The Lights Go On Again (2 page)

Of course Gavin wanted the Allies to beat Germany and Italy and Japan. But once the war was over, there would be no reason for him and Norah to stay in Canada. They'd have to go back to England, to that place where he had felt so
unsafe
. To a scary new country and a scary new school. To a family he barely remembered, though Norah talked about them all the time.

Gavin shivered and, as usual, tried not to think about it. But it was so hard not to, when his parents' letters talked about their return, when Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary kept giving him sad looks and when Norah, especially, was so excited about going back.

“Just wait, Gavin,” she said. “You'll really like our village. There's a pond where you can fish and woods to play in.”

I like it
here,
Gavin wanted to answer—but that would show what a scaredy-cat he was.

He tried to think of how brave all the men were who were fighting in the war. Like Andrew, Aunt Florence's great-nephew—he was a soldier stationed in Italy. Gavin and Tim and Roger often pretended they were fighting in the war, but Gavin knew he'd never have the guts to really do it. Just as he didn't have the guts to fight Mick.

Gavin flipped up his eiderdown on each side, forming a snug cocoon around him. He tried not to cry again. If only Bosley were here to comfort him. Or
Creature
…

Creature was the name of his small stuffed elephant. When Gavin was little he took him everywhere and talked to him as if he were real. He'd never do that now, of course—not now that he was ten. But he wished he still had him.

A year ago he'd lost Creature. The family had helped him search the whole house. “He must have fallen out of your pocket outside,” said Aunt Florence. “Would you like me to buy you a new elephant?”

“No, thank you.” Gavin had smiled and pretended he didn't care …

He sat up and wiped his eyes.
Think!
Think about
Mick,
not about a stupid toy elephant! He had only this evening to find the money.

“N
ORAH … CAN I TALK TO YOU
?” Gavin stood in Norah's doorway after dinner.

“Sure! I need a break anyway.” Norah turned around from her desk and stretched as Gavin came into her room. It was in the tower, the highest part of the house. Whenever he was up here he felt safe; like being in a fortress.

Should he tell her about Mick? He studied his sister. Now that Norah had started high school she had turned into a “bobby-soxer.” She and her best friend, Paige Worsley, looked like twins, in their Sloppy Joe sweaters, saddle shoes and pleated skirts. Norah wore lipstick whenever she was out of the house. Photographs of Frank Sinatra plastered her walls. Last month, when Aunt Florence had been away in Montreal, Aunt Mary had let her have a slumber party. The house had resounded with the shrieks of six teen-age girls, as they played records, curled each other's long hair and talked on the telephone all evening. Aunt Mary, Hanny and Gavin had retreated to the kitchen to escape the racket.

But underneath her teen-age disguise Norah was still Norah: his kind older sister and his best friend. She was also the bravest person he knew.

That was why he couldn't tell her about Mick. She'd be so furious that someone was picking on her brother that she'd tell on Mick. Then he would be even meaner to Gavin.

“Well?” smiled Norah. “Why are you staring at me like that? What did you want to talk about?”

“Do you have any money?” Gavin asked quickly. “I need two dollars really fast.”

“Two dollars!” Norah looked apologetic. “I'm sorry, Gavin, I'm broke. Why do you need so much?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Oh. Well, why don't you ask Aunt Florence?”

“I can't tell her either,” said Gavin, “and you know she wouldn't give it to me unless she knew why.” He shrugged, as if it wasn't important. “It doesn't matter.”

Aunt Mary's voice called up the stairs. “Ga-vin … it's almost time for your programme.”

“Coming down to listen to ‘The Lone Ranger'?” Gavin asked her.

“Not tonight—I have to study! Maths is the first exam and I'm not nearly ready.”

“I thought maths was your best subject.” It was Gavin's worst.

Norah looked sheepish. “It usually is. But I missed some important parts of algebra when I was—um—out of school.”

In October Norah had been suspended from high school for two days. She'd written an essay about how she didn't believe in war and how killing people was always wrong. When her teacher had given her a low mark she'd protested to the principal.

Gavin remembered how steadfast she'd been all through the huge fuss both at school and at home. The adults had called her “disrespectful,” both to them and to her country, but not once had Norah faltered in her firm beliefs. No one, not even Aunt Florence, had been able to squash her. Finally her mark had been reluctantly raised and she'd returned to school in triumph.

Gavin sighed; if only
he
were unsquashable. “You'll do okay, Norah,” he told her. “You always do.”

“Thanks, Gavin.” Her clear grey-green eyes searched his face. “Are you
sure
you don't want to tell me why you need so much money? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Gavin almost told her. But he thought of Norah confronting
his
principal the way she had hers, and of Mick's reaction.

“I'm sure,” he mumbled, turning to go.

Norah swivelled her chair back to her desk. “All right, then. I'd better get on with maths. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow morning!”

Neither am I! thought Gavin as he trudged down the two flights of stairs to the den.

G
AVIN TRIED TO FORGET
about Mick as the galloping music and the Lone Ranger's call of “Hi-yo, Silver … away!” began his favourite Monday evening radio programme. He held open his speller as he listened but he couldn't concentrate on the list of words he was supposed to learn for tomorrow. Instead he let his mind fill with images of cowboys who always beat their enemies.

Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary knitted as they listened—long grey scarves for soldiers. Gavin put down his book and ran his fingers through Bosley's silky fur. The dog's loose skin was dark under his black patches and pale under his white ones. His long ears were the softest part of him; Gavin massaged one between his palms and Bosley thumped his tail in ecstasy.

When the programme was over, Gavin lay down on the floor and rested his head on the soothing warmth of Bosley's side. I wish I was a dog, he thought, as the problem of Mick came rushing back. Dogs never had to worry about anything.

“Turn to the news, Mary,” Aunt Florence told her daughter. As usual, Gavin didn't listen. For most of his life he had sat with grown-ups around a radio while an announcer droned on about the war.

He watched his two guardians. Quiet, plump Aunt Mary, her greying hair in a neat bun, had a peaceful expression on her plain face. When her mother wasn't around she let him and Norah do whatever they liked, as if all three of them were Aunt Florence's children. She was always ready to listen or to laugh at a joke.
Safe
…

Aunt Florence was even safer. Gavin remembered the only other time in his life he had felt this scared: travelling on a big ship to Canada, then living in a hostel with lots of other children while they waited to be assigned to a home. During those endless, confusing days he had clung to one person after another for protection, but they had all been temporary. He'd had to leave the nice women on the boat and at the hostel who'd taken care of him. And Norah had been so wrapped up in her own misery, she hadn't noticed how much he needed her.

Then he had stepped into this solid house where majestic Aunt Florence had welcomed him warmly and claimed him as her own.

“Why do you like her so much?” Norah sometimes asked Gavin. She preferred Aunt Mary. Although she and Aunt Florence secretly respected each other, they had always had a stormy relationship.

Gavin couldn't explain. The older he got the more he realized how conceited and snobby his guardian was. She was often unfair to both her daughter and Norah, and she drove Hanny wild with her bossiness. But whenever Norah and Hanny sat in the kitchen making fun of Aunt Florence, Gavin defended her. Her utter, rock-like confidence—and knowing that he was the most important person in the world to her—protected him.

“You let her baby you too much,” was another thing Norah told him. “You should stand up to her more.”

But he didn't mind all the hugs and kisses and mushy nicknames. Aunt Florence often told Gavin how much he was like Hugh, her son who had been killed long ago in another world war. Sometimes she went on too much about his clothes, or how blue his eyes were. But when he politely objected she would laugh, hug him, and stop.

Aunt Florence thought he was perfect—coward or not.

“You're growing so fast, sweetness,” she smiled when the news was over. “That shirt is much too short in the sleeves. We'll have to get you some new clothes, so your parents don't think I haven't been taking good care of you.”

She almost grimaced when she mentioned his parents. But quite often lately Aunt Florence had brought up the subject of Gavin and Norah's return to England, even though it was obviously painful to her. Gavin had overheard the social worker from the Children's Aid Society who had visited last month warn the aunts that they had to prepare them.

He turned over and buried his face in Bosley's neck, sniffing in his warm, musty smell. He couldn't imagine his life without these two women. It was even harder to think of leaving Bosley. He'd known, ever since Aunt Florence's brother Reg had “lent” him the dog the summer before last, that he'd have to give him back one day. He knew in his head that Bosley wasn't really his. But in his heart he was.

Moping over leaving Canada wasn't any help. The end of the war might be soon—but facing Mick was tomorrow!

“I've been thinking, Gavin,” said Aunt Florence. “Now that you're ten, I don't see why you can't stay up until nine. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes,
please
!” Gavin sat up with surprise, and both the aunts laughed. The more Aunt Florence made herself talk about the coming separation, the more she filled Gavin's life with treats to cushion the pain.

Gavin knew he was spoilt; his friends often told him so enviously. He probably
could
ask for two dollars and get it; but only for a good reason. If he could think up a convincing lie, Aunt Florence would believe it. She trusted him. She thought that he was worth trusting; that he was good. And he liked being good—like Sir Launcelot, and the Lone Ranger, and the Shadow, and the pilgrim they talked about in Sunday School.

If only he could be brave, as well.

It was swell to be able to stay up later. But Gavin's stomach lurched as he thought of the bully's words: “… or you'll be jelly.” Which part of him would Mick hit first?

“Oh, Bosley,” Gavin whispered, “What am I going to do?” He almost started crying again.

Aunt Mary got up and peeked out the window. “It's snowing again! You'll have good tobogganing tomorrow, Gavin.”

Gavin didn't answer. All at once he had thought of a solution—for the time being, anyway.

He would pretend to be sick. Aunt Florence would let him stay home from school if he said he didn't feel well. That wasn't really a lie … he
didn't
feel well, not when he thought about being pounded by Mick.

Gavin opened his speller again, limp with relief. It was a coward's way out, but it was all he could think of.

2

The Big Snow

T
hat night Gavin dreamt he was Superman. He picked up Mick by the scruff of his neck, flew to the top of a high building, whirled the bully around his head three times, and dropped him. Mick screamed all the way down until he landed with a
SPLAT
—just like in the comics.

Gavin woke up tangled in his sheet. His clock said six-thirty but he hadn't heard the milkman's horse clomping in his dreams the way he usually did. His windowpane rattled and a branch scraped against it.

He hopped out of bed and opened the curtains. Snow raged against the glass, as if trying to get in. A blizzard!

Gavin grinned—then frowned, as he remembered his plan. If he pretended to be sick, he couldn't enjoy the fresh snow. But he could go out
now,
then get back into bed before anyone was up.

“Come on, Boz!” Bosley looked up from his basket with sleepy surprise. He stretched his long front legs out of it, leaving his hindquarters in place as he decided whether or not to wake up. He lumbered to his feet, then stretched again with a complaining groan.

“Lazybones,” chuckled Gavin, flinging on his clothes. “Get up. We're going
out
. For a
walk
!”

At the word “walk” Bosley jolted awake. He danced and whined around Gavin, his stubby black tail wagging furiously.

“Shh!” Gavin held the dog by the collar as they crept downstairs. In the hall he put on his jacket, ski pants, tuque, mitts and galoshes. Then he unlocked the front door and pushed at it. It wouldn't budge.

“That's funny.” He went into the kitchen and unlocked that door. But it, too, was stuck. He peeked out of the window.

“Wow …” The snow came halfway up the panes and the back yard was a whirling landscape. Gavin pushed at the door again but the snow blocked it. Bosley scratched at it and whined.

“You need to go out, don't you boy? But we're trapped!”

Gavin thought a minute. Then he hauled the kitchen table over to the window, stood on it, pulled down the upper sash and pushed out the storm window. Snow and cold air rushed into the warm kitchen. He poked out his head and looked down. The drifts were so high it probably wouldn't hurt to simply fall into them.