at his little cottage at home, but he'd had to line them with fencing, because the local cats kept sleeping amongst them. Kevin had a pathological fear of cats- he wanted them all to die; and with good reason. With minimal prompting from Jack, the gardener had thrown off his shirt and showed him some long, pale scars that ran the width of his back. He said he'd been attacked as a boy by a wild cat he'd tried to pet, and had never gotten over it.
Jack told him he was more of a dog person anyway, and the gardener had shaken his head pityingly, saying that his date's dog had slobbered all over his tux just as they were heading out to their sixth form formal.
The cleaners who worked under Miranda's watchful eye were both from an unspecified area of Eastern Europe. They said they were related, though they looked nothing alike, and constantly carried an unlit cigarette in their mouths. One had told him it was to look 'fash-nable', but the other had said it was simply because it was good to chew when you were cleaning.
Holding out his thumb, Jack had offered to light it, but both cried out they had a fear of magic and ran away very, very fast.
The little man with glasses, Garth, who ran messages for Jack's father and mother was forced to sit down, gasping in the hall one day. Jack had made him coffee, and then been dragged into a very long conversation about taxes, a book called The Great Gatsby, and latest on 20th century American politics. Jack had been forced to admit complete ignorance on the topic, and had spent the next two hours being educated on it; and the ins and outs of Orchid Hill, and how it was the real driving force behind the assasination of JFK.
Jack felt the two topics were rather unrelated, but Garth insistantly begged to differ.
Miranda was amazed that Jack had never spoken to any of these people before.
"Why not?" she asked him, for about the millionth time. "Y'all ain't really saying I was the first, are you?"
"You were," Jack replied, his cheeks reddening. "I dunno, you just... I dunno."
But he did know.
He'd given it a lot of thought, and he did know now.
Miranda was his friend. But it wasn't just that; Miranda felt like... like something else. Like family- as corny and weird as that sounds. Miranda felt like something he'd been missing for a long time in his house- and he loved her for it. And all these people... Miranda had reminded him of them, too. He'd been living with them for years; they'd always been there.
He just wished he'd noticed before now.
Thanks to Miranda, he'd begun to think about a lot of things- like this:
Olivia and Sophie were always somewhere at the front of his mind these days. Sometimes it was Sophie's seductive whisper in his ear; sometimes it was Olivia's burning hands against his skin- but they were always there. Sometimes, he found it a struggle to believe that his relationship with Olivia was anything more than physical. They argued so much, and had so little in common... yet what about Sophie? In reality, he barely knew her. Half his dreams about her were made up. Olivia was a real presence- something he could see, taste and touch.
But if Sophie- his Sophie- was just that- a fantasy- then... why would he cling to it so?
Miranda had asked him about Olivia after Izzy had found her photograph. She'd been interested, he supposed, but he found himself suddenly talking about this 'other girl' and asking whether or not it was worth worrying about.
She frowned. "How long have you been... having these doubts?"
"Since..." he paused, counting back and realising how ridiculous this was going to sound. "Since February."
Miranda tilted her head to the side. "Doesn't that give you your answer?"
"I don't know," he mumbled. "Does it?"
She smiled. "I think you should talk to Olivia. I don't think it's fair on either of you to stay in a relationship you don't really believe in."
And, with a sudden, crushing sense of guilt on Olivia's part, Jack found himself agreeing whole-heartedly.
Then there was the issue that'd been bothering Miranda from the start of her work in the Trove household.
Perhaps it was the Carl's gummy smile; or maybe Abigail's adventures; or maybe Izzy's insistance down the phone that she was going to kick Olivia out of the picture, and marry Jack herself, but somehow... Jack had got to thinking about... his own family. When Miranda had initially broached the topic of Mal... it had been bad. Jack could still feel the simmering heat in the pit of his belly; ready to spark up and fly from his throat at the slightest of provocation. He hated it.
Jack could see his mother; and the pitiful way she clung to Miranda's company- in a way, he supposed, he did too. His mother was lonely. She was lonely all the time. His father didn't make her happy, and for some reason, Jack and Mal had stopped trying.
And his dad... he didn't know his dad at all. He never had. That's what got to him the most. Something was missing.
Miranda was living proof that something was missing.
And she had the answers, when, eventually, he could swallow back the resentment long enough to ask her about it.
"Go to them, Jack," she said softly. "You'll know what to say when the time comes."
Jack snorted. "Easier said than done."
She smiled. "It always is."
"Any advice?"
She paused. "I suppose... you could have a plan."
So after that, that's what he did.
He planned.
And here was what he came up with in the space of ten minutes:
Start with Mal and the rest will follow.
Which made sense, he supposed, because things started with Mal in the first place- not all the girl stuff, but the family stuff, when he started to get... bothered by it.
So it made sense to start with Mal.
The only question was when.
When...
It was Saturday the 27th of July and Jack was going to talk to Mal in the morning, around 9.00 am, or so, and get it out of the way.
It was 11.06 am and he was going to talk to Mal after he'd been for another jog.
It was 1.47 pm and Jack was going to talk to Mal as soon as Garth was finished explaining all the conspiracies surrounding the Vietnam War.
It was 3.19 pm and Jack was going to go and see Mal just as soon as he'd finished his third jog of the day.
It was 6.25 pm, and Jack was beginning to feel guilty. Still, the Bourne Supremacy was coming on soon, and he really did like it...
It was 9.31 pm and Jack had just found an old book he'd read as a kid. A couple of chapters couldn't hurt...
11.57 pm and he was standing outside of Mal's door, and scared sh*tless.
Start with Mal and the rest will follow.
He had no idea what to say to his brother. He'd no idea whether he would bubble over and explode, or whether that was all gone now, and all that was really left was the bitterness. He didn't know whether it would make sense- whether Mal would regret it, or care... but if what Mal had said to Jack at the beginning of his summer was true...
What if...
Whatever.
Jack inhaled deeply, and suddenly, a new thought dawned on him; one that filled his heart with a sudden, sweet satisfaction that not even the cruellest whip of Mal's tongue could take from him.
No matter how badly this may go... he always, always had Miranda.
Miranda; his friend.
Miranda; his carer.
Miranda; about as d*mn close to family as it was possible to get, and more so.
Maybe, in the end, Jack wasn't really doing this for himself.
Maybe it was his way of saying thanks to her.
The clock struck twelve as Jack threw open Mal's bedroom door and flickered on lights-
"Oh my God- Jack!" Miranda croaked.
12.07 pm; Jack had ran all the way to the bathroom, and was retching over the sink.
Jonas only ever talked about his daughter, she said.
But as Jonas' daughter was a new topic to Jack, it was an endlessly fascinating one. Abigail seemed like one of those brilliant children who did everything right. She'd gotten As in everything, gone onto do medicine, and now worked as some kind of super-mum in a hospital. Her new baby was adorable, of course, and Jonas just couldn't get enough of being good ol' gramps.
Jack thought it sounded nice.
The cook, Daisy, told him upon her return to the kitchen that Monday that Miranda had put the frying pans in the wrong place, and that she was most agrieved about it. However, the cook was a melodramatic character. She loved to gossip, and she loved to exaggerate the facts- especially over a stove. She spent so many hours in the kitchen, it'd had soon become the only place she ever wanted to be. She confessed to Jack once that, if ever she found herself somewhere else in the house, she'd have no idea how to find her way about.
Jack offered to make her a map, but she declined; not wanting to be too much trouble. He made it for her anyway.
The gardener, Kevin, was especially gratified when Jack admired his orchids. He told him proudly they were the pride of his own garden back at his little cottage at home, but he'd had to line them with fencing, because the local cats kept sleeping amongst them. Kevin had a pathological fear of cats- he wanted them all to die; and with good reason. With minimal prompting from Jack, the gardener had thrown off his shirt and showed him some long, pale scars that ran the width of his back. He said he'd been attacked as a boy by a wild cat he'd tried to pet, and had never gotten over it.
Jack told him he was more of a dog person anyway, and the gardener had shaken his head pityingly, saying that his date's dog had slobbered all over his tux just as they were heading out to their sixth form formal.
The cleaners who worked under Miranda's watchful eye were both from an unspecified area of Eastern Europe. They said they were related, though they looked nothing alike, and constantly carried an unlit cigarette in their mouths. One had told him it was to look 'fash-nable', but the other had said it was simply because it was good to chew when you were cleaning.
Holding out his thumb, Jack had offered to light it, but both cried out they had a fear of magic and ran away very, very fast.
The little man with glasses, Garth, who ran messages for Jack's father and mother was forced to sit down, gasping in the hall one day. Jack had made him coffee, and then been dragged into a very long conversation about taxes, a book called The Great Gatsby, and latest on 20th century American politics. Jack had been forced to admit complete ignorance on the topic, and had spent the next two hours being educated on it; and the ins and outs of Orchid Hill, and how it was the real driving force behind the assasination of JFK.
Jack felt the two topics were rather unrelated, but Garth insistantly begged to differ.
Miranda was amazed that Jack had never spoken to any of these people before.
"Why not?" she asked him, for about the millionth time. "Y'all ain't really saying I was the first, are you?"
"You were," Jack replied, his cheeks reddening. "I dunno, you just... I dunno."
But he did know.
He'd given it a lot of thought, and he did know now.
Miranda was his friend. But it wasn't just that; Miranda felt like... like something else. Like family- as corny and weird as that sounds. Miranda felt like something he'd been missing for a long time in his house- and he loved her for it. And all these people... Miranda had reminded him of them, too. He'd been living with them for years; they'd always been there.
He just wished he'd noticed before now.
Thanks to Miranda, he'd begun to think about a lot of things- like this:
Olivia and Sophie were always somewhere at the front of his mind these days. Sometimes it was Sophie's seductive whisper in his ear; sometimes it was Olivia's burning hands against his skin- but they were always there. Sometimes, he found it a struggle to believe that his relationship with Olivia was anything more than physical. They argued so much, and had so little in common... yet what about Sophie? In reality, he barely knew her. Half his dreams about her were made up. Olivia was a real presence- something he could see, taste and touch.
But if Sophie- his Sophie- was just that- a fantasy- then... why would he cling to it so?
Miranda had asked him about Olivia after Izzy had found her photograph. She'd been interested, he supposed, but he found himself suddenly talking about this 'other girl' and asking whether or not it was worth worrying about.
She frowned. "How long have you been... having these doubts?"
"Since..." he paused, counting back and realising how ridiculous this was going to sound. "Since February."
Miranda tilted her head to the side. "Doesn't that give you your answer?"
"I don't know," he mumbled. "Does it?"
She smiled. "I think you should talk to Olivia. I don't think it's fair on either of you to stay in a relationship you don't really believe in."
And, with a sudden, crushing sense of guilt on Olivia's part, Jack found himself agreeing whole-heartedly.
Then there was the issue that'd been bothering Miranda from the start of her work in the Trove household.
Perhaps it was the Carl's gummy smile; or maybe Abigail's adventures; or maybe Izzy's insistance down the phone that she was going to kick Olivia out of the picture, and marry Jack herself, but somehow... Jack had got to thinking about... his own family. When Miranda had initially broached the topic of Mal... it had been bad. Jack could still feel the simmering heat in the pit of his belly; ready to spark up and fly from his throat at the slightest of provocation. He hated it.
Jack could see his mother; and the pitiful way she clung to Miranda's company- in a way, he supposed, he did too. His mother was lonely. She was lonely all the time. His father didn't make her happy, and for some reason, Jack and Mal had stopped trying.
And his dad... he didn't know his dad at all. He never had. That's what got to him the most. Something was missing.
Miranda was living proof that something was missing.
And she had the answers, when, eventually, he could swallow back the resentment long enough to ask her about it.
"Go to them, Jack," she said softly. "You'll know what to say when the time comes."
Jack snorted. "Easier said than done."
She smiled. "It always is."
"Any advice?"
She paused. "I suppose... you could have a plan."
So after that, that's what he did.
He planned.
And here was what he came up with in the space of ten minutes:
Start with Mal and the rest will follow.
Which made sense, he supposed, because things started with Mal in the first place- not all the girl stuff, but the family stuff, when he started to get... bothered by it.
So it made sense to start with Mal.
The only question was when.
When...
It was Saturday the 27th of July and Jack was going to talk to Mal in the morning, around 9.00 am, or so, and get it out of the way.
It was 11.06 am and he was going to talk to Mal after he'd been for another jog.
It was 1.47 pm and Jack was going to talk to Mal as soon as Garth was finished explaining all the conspiracies surrounding the Vietnam War.
It was 3.19 pm and Jack was going to go and see Mal just as soon as he'd finished his third jog of the day.
It was 6.25 pm, and Jack was beginning to feel guilty. Still, the Bourne Supremacy was coming on soon, and he really did like it...
It was 9.31 pm and Jack had just found an old book he'd read as a kid. A couple of chapters couldn't hurt...
11.57 pm and he was standing outside of Mal's door, and scared sh*tless.
Start with Mal and the rest will follow.
He had no idea what to say to his brother. He'd no idea whether he would bubble over and explode, or whether that was all gone now, and all that was really left was the bitterness. He didn't know whether it would make sense- whether Mal would regret it, or care... but if what Mal had said to Jack at the beginning of his summer was true...
What if...
Whatever.
Jack inhaled deeply, and suddenly, a new thought dawned on him; one that filled his heart with a sudden, sweet satisfaction that not even the cruellest whip of Mal's tongue could take from him.
No matter how badly this may go... he always, always had Miranda.
Miranda; his friend.
Miranda; his carer.
Miranda; about as d*mn close to family as it was possible to get, and more so.
Maybe, in the end, Jack wasn't really doing this for himself.
Maybe it was his way of saying thanks to her.
The clock struck twelve as Jack threw open Mal's bedroom door and flickered on lights-
"Oh my God- Jack!" Miranda croaked.
12.07 pm; Jack had ran all the way to the bathroom, and was retching over the sink.
