Life Diverted (Part 1: Childhood)
Chapter 2: Liar! Liar!

Copyright© 2016 by Englishman

Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2: Liar! Liar! - What if it wasn't Biff Tannen that changed history, borrowing the DeLorean to give his teenage self the almanac? What if it was someone who wasn't (to quote Marty McFly) an asshole? If you don't have the faintest idea who or what I'm talking about, that doesn't matter. This is the story of ten-year-old Finn Harrison, newly orphaned, who gets a visit from an old man that changes the direction of his life completely.

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft   Teenagers   Historical   School   Time Travel   DoOver   First   Slow  

So my life of hand-to-mouth normality had been shattered by the death of my parents. Now I’d been diverted onto a new path, not to the children’s scrapyard as I’d feared, but to a new family home in London.

When we got to the hotel in Sheffield where Grandpa was staying, it seemed posh. I think Caity and I both felt uncomfortable, like fish out of water, as we obviously didn’t belong there. He had a suite of rooms, not just one. And when we went to dinner in the hotel restaurant we felt underdressed and overwhelmed, not least by the menu full of things we’d never heard of with funny foreign names.

Thankfully, Grandpa pointed out a few dishes that were simple enough that we might like, and in the end, Caity and I both had pasta. Mum had often done pasta at home, and her spaghetti was always lots of fun and very messy! I didn’t dare choose spaghetti this time as I didn’t want to make a mess in the restaurant, so I had ravioli. It was delicious but very different to what mum got from a tin.

The rest of the evening was spent just lazing around, and Caity and I had a long talk about the orphanage. She told me about the friends she had made there and that she was sad to be leaving them. I told her about Harry and that I was sad too, but that I thought we could try and talk Grandpa into letting us have some friends come and stay with us during the summer holidays. She liked that idea as much as I did.


The next day was nasty. Grandpa told us at breakfast that we were going to our old house. We had to pack all the toys and clothes we wanted to take to London, and the things belonging to mum and dad that we wanted to keep as mementoes.

When we parked outside the house and got out, Mrs Collins was waiting and quickly corralled Caity and me into a hug. I’d known Mrs Collins my whole life, and she’d become like an unofficial aunt. She was visibly upset. She explained that she’d tried to get the social worker lady to let us stay with her, and had let rip at her when she’d refused.

I stage-whispered to Caity, “I wish I’d seen that”, which earned me a wagging finger from Mrs Collins and a little smile that she tried to hide. She shook Grandpa’s hand and then let us into the house with her spare key.

Memories of our home came flooding over me like a tidal wave. They were all happy memories but were somehow now sad because of mum and dad. Caity and I were both silent as we climbed the stairs to the bedroom we shared in this little two-up, two-down house.

We started stuffing clothes and toys into big black rubbish bags. I didn’t know how we were going to fit everything into the boot of Grandpa’s car, but he seemed to manage it. Meanwhile, Grandpa was rummaging through the rest of the house, picking out photo albums and old souvenirs, and anything else he thought might have sentimental value. He told us later that he would have a company come in to pack up everything else and take it to charity shops or the tip.

We hadn’t finished by lunchtime, so we went next-door where Mrs Collins had a veritable banquet prepared. By the time we’d finished packing that afternoon, kids and parents were arriving home from school. Everyone knows everyone else’s business in a village like ours, so I wasn’t surprised that lots of people came round to say how sorry they were about mum and dad. A few of my friends came to say hi, but by that point, I was emotionally numb and just wanted to go back to the hotel.

My best friend Luke, whom I’d known since we were babies, gave me a hug and asked if we were moving away. I had to tell him yes, and then wondered why I’d felt more upset saying goodbye to Harry at the orphanage than I did with Luke, whom I’d known so much longer. Maybe it’s because Luke still had both his parents. Or maybe it’s because, like the house, Luke was associated with all my bittersweet memories.

As people came and went, Grandpa was telling them that the funeral would be on Friday at our village church. That was news to me. Our family had never gone to church much. We went on Christmas Day and at Easter when they had an Easter Egg hunt. Other than that, it was just a pretty building in the village.

That night we went out for dinner, getting fish and chips, which was much more our level of cuisine.


On Wednesday, Grandpa said we had two jobs that day. We had to go to our schools to pick up our school records to take to London, and we had to go and buy some smart clothes for the funeral. Neither job was much fun. At school, it was a repeat of people saying how sorry they were, which I just wanted to stop hearing. Lessons were going on while we were there, so at least I didn’t have hundreds of kids saying it too.

Then the shopping. I HATE shopping, and clothes shopping is the worst of all. Mum used to drag us around the shops for hours at a time, and Grandpa wasn’t much better. At one point Grandpa looked at me, gave me a little smirk that he then tried to hide, and said: “I know how much you hate shopping, but it’s important this time, okay?” I wondered how he knew. Maybe mum had told him.

I ended up with matching trousers and jacket, plus a smart white shirt and plain black tie. I had told grandpa that I already had a shirt and trousers, but he bought new ones regardless. Caity got a black dress and a black coat to go over it, as her usual pink coat apparently wasn’t suitable for a funeral.


Thursday we mostly hung around the hotel. The undertaker came to visit Grandpa mid-morning, but Caity and I didn’t have to sit through that.

Friday morning it was more hanging around with nothing to do. Grandpa explained what would happen during the funeral that afternoon, then we all played some card games for a while to distract ourselves. It didn’t work.

After lunch, we had to get dressed up in our new clothes, which Grandpa supervised. When we were all looking smart, he sat us down for a talk. “This is going to be upsetting, this afternoon, and that’s okay, alright? This is our last chance to say goodbye to your mum and dad. Don’t worry if you want to cry. Nobody will laugh at you or think worse of you. It’s much better to let tears of sadness come out than it is to try and bottle them up. I expect I’ll cry too.”

When we went down to the hotel entrance, there was a man in a black suit and top hat who greeted Grandpa respectfully and led us to a fancy car. When we got to the church, it was packed full. The front pew was reserved for us, but every other seat was taken, and there were even people standing. That made me think about how popular mum and dad had been. I found my eyes were starting to leak, and for the rest of the afternoon it was a battle not to break down.

Everything was a bit of a blur. I remember the two coffins being carried in on the shoulders of a dozen more men in black suits. The service was long, with several people getting up to talk about what wonderful people my parents were. Some of them I knew, some I didn’t. When we went to the cemetery afterwards and put the coffins in the ground, my knees started to wobble, and my lip quiver. I was thankful when we got back into the car and had a few moments of privacy.

Back at the church hall, Mrs Collins and the ladies from the village had organised food for everyone. Lots of people spoke to me during the wake, but I don’t remember much of it. All my friends were there, and I do remember explaining over and over and over again that we were leaving for London the next day. My friend Luke was by my side most of the time, and I did feel sorry that he was losing his best friend. I felt a bit guilty that I was glad to be leaving the village.


Saturday’s journey down to London was long but exciting. I had never been outside Yorkshire before, and driving fast on the three-lane motorway was a thrill. Caity and I played lots of games on the journey, like ‘I Spy’ and counting the number of cars we saw of particular colours. When Grandpa said we were nearly there I kept an eager lookout for Buckingham Palace and Tower Bridge, but disappointingly didn’t see either. Grandpa did point out Wimbledon Common when we passed it, which is an expansive area of grass and woods in London.

Our tummies were rumbling by that point, so I was glad when we turned off the main road, just south of the Common, and onto a much smaller gravel one. A sturdy wooden gate blocked the road, and a guard appeared from the little building beside it. He spoke to Grandpa briefly, then called to another guard inside the building, and the gate started opening on its own.

As the driveway ahead was revealed, I saw three normal-sized houses spread out on each side of it, and one big one at the end. As we pulled up to the house at the end, I thought it looked like a very pretty little country cottage that had been magically enlarged and extended to be humungous. It was red brick, with cream stone window surrounds, ivy climbing the walls and lots of tall chimneys. It wasn’t big like a posh palace, but big and pretty and cosy.

As we stopped in front of it, Grandpa just said: “Welcome to your new home”.


The first order of business was lunch, and that was when we met a lovely old lady called Mrs O’Keef, who was the housekeeper and cook. She had a funny accent but asked us about our favourite foods and treats, so we both took to her immediately.

While Caity and I had felt completely out of place at the hotel in Sheffield, we immediately felt very comfortable in our new home. It might have been big, but it felt homely. The exception to that was the indoor 25-metre swimming pool, which seemed unapologetically luxurious. We had a bedroom each, which was nice but would take some getting used to.

At the end of lunch, a tall man and a young lady joined us in the kitchen. Grandpa introduced the latter as Kerry-Ann and told Caity that Mrs O’Keef and Kerry-Ann were going to take her shopping. Caity had the girl gene, so she was very happy with that plan!

That left the three of us guys, who went into Grandpa’s study. There Grandpa introduced the man to me as Major Dan Porter. “Dan is my head of security, and he’s going to be your bodyguard”.

My eyes popped open. “Why do I need a bodyguard?”

“Because we’re rich, Finn”, Grandpa told me. “I mean really, really rich, and when people know you have lots of money, a few of them always try to find ways to take it for themselves. One way they could do that is by kidnapping you or Caity and demanding a ransom.”

Grandpa’s house was impressive, but it wasn’t a palace or anything so I told him, “You can’t be that rich”.

He chuckled slightly. “Finn, the hotel we stayed in, in Sheffield ... I own it. And lots more around the world. And that’s just for starters. All the other houses down the driveway are mine too, and the men at the front gate work for Dan to keep us safe. We have to be careful, alright?”

Dan certainly looked big and tough enough to be a bodyguard, but he also had friendly eyes, so I was happy with Grandpa’s choice.

“There’s one other thing”, Grandpa told me. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Caity. I’m seventy-two years old, and I’m not going to be around forever. If I die before you and Caity reach adulthood, Dan will be your legal guardian.”

That was worrying, but Grandpa looked healthy enough, so I put it to the back of my mind.

Dan was tasked with taking me shopping that afternoon like Caity, as I needed a uniform for my new school on Monday. As we drove off, I noticed another car pull out behind us which I mentioned to Dan. He told me not to worry; it was three guys that worked for him and were our ‘shadow’. He was my bodyguard that would always be standing right next to me. The other guys would be close enough to jump into a situation if needed, but would otherwise try to be invisible. He also told me that Caity had Kerry-Ann as her bodyguard, with three more guys shadowing.

That trip was my first time seeing London, and I was thrilled as we passed lots of the famous sights. It was a Saturday afternoon, so the streets were busy. We got to Oxford Street and parked in the carpark behind a big store that Dan said would have everything we needed. I think maybe Grandpa had told him about me hating shopping, as this trip ended up being a fairly quick trip to the boys wear department, followed by an extended visit to the toy department. I got some dull new school clothes and a few cool things like Corgi cars and Beano comics.

I decided that I liked Dan, and not just because he bought me presents (though it helped). I liked having the sense of security he gave me like nobody could hurt me without going through him first. And for a guy of about 35, he was super-fit and imposing. Not the sort of person you tangle with!


Later that day, while Grandpa was helping me unpack and personalise my new bedroom, I asked him if he would show me the photos my mum had sent him. He just said we’d look at them later after Caity had gone to bed.

When the time came, with Caity upstairs, he sat me down in the lounge and told me: “Finn, I lied to you back at the orphanage. There are no photographs, and I’m not your grandfather. Henry Harrison died in the war like your dad told you. I’ve just taken over his identity. I’m sorry I lied, but it was essential I got you out of that orphanage and being your grandfather was the best way. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Oh”, was my brilliant response. I’d been suspicious about him back at the orphanage, but right then my mind was on basics. “Then who are you and how did you know about those times when mum took our photograph?”

“Finn, I’m going to tell you something that will be difficult to understand. It’s top secret, and you have to promise me that you won’t tell a soul. Promise me?”

“I promise”, I said without actually thinking about it.

“I mean it, Finn”, he said sternly. “Swear on your sister’s life that you will never tell anybody. Including Caity.”

My eyes bulged open when he said that, so I said seriously, “I swear on my sister’s life that I will keep your secret, whatever it is”.

Grandpa (I didn’t know what else to call him just then) stood up and began taking off his trousers. I was alarmed at that and started planning my escape. As his trousers fell to his ankles, he shuffled around so he was sideways on to me, then pulled the side of his underwear down just enough to show the birthmark he had on his right thigh. I gasped when I saw it because it was very similar to the one I had on my own thigh. It was sort of bigger like it had been stretched out, but it had the same distinctive star shape to it.

“Finn, my name is Finnley Harrison, and I’m seventy-two years old. I’m you.”

I laughed in his face. That was ridiculous.

He went on, “I’m serious Finn. Have you ever heard of Doctor Who?”

I nodded. We hadn’t had a television set at home, but I’d heard other kids mention it.

“Okay, so how do you think I could be you, but much older?”

I gave a puzzled look. “I don’t know. What, are you a time traveller?”

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

I didn’t believe him of course, but it was a cool idea, so I asked him: “Where’s your TARDIS then?”

“I don’t have a TARDIS, but I do have a time machine that I, er, borrowed. But I’m staying here now. No more time travelling.”

“So what year are you from and why are you here? And will you take me in it?”, I asked, not remotely believing him but still being willing to trade in disbelief for a trip in an actual time machine.

“I told you I’m seventy-two years old. You know we were born in 1955, so you can work it out for yourself. And no, I’m not taking you in the machine. Why am I here? I’m here because when our parents died I spent eight years living in that blasted orphanage and it ruined my life. After a few months there, Caity was adopted by a couple who wanted a little girl, and I never saw her again. Not ever. I never achieved much in my life. I never got married or had children. I never went to university or got an important job. I’m a failure and the world in 2027 — oops — there’s nobody that will miss me. I’ve come back in time to make sure that your life is better than mine.”


Next morning when I woke up, I could think of little else than what Grandpa had told me the previous night. His speech about wanting my life to be better than his scared me, because of Caity. Did I believe his story? Not in a zillion years. Did I want to go back to the orphanage and risk everything? No way!

My primary concern was whether Caity and I were safe living in the house of a man that was obviously a complete wacko.

The atmosphere at breakfast was odd because Caity was bubbling over about all the cool things she wanted to do in our new house, whereas I was quiet and watching Grandpa suspiciously. The one little thing he’d added about his crazy story was that Major Dan knew, and believed it. Dan certainly didn’t seem crazy, so the next time I saw him, I would want to quiz him.

Caity and I spent the day exploring the house, the garden, and then testing out the pool. Grandpa insisted on us having an adult there, so he sat on a pool-side lounger while we had fun. Caity wasn’t a confident swimmer and stayed very close to the wall at the shallow end. I, on the other hand, loved swimming and raced from end to end as she counted the seconds out loud to time me.


That night after Caity had gone to bed, Grandpa started telling me a story about the future. I think he knew that I didn’t believe him, so he picked a story that I would enjoy: he told me about how England was going to win the World Cup next year. He said it would be England and West Germany in the final at Wembley, and that we would beat them in extra time.

I still didn’t believe him, but that was overridden by the excitement any ten-year-old boy would have about England winning the cup. I immediately asked if he could get tickets to take Harry and me to the final. He gave another of his chuckles and said he’d try.

I hadn’t actually asked Grandpa about Harry coming for the summer yet, but he didn’t ask any questions about my mentioning him. I wondered about whether Grandpa had been good friends with Harry in his life, then immediately told myself off for buying into the whole time traveller story. Naughty!

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