Chapter 11: Requiescat In Pace

April 1969, age 14

I heard Dan pounding up the stairs at full pelt, and he was at my side within seconds. Another security guy followed him, speaking into a walkie-talkie, and moments later Mrs O’Keef gripped me firmly by the arm and led me out of the room. For a lady in her late fifties, she was surprisingly strong. Caity had also appeared and was asking what was going on. All I could say was: “It’s Grandpa”.

A few minutes later I heard an ambulance siren and then there were ambulance men carrying equipment into Grandpa’s room. They weren’t in there very long. Dan came out and looked at us sadly. “I’m sorry guys,” he told us, “he passed away in his sleep. There’s nothing they can do.”

There were no hysterics from Caity like when our parents died. She was ten now (going on twenty). She had tears in her eyes, but there were no wails of despair. I closed the distance between us and we hugged. For me, I wasn’t quite sure how I felt. Numb, maybe? You don’t find a dead body every day. The relationship between Grandpa and me had been a little odd because it was really me and older-me. He had obviously cared about me very much, and I cared about him too, but it was more complicated than a normal grandparent/grandchild bond. Regardless, Caity wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes.

Dan and Mrs O took us downstairs to get out of the way while the ambulance team waited for the undertakers. Harry was waiting for us by the front door, having heard the siren. We all sat in the lounge, just quietly thinking about things and wiping our eyes. It wasn’t long before a policeman turned up and started asking us questions. He was pretty gentle and understanding but still managed to extract everything he needed to know. He initially focussed on Dan, imagining that he was Grandpa’s son, then moved on to me. I told him about not getting a reply when I knocked, about him not waking when I shook him, and about screaming for help. That was all I could say really.

When the policeman asked how old Grandpa was, I almost screwed things up. Dan quickly answered “sixty-three”. I gave him a quizzical look as that wasn’t right. He was seventy-six. Dan offered to fetch Grandpa’s driving license, then gave me a pointed look. That’s when it dawned on me that I had almost blurted our Grandpa’s time-traveller age, rather than the age of my actual grandfather whose identity he had assumed. Oops. That little jolt woke me up, which was just as well, as the next thing the policeman said was that there’d be a post-mortem. Alarm bells started ringing.

While they were talking about guardianship of Caity and me, which I already knew about, I managed to catch Dan’s eye. I silently mouthed the word “bracelet” to him, tapping my wrist. His eyebrows raised in response, then a little nod. I knew that if they were going to be cutting into Grandpa to find out how he died, they mustn’t take off his time-shield-bracelet-thingy. It was supposedly irremovable, but I remembered Grandpa’s warning of bad things happening if it was taken off.

The following days felt like we were stuck in limbo. As our new guardian, Dan moved into the main house full-time but was busy with undertakers, solicitors and company business. The rest of us were just moping around at home. The usual things that might have kept us busy just felt wrong. I didn’t even swim.

On Monday, we were sent back to school. On Tuesday the post-mortem was performed, without any world-ending time paradoxes, and his death was attributed to natural causes. On Wednesday, several national newspapers ran obituaries, which summarised his business activities, and mentioned Caity and me. They even had tributes from a few people that knew him, including one from Sean Connery which made me smile.

Then on Friday came the funeral, which was a circus. The public ceremony was held at St Mary’s Church in Wimbledon, where we had attended every Christmas for years. When we got there, we found it absolutely packed, and there was even a TV news crew at the back.

There was to be a ‘private committal’ following the service, which I suppose most people thought would be at a cemetery or crematorium. It wasn’t. It was in our back garden. The small brick building by our back fence, which I had always assumed to be a fancy shed, turned out to be the entrance to a stairway. Grandpa had built a crypt under the end of our garden. So that was where the priest said the words of commendation. Grandpa’s final resting place would forever be beneath where we played footy in the summer. Creepy.

Later that night when I saw the short segment on the local news, the funeral was described as a gathering of ‘the great and the good, from film stars to captains of industry’. Like I said, it was a circus.

We had the weekend to try and get back to some degree of normality, then on Monday after school came the next shock.

Me, Caity, Harry, Dan and Mrs O’Keef had been summoned to the lounge for Grandpa’s solicitor to explain the terms of his will.

“Firstly, let me offer my sincere condolences for your loss.” He looked at Caity and me as he said, “I knew your grandfather for twenty-odd years, and I know he cared for the two of you very much. With your permission, I’ll just give you a summary of the will rather than bore you all with the legal language. The biggest bequest is obviously his company. Harrison Holdings, which owns all his other companies, stocks and shares, is to be placed in trust. Finnley, you will be trustee once you reach eighteen years of age. Mr Porter is executor of the will and will act as trustee until you take over.”

I didn’t get it yet.

“The principal beneficiary of the trust will be the homeless charity Mr Harrison set up a few years ago, but the trustee is free to designate other beneficiaries to receive a portion of the company’s profits so long as they’re registered charities.”

What the hell?! Now I got it. Grandpa wasn’t leaving the company to either Caity or me. That was a fucking shock I can tell you!

The guy was going on, explaining that our house and estate in Wimbledon had also been put in trust, to be held in perpetuity for future generations of our family. The senior descendant would be the trustee, but the property could never be sold unless the family died out.

The villa in Italy and the penthouse in Marvel Tower had both been bequeathed to me. Caity was given two properties in posh parts of London that were equivalent value to mine. Harry received a gift of a hundred thousand pounds, which left him utterly gobsmacked! There were gifts for Dan, Mrs O’Keef and a few other staff; then the remaining cash assets were to be divided equally between Caity and me, after paying what would probably be astronomical death taxes to the government.

Caity was excited about owning her houses but was a bit miffed that she wasn’t getting the villa. Harry really couldn’t understand why Grandpa had left him anything at all. And me? I felt very hurt that he hadn’t trusted me with the company. It was explained to me that, when I became the trustee, I would have complete control over it as if I were owner. But the profits would be distributed to charity. Did Grandpa think I was so greedy that I couldn’t be trusted with the family money?

It was probably a good thing that I had something to be angry about. It proved a good distraction from grief, or confusion, or worries, or whatever other feelings I might have had. A week or so after the funeral when I had some free time to do a little introspection, I found that I was doing okay under the circumstances.

One thing that I was still getting used to was my new bodyguard, Ewan. He wasn’t a man-mountain like Dan, but he still looked in good condition. More importantly, he was more like a big brother figure than the father figure Dan had assumed, and I found that I liked that. But he was still a bit of an unknown quantity, so I decided I needed to put him to the test.

On our way home from school one afternoon, I asked him to stop at a small parade of shops that I knew was nearby. When the car drew to a halt, I put my plan into action.

“Your job is to keep me safe, right?”

He furrowed his brow and asked, “What’s going on, Finn?”

“I’m about to get out of this car and walk into that shop over there. The one that says ‘adult books’.”

Ewan’s first response was to reach for the car keys to start the engine again. “Don’t”, I told him, opening my door a little ready to jump out.

“Look, I’m fourteen years old, and you know that boys my age have certain needs. Right now, I need some porno mags. I can walk in there myself and hope that I don’t get thrown out or beaten up or arrested. Or, being the great bodyguard and good friend that you are, you can go in there for me and get me some supplies.”

There was still fight in his eyes, but his reply was unexpected. “How about this instead? I take you home, and we act like this conversation never happened. And the guys in the car behind don’t have anything to radio in that might get me fired. Then after I get my next day off, you might find a bag waiting for you with a gift in it.”

I smiled conspiratorially. “Deal.”

My sexual education was advanced considerably by Ewan’s present. He came through big time and earned a lot of points with me. I know I was being a brat by doing that, but I told myself that I was a good boy most of the time, so an occasional ‘teenager moment’ was not just allowed but positively required to keep up appearances.

Despite going to an ordinary secondary school, I had led a bit of a sheltered life. Yes, I knew every swear word under the sun. But when it came to techniques for sexual pleasure, my expertise only went as far as my right hand. I can assure you that my right hand got an awful lot of use when I got those magazines. Wow! Tits large and small (usually large); pussies being licked or pounded by huge cocks; dicks being sucked; arses being spanked; leather, costumes, toys ... consider my horizons well and truly expanded. I think perhaps Ewan was hoping that these gifts would be comprehensive enough to preempt further purchases.

About a month after Grandpa’s funeral, we had a visitor from America. He had arrived at the house while I was at school. When Dan called me into the study, he introduced a slightly overweight man in his forties. “Finn, this gentleman has come from America to see you. His name is William Pinkley.”