A deep and hard-hitting episodic story of bitterness, selfishness, undying love, relationships, and ultimate self-destruction.
There are 10 chapters to this story
Jack Crowther had worked hard all his life, all twenty-three. His father was a miser, and he reluctantly spared some loose change on his son’s education. Oxford was the dream, but Bangor in Wales was close to home, thirty minutes on foot; the cheapest. Jack’s father demanded he stay close by, which made Jack feel even more bitter and withdrawn. He wasn’t going to pay for the Oxford lifestyle or fees and Jack couldn’t afford it himself.
His modest lifestyle came without wanting or poverty, but he had to work hard for it by keeping more than one job down at the same time. He often blamed his mother for dying: leaving him alone; with this insensitive moron whose sole obsession was manufacturing wool. Why did she do this? Why did she abandon him? ‘She shouldn’t have had a child!’ he thought pressing hard his closed eyes.
His aunt visited on and off, sometimes bearing gifts of food solely to proclaim her dissatisfaction with the way Mr Crowther treated her sister. She was usually drunk and incomprehensible.
Jack graduated with a degree in Business Studies and Marketing and celebrated the ceremony with friends. His father was busy, as always. Even his Aunt didn’t appear.
He sat down with his pregnant girlfriend, Grace Madison, whom he had promised the world. With coldness, he offered to pay Grace off and escape; promising only to send a microscopic allowance for the child. Grace looked down at a ringless finger and then at her mother who sat opposite waving all of Jack’s love letters in his face. Ignoring them both Jack decided to move to London, to a new lifestyle and new dreams.
Jack couldn’t stand it anymore and that night packed a bag and didn’t look back.
Two years later, and his Bangor education had finally paid off. A year’s course in advanced programming in London helped with the birth of parchment.com, an online eBook service. He was now a young entrepreneur with everything going his way and a lifestyle that fit the profile of a Fortune 500 CEO.
A year later and a knock at the door had brought a letter to him. It was his fathers will. Financial thoughts passed with no feeling or remorse, but he opened it all the same. Seconds after he crumpled up the lined paper and threw it into the bin, “Miser!” he shouted.
Jack was at his morning levée in London, attended by classical musicians and other VIPs all dressed in fine threads. Jack is a real socialite, and his guests look at him with envy; yet others with envious disgust. He threw parties every weekend at his Knightsbridge apartment for celebrities, businessmen, entrepreneurs, high-class women, politicians and even royalty. Then they would venture into town, frequenting clubs only the wealthy could afford. He used his Bentely and Rolls as transport for his nights out. His chauffeur was always quiet and formal. Jack drank profusely in the back of the Bentley with two beautiful Asian women whose names he didn’t know.