Dory's Avengers

by Alison Jack

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Probably because he feared the consequences would be pretty harsh for me otherwise.’

  ‘You sent the Trevelyan boy a birthday card?’

  ‘Yes, Your Lordship. A birthday card. It's a thing people send to their friends. On their birthdays.’

  ‘ENOUGH, Theodore! Your insolence is not helping. Both of you, listen to me! There will be no more correspondence between Theodore and Louis. None! If I find this order disobeyed, the consequences will be grim for both of you. Understand?’

  Both Lysander and Theo had the good sense to nod, even Theo realising that a smart answer wouldn't be a wise move at that moment.

  ‘Now,’ said Lord William, addressing everyone in the room once more and making Mortimer O'Reilly flinch again, ‘I'm sorry that this meeting seems to be all about Lysander here, but there's one more thing I'd like him to explain. Lysander, what in the name of heaven were you doing…here?’

  Switching on his monitor screen, Lord William started to play the film that had been standing by on his computer. To Lysander's horror, the Applethwaite Unsponsored versus Eden Valley football match he'd attended the previous Saturday filled the screen.

  ‘Here we have some underclass attempting to play football. This,’ Lord William went on, tracking one of Cameron's runs on the screen with his pen, ‘I understand to be Elliot Farrell's son. I suppose that would make him your cousin, Theodore.’

  Theo leant forward in his favourite armchair and watched the football match with interest.

  ‘Some of these players, my man in Applethwaite informs me, are pretty useful. Farrell junior falls into that category. However, they have all spurned the benefits of Sponsorship and are paying the price. Sponsorship equals a fine career, possibly playing in the Premier League. No Sponsorship equals cold Saturday afternoons playing on a field in Cumbria. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you yet another example of the way Sponsorship enhances lives!’

  Lord William's lapdogs all applauded right on cue, with the exception, Theo was pleased to notice, of Lysander.

  ‘This is not actually why I wanted to show you this film, however. Lysander, would you be so kind as to explain what you were doing?’

  The camera panned round from the match to the spectators; particularly to Lysander. Jenny on his shoulders, he was jumping up and down; shouting, cheering, singing, leaving no doubt that he was very much involved in supporting the Unsponsored players.

  ‘As you can see, Lysander isn't the only person we wouldn't expect to see fraternising with the Unsponsored.’ Tapping the screen with his pen once more, Lord William pointed to Max Barrington. ‘I've long suspected that this young man has been relaxing his loyalty to the Scheme, and for some time I have had undercover men and women keeping an eye on Applethwaite and Barrington. Barrington has made his choice; his Sponsorship has been suspended permanently, and he can rot with the rest of the underclass.’

  Watching Max roaring with laughter along with a couple of young women, Theo decided that rotting with the underclass seemed rather a pleasant option.

  ‘Ah, look, Lysander. Loopy Lou-ee,’ Lord William continued, regarding Lysander with the same air of detached amusement that he usually reserved for Theo. To Theo's delight, Louis had indeed wandered into view, arm tightly wrapped round the shoulders of a young woman. The young woman in question was so clearly a Farrell that, even if Theo hadn't been aware of his friend's affections, he would have known at once she was Cousin Abi. Passing cups of some hot drink to Max and his companions, Louis and Abi looked as happy and relaxed as everyone around them.

  ‘Louis looks a little more with it than last time I saw him, doesn't he, Lysander?’ murmured Lord William, watching Louis swapping quick-fire banter with Max.

  ‘Lord William…’ began Mortimer O'Reilly desperately, but as usual Lord William cut him short.

  ‘I haven't forgotten, Mortimer. I never forget your prediction for a moment. However, we're reaching the bit of this film I find the most interesting.’

  The Sponsor spy at the football match had focused the camera on Lysander. His and Jenny's faces loomed large on the screen, Jenny laughing in delight on her father's shoulders as they both sang their support. No one in the room needed to be an expert in lip-reading to know what Lysander was saying.

  ‘Applethwaite Unsponsored!’ he chanted along with the underclass around him. ‘Applethwaite Unsponsored!’

  Pausing the film with Lysander's face still filling the screen, Lord William sat back in his chair and stared at the man himself. Even Theo thought it would be best not to offer his usual witticism, so the only sound in the room once again was the ticking of the clock.

  ‘So, Lysander,’ said Lord William eventually, ‘would you please tell us all why one of the highest-ranking Sponsors in the land spent his Saturday afternoon very visibly and very vocally supporting a team of underclass? What sort of message do you think this sends out to the Sponsored? Whatever did you think you were doing?’

  Lysander raised his head to meet Lord William's gaze. Knowing that there was no way he could lie his way out of this tight spot, he got a taste of Theo's world.

  ‘I was having fun, Your Lordship.’

  The atmosphere in the room was electric as everyone stared at Lysander and Lord William. Mortimer O'Reilly looked terrified and exultant in equal measures. Surely there was no way out for the loathsome Trevelyan now? Some of the others members of Lord William's inner circle, particularly Stephanie Rogers, almost looked impressed. Lady Rosanna just looked irritated, but that was quite a normal state of affairs for her, and Theo beamed his approval at Lysander.

  ‘Would you like to elaborate, Lysander? You were in the underclass-loving hole you call home for days; please share with the group what kept you there! What other…fun…activities did you enjoy with the Unsponsored?’

  ‘I made an attempt to make up for all the years I've neglected my family. I watched my daughter perform as a very convincing angel in her school play. I watched my son training. I spent some quality time with my wife – the details of which stay between Nikki and me…’

  ‘Boring,’ said Lady Rosanna, shocked to find herself chastised sharply by her father.

  ‘Not boring, Rosanna. I suggest you don't interrupt again or I shall have you removed from the room. Don't taunt your sister, Theodore!’ added Lord William in response to Theo licking his finger and drawing a one in the air. Turning back to Lysander, Lord William asked, ‘You watched your son train in what? How to conduct himself in company?’

  Mortimer O'Reilly started to laugh, but was hushed by Lord William.

  ‘Gymnastics,’ replied Lysander simply.

  ‘Is he good?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Lord William sat in quiet contemplation for a while, before turning to David and Julia Foster, the husband-and-wife team who headed Sports Sponsorship.

  ‘I'd like one of you to go to Applethwaite and watch Trevelyan's son train. Take a camera crew with you; I want a film of his performance beamed back to my office. I'll give you today to get it organised, tomorrow to travel, so we'll say Wednesday morning. Everyone be back here at ten o'clock Wednesday morning, when we'll see if the lad really is any good.’ Glaring once more at Lysander, Lord William continued.

  ‘For your sake, Trevelyan, he'd better be. Your hold on the Directorship of Leisure and Fitness is very tenuous at the moment.’

  Two days later Lord William St Benedict's inner circle was once more seated in his office. Theo was in his usual place on the armchair, this morning with Marina squashed in beside him. Adorning the wall behind Lord William, covering the family photograph, was a big screen on to which Louis's gymnastic performance would be projected. That Louis was good enough to impress Lord William was in no doubt in Lysander's mind. That Louis, and Gideon, would be very put out to have the privacy of their studio invaded in such a way was also in no doubt, and Lysander felt aggrieved that he'd been unable to warn his son. Anticipatin
g that Lysander would do everything in his power to prevent Louis being put on display, Lord William had forbidden his head of Leisure and Fitness to leave the St Benedict residence since Monday morning. Guarded the whole time, Lysander had experienced a taste of Theo's prison; and it was only the company of the witty, charismatic young man himself that had kept Lysander from despair.

  ‘What is he up to?’ Lysander asked himself, not for the first time, as Lord William greeted everyone and suggested that Theodore and Marina would have a better view if they stood with Rosanna at the back of the room.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Lord William, switching on the projector, ‘welcome to the show!’

  As the live film from Applethwaite came into focus on the big screen, Gideon Wallis was in full voice.

  ‘What the BLOODY HELL is going on here? Get that light out of Louis's face; can't you see it hurts his eyes?’

  Louis appeared on the screen, hastily putting his dark glasses back over his eyes as the bright camera light burnt into them. Gideon Wallis, looking furious, wheeled his chair in front of Louis in an attempt to protect his protégé from the camera, suddenly noticing the scene in Lord William's office on David Foster's monitor

  ‘TREVELYAN,’ yelled Gideon, seeing Louis's father sitting awkwardly in the London office, ‘What is the meaning of this? I let you in here, and what happens? You SELL YOUR OWN SON…’

  ‘Mr Wallis,’ said Lord William, his tone of voice so sharp that even Gideon stopped in full flow, ‘I have commissioned this film. I want to see the boy, who is apparently a talented gymnast.’

  ‘Why?’ retorted Gideon. ‘What makes you so interested? I can speak for Louis, he doesn't want Sponsorship…’

  ‘I'd rather Lewis spoke for himself, Wallis. Good morning, Lewis; do you know who I am?’

  ‘Yes, Lord Wilfred. Good morning.’

  The silence in the room was broken by Theo's failed attempt to stifle a laugh.

  ‘Theodore, you are lucky to be in the room at all,’ said Lord William, rounding on his son. ‘Behave or leave. The choice is yours.’ Turning back to the screen, he spoke to Louis once more.

  ‘What did you call me? My name is not Lord Wilfred.’

  ‘My name is not Lewis, Your Lordship,’ replied Louis, earning another snort of laughter from Theo in London and one from Gideon in Cumbria.

  ‘THEODORE! LAST CHANCE! OK –Lou-ee – as you're so particular I'll indulge you. Can't you take those glasses off? It's the middle of winter!’

  ‘Only if you have that light turned off,’ replied Louis.

  ‘Turn the lights down!’ barked Lord William at the camera crew, before turning his attention back to Louis as the young man took off his dark glasses.

  ‘That's better,’ said His Lordship. ‘You can't do gymnastics in those things, surely. Now, Louis, I'm going to ignore the fact that you seem to have miraculously learned some social skills since the summer. The situation is simple. You're a gymnast. The country needs a gymnast.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For the Games, Louis. Don't interrupt again, please.’

  ‘You want ME to compete in the Games?’

  ‘I want to see if you're good enough.’

  ‘Don't I have to qualify?’

  ‘A British gymnastics team has qualified, but only just. It's a weakness. I only want the strongest competitors at the Games, show the world that Team GB is the best.’

  ‘But don't the gymnasts who qualified have to be the ones to compete?’

  ‘If I say you're going to compete with the British team, then you compete.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘I'll use other methods of persuasion. Remember, your father is at my mercy. You wouldn't want Mr Dyer to get upset with Lysander, would you, Louis?’

  Gideon started to wheel himself over to the camera, but Louis stopped him.

  ‘OK,’ said Louis, ‘what do you want to see?’

  ‘Address me as Your Lordship, Trevelyan! I demand respect!’

  ‘I wasn't aware respect was something that could be demanded,’ replied Louis, to Theo and Gideon's delight. ‘However, as you so rightly say, my father is at your mercy. Morning, Dad, by the way. What do you want to see, Your Lordship?’

  ‘Gymnastics!’

  ‘I meant, Your Lordship, with all due respect, Your Lordship, do you want to see floor work? Pommel horse? Parallel bars? Rings…?’

  ‘Anything, Trevelyan! Just get on with it.’

  Raising himself on to the pommel horse, Louis got on with it. Not a word was uttered, either in the London office or the Applethwaite studio, as Louis executed his complicated routine with effortless skill. As Louis landed on the floor, Lord William was already barking out his next command.

  ‘Floor work.’

  Once again Louis performed a series of difficult moves with ease, not even allowing himself to be distracted by the pleasant memories of other activities he'd performed on the mat.

  ‘Parallel bars,’ barked Lord William as soon as Louis finished, but this time Louis raised a hand and said breathlessly, ‘Rest first.’

  Louis had to demonstrate every different discipline for Lord William, who then asked to see another routine on the parallel bars before he was satisfied.

  ‘Come over to the camera, Louis!’ said Lord William finally. ‘David, what do you think?’

  ‘The lad's very, very gifted,’ replied David Foster without hesitation.

  ‘Julia?’

  ‘Totally agree with David, Your Lordship.’

  ‘Theodore?’ asked Lord William without warning, pleased to see that he'd actually managed to take his cool son by surprise.

  ‘Your Lordship?’

  ‘Don't act stupid, Theodore; that's more young Trevelyan's area of expertise. What do you think of Louis's gymnastic abilities?’

  Looking past Lord William, Theo addressed the camera beaming the scene in Lord William's office up to Gideon's studio in Applethwaite.

  ‘I think you're brilliant, Louis. Absolutely brilliantly talented. I've never been so impressed in all my life.’

  ‘Thank you, Theo,’ replied Louis, smiling back at Theo and just managing to stop himself calling his friend Dory.

  ‘All right, stop the little love-in, you two,’ Lord William said. ‘That's settled then. Trevelyan, I'm going to put your name forward to perform with the British gymnastics team at the Games next summer. With the Games being held here in London I want the strongest GB team I can find, so you'll be getting Sponsor-endorsed training. I know the very place here in London…’

  ‘Whoa, Your Lordship! Whoa!’ interrupted Louis, holding up his hand again. ‘If, and it is a big if, I go along with this, I will not be trained by anyone but Gideon, and I will not train anywhere but Applethwaite.’

  ‘Remember you father is at my mercy…’

  ‘Remember I have something you want, Your Lordship. You want gold at the Games? I can deliver gold; but if you threaten my family, I'll deliver fuck all.’

  ‘Proud of you, Louis,’ whispered Gideon.

  ‘Don't you DARE speak to me like that!’ roared Lord William. ‘You're even cockier than your father! I make the rules…’

  ‘Not this time, Your Lordship. I still don't believe I can just rock up and compete instead of the people who actually qualified, but I'll go along with your crazy idea nonetheless. It has to be on my terms, though.’

  ‘What are your terms then?’

  ‘Simple. One: Gideon and only Gideon trains me. I wouldn't be the gymnast I am today without him; he's the best. Two: I train here in Applethwaite, and only leave here when required to compete. Three: stop threatening my father. These are my terms, Your Lordship, and they're non-negotiable.’

  Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Mortimer O'Reilly’s whiny voice cut into the silence following Louis's statement.

  ‘Your Lordship, is this wise? Putting Trevelyan's son into the public eye in this way? The world's media will be focused on the Games; I beg you to recon
sider…’

  ‘Thank you, Mortimer; that will do! Unless you can find a better gymnast than Louis Trevelyan, he will be performing at the Games next summer. Have it your way, Louis.’

  Raising his head from his warm-down stretches, Louis focused with some difficulty on the scene in London.

  ‘Thank you, Your Lordship. I'm glad we were able to come to an agreement. Good morning, Mr O'Reilly; has that crystal ball of yours thrown up anything interesting recently?’

  Gideon didn't make Louis train any more that day. After the departure of David Foster along with Lord William's camera crew, they stared at each other in amazement for a few minutes, both finding it hard to believe what had just taken place. Eventually, Gideon asked Louis to make them both coffee, then Louis sat down cross-legged in front of his mentor's wheelchair.

  ‘You know I don't give praise lightly, Louis…’

  ‘That is the understatement of the century, Gideon. Sorry, go on with what you were saying.’

  ‘What I was trying to say…’ began Gideon, attempting to sound grumpy but failing completely as a huge smile lit up his face. ‘What I'm trying to say, Louis, is that I'm so proud of you I could burst! That little stunt of His Lordshit's; I thought you'd go to pieces, I must say, but you were brilliant! Your performance was as good as I've ever seen you produce, and the way you handled His Lordshit! I can't wait until Dory's Avengers hear about this…’

  ‘Careful, Gideon,’ said Louis, delighted at the unprecedented level of praise from the older man. ‘You'll make my ego so big I won't be able to get through the door, let alone perform at the Games.’

  ‘I'm amazed you agreed to it, Louis. You used to be so shy!’

  ‘I think I started to change when I went to London and found Theo…’

  ‘…Who looked as proud of you as I am, Louis.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ said Louis, looking happier than ever.

  ‘I'm sure of it, Louis. I know your eyesight's bad but mine isn't. Theo was grinning from ear to ear the whole time you were tackling his father. You heard yourself what Theo thinks of your gymnastic ability. Anyway, we digress. What made you agree to go along with His Lordshit's idea?’