The Lights Go On Again (3 page)

“Come on, Boz, you go first.” Gavin lifted Bosley onto the slippery tabletop, climbed up himself and put the dog's front paws on top of the open window. His hind legs scrabbled for a foothold and he whined again, his liquid brown eyes looking back imploringly at Gavin.

“Be
brave,
” Gavin told him. “Jump!” But Bosley kept whining and trying to get off the table. Gavin sighed. His dog was a coward too. “Come on … pretend you're Lassie.” With great difficulty—Bosley was almost as big as he was—Gavin hoisted the protesting dog and spilled him out of the window. Then he tumbled out after him.

Down they both dropped, like stones into water, until the snow stopped their fall. They emerged caked in white, Bosley sneezing violently and Gavin laughing.

He brushed off his face, but the wind blew more snow into it. He struggled to the front of the house; it was like wading through waist-high mud. Then he stopped in awe.

Gavin had seen lots of snow since he'd lived in Canada, but never as much as this. He blinked through the swaying curtain of flakes. The street, sidewalks and front yards merged into one white expanse. Each house had several feet of snow heaped on its roof, with tall drifts blown against its doors and lower windows. Every car was buried. Snowflakes scraped against his jacket, melted on his eyelashes and tickled his nose.

Gavin stood spellbound in the dim morning light. He put out his tongue to catch the flakes, feeling like an Arctic explorer—Nansen, he decided—setting foot in an untouched land.

Bosley had followed gingerly in Gavin's path. Now he began to play, springing out of the snow like a jack-in-the-box. Gavin leapt and stumbled after him, throwing sprays of snow into the air. His laughter and Bosley's barking rang out in the silent street.

The snow was seeping into Gavin's cloth jacket and he began to shiver. He started towards the house, then stopped.

How was he going to get back in? The open window was too high to reach and both doors were blocked. And if he were trapped outside, that meant Norah and Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary were trapped inside!

What would Sir Launcelot do? Or Nansen? He floundered to the back yard and looked around. Then he spied the snow shovel under the porch, where Hanny's husband had left it the last time he'd shovelled the snow. He picked it up and began working on the four-foot drift blocking the back door.

His sore arm made it difficult to lift the shovel and he had to keep stopping to pound snow off the blade. Sweat ran down his forehead and his breath steamed around him. He pretended he was Nansen again and hummed to himself as he imagined freeing his fellow explorers from their igloo. The snow blew back almost as fast as he cleared it, but finally he had shovelled away enough to jerk open the door. He and Bosley ran through the kitchen into the hall.

“Wake up, everyone!” Gavin shouted. “I've rescued you!”

By breakfast the glow from the family's praise, which made Gavin feel like a hero, had worn off. While he was outside he had completely forgotten about Mick. He couldn't pretend to be sick now that he'd demonstrated so much healthy vigour.

“I've never
seen
so much snow!” marvelled Aunt Mary. “It must be a record!”

Aunt Florence brought in their breakfast. “I'm sure Hanny won't make it in at all today. And the milkman probably won't either, or the bread wagon. We're almost out of both. Only one piece of toast each, please.”

Gavin looked out the window at the shifting white world. He glanced across the table at Norah, who smiled back. She was obviously hoping for the same thing he was. Then the radio confirmed it: all Toronto schools were closed.

“Hurray!” shouted Norah. “No exams!”

Gavin couldn't stop grinning as his fear rolled away. It would return tomorrow, but right now he had a whole day of freedom from Mick.

T
HE HOLIDAY STRETCHED
to two days; two days when the city was paralysed by what everyone later called “the big snow.” The grown-ups looked grave as calamities kept being reported on the radio. Several people died of over-exertion as they struggled through the drifts. A streetcar was overturned on Queen Street, trapping everyone inside. By Wednesday thirteen people had died and all deliveries were still delayed.

But for Gavin and his friends the blizzard was a profitable adventure. He and Norah strapped on their skis and struggled to the local store, where the owner allowed one quart of milk a customer. After the snow finally stopped falling, every young person in the neighbourhood began to shovel. They shovelled paths to doors. They shovelled sidewalks. They shovelled out cars. Gavin thought his arms would fall off, they ached so much. But it was worth it to feel like a hero again, as the people he shovelled out thanked him warmly. Best of all, many of them insisted on paying.

“You shouldn't take money,” said Norah sternly, when he told her how old Mr. Chapman had given him a quarter. “This is an emergency!”

“I tried to refuse but he said I had to!” said Gavin.

“Oh, all right. I guess it's okay as long as you don't ask.”

By Wednesday afternoon Gavin had $3.15—more money than he'd ever had in his life. Now he could face Mick when school opened again, and even have some left over.

“You'll always remember this, Norah and Gavin,” said Aunt Mary that evening. “You can tell your grandchildren you experienced the worst storm Toronto has ever had.”

They were relaxing in the den after dinner, as usual. The house had a huge living room but the family spent most of their time in the smaller, more comfortable den. Gavin sprawled on the floor, reading the funnies. Aunt Florence and Norah were huddled over a game of cribbage. Aunt Mary was unpacking Christmas tree ornaments, inspecting each one to see if it was broken.

“I think we should all be very proud of ourselves,” said Aunt Florence. “Mary and I are pretty good cooks, aren't we? I believe my biscuits are even better than Hanny's. And you children were splendid, the way you got us milk and shovelled all that snow. I'm going to write to your parents and tell them.”

They all beamed at each other, even Norah and Aunt Florence.

“I hear there's a shortage of Christmas trees and turkeys this year,” said Aunt Mary.

“Then we'll do without a tree and have a goose instead of a turkey,” said her mother calmly. “After all, we already do without using the car to have enough gas coupons for the summer.” She put away the cards. “Beat you again, eh, Norah?” Norah grinned ruefully.

Aunt Florence took out
Oliver Twist
and began where she'd left off last time. This fall she had started reading aloud every evening, the way she did in the summers at Muskoka.

Gavin settled back against Bosley, who was snoozing peacefully. The snow pressing against the house made the den even cosier than usual. Sitting here listening to Aunt Florence's rich, reassuring voice was like being on an island. An island of safety in a world of dangers—Mick, and having to leave Canada. He closed his eyes and tried to will the evening to last forever.

But Mick finally had to be faced when school reopened on Thursday. The streets were still glutted with snow. Gavin kicked a hole in a snowbank as he waited at the usual corner for Tim and Roger. The money was safe in his mitt but he shivered inside. What if Mick wasn't satisfied?

“Hi, Gav.” Tim threw a soft snowball at Gavin's stomach. “I was thinking about Mick.” While they were shovelling together yesterday Gavin had told his friends all about the bully's threat.

“What about him?”

“Why don't we ambush him with snowballs? From behind the school fence so he won't see us. Then you could keep your money.”

Tim was always suggesting things like this.
He
was brave—but too impulsive. “That wouldn't do any good,” Gavin told him. “It might put Mick off for a while but he'd still look for me later to get the money. And if he found out it was us he'd be even madder.”

Tim looked disappointed. “I guess so. Jeepers, why are people
like
Mick? Mean like him …”

Gavin shuddered. “He's even meaner than Charlie was.” Charlie had been last year's bully, but now he went to Norah's high school.

“Remember when Charlie and his gang beat up your sister's friend just because he had a German last name?” said Tim.

“They cracked his rib!” said Gavin indignantly.

“I wonder if Charlie still picks on Bernard. Does your sister ever talk about him?”

“Bernard doesn't live in Toronto any more,” said Gavin. “He and his mother moved back to Kitchener.” Gavin remembered how Bernard had always been nice to him. He could have told
him
about Mick.

Roger joined them, out of breath from running. “Sorry I'm late. Mum couldn't get out of bed and I had to make breakfast.” As usual Roger looked worried. His mother had a bad back and his father, an officer in the navy, was fighting overseas. Roger was the only child—sometimes he even had to do the grocery shopping.

“What were you talking about?” he asked, as they started walking the remaining two blocks to school.

“Mick,” sighed Gavin.

“Oh, him.” Roger looked even more worried. “I just saw him.”

The other two stared at him. “Where?”

“Hanging around by the store. He was making a kid in grade three eat some snow that had dog pee on it.”

“He's such a creep!” cried Tim. “He's like a Nazi.”

“A nasty Nazi,” said Roger quietly.

Tim grinned. “Mick's a
nasty Nazi
… Mick's a
nasty Nazi
…” He and Gavin and Roger goosestepped along the snowy sidewalk as they continued the chant. But not too loud, in case Mick was lurking nearby.

Gavin felt braver now that both of his friends were with him. Norah called them “The Three Musketeers” and they often pretended they were. They'd been friends since grade one.

Tim Flanagan was the middle one of six. He was round and emotional, but despite his frequent outbursts, he never let anything bother him for long—except for being hungry, which he always was.

Skinny Roger, on the other hand, appeared calm and quiet, but he constantly picked at the skin on his fingers and usually had an anxious frown on his face. “That Hewitt boy looks like a little old man,” Aunt Florence said. Roger got high marks in all his subjects but after each report card he always said they could have been higher.

Three was a perfect number for games. Besides the Three Musketeers, they often played they were Sir Launcelot, Sir Galahad and Sir Gawaine, or the army, the navy and the air force. Gavin was the best at making things up, Roger knew the most facts, and Tim was the most daring.

“Should we stay with you while you give Mick the money?” asked Tim as they approached Prince Edward School.

If only they could; but Gavin shook his head. “Mick wouldn't like it if he knew I'd told you.”

“Then we'll hide behind the fence. Come on, Rog!”

“No snowballs!” Gavin called after them. He watched them push through the excited crowd of kids playing in the snow. Then he went up to the flagpole—no Mick. He stood there alone for a long time, wishing he could be invisible like the Shadow.

“Hi, Gavin.” Eleanor Austen came up to him.

“Hi, Eleanor.” Gavin forgot his fear for a moment as he smiled at her. Eleanor was even smarter than Roger, and she was the prettiest girl in his class. Her eyelashes were so long she could balance eraser crumbs on them; last year she'd demonstrated. This morning her cheeks were the same colour as her red tam; her long brown braids hung in neat polished ropes from under it.

Some girls were unbearable. Like Lucy Smith. She was a grade ahead of Gavin and also a war guest, from the same English village as him and Norah. She and her sister and brother, Dulcie and Derek, had come over on the same ship. Now Derek had gone back to England to join the army, but Lucy and Dulcie still lived a few blocks away from the Ogilvies', at Reverend and Mrs. Milne's.

Lucy acted as if she owned Gavin, bossing him in front of his friends. And Daphne Worsley, Paige's youngest sister, was even worse; Aunt Florence called her “a holy terror.” At least Daphne went to a different school.

Eleanor, however, was
interesting
. She wrote dramatic stories, which she sometimes read aloud in class. And instead of a dog or a cat she had a pet monkey called Kilroy, which she had once brought to school.

Eleanor looked at Gavin urgently. “Quick!” she whispered. “They dared me to kiss you! So I'm just going to pretend, okay?” She smacked the air in front of his cheek, then rushed back to her friends watching from the girls' playground.

Gavin did what was expected of him. “Yech!” he cried, pretending to wipe off the kiss. The girls giggled.

Gavin's cheeks burned as much as Eleanor's had. Girls often dared each other to kiss him—him, Jamie and George, whom they had decided were the best-looking boys in grade five. Gavin had never liked it—but it had never been Eleanor before. He almost wished she hadn't just pretended.

A teacher came out and rang the first bell. The snowball fights stopped and everyone began to line up at the boys' and girls' entrances.

Where was Mick? Gavin was just about to dash into school when a rough voice behind him snarled, “Hand it over, Stoakes.”

Gavin tore off his mitt and held up the red two-dollar bill. He was ashamed at how much his hand trembled. Mick grabbed the bill.

“Okay. You're safe. For now …” Both of them ran to their classrooms.

“D
ID YOU DO IT
?” Tim whispered to Gavin, as they stood beside each other during “God Save the King.”

Gavin nodded, trying to catch his breath. “But now I wish I hadn't. It's so unfair that he gets away with it!”

“At least you won't get beaten up,” said Tim.

Mrs. Moss directed one of her piercing glances at them. They clamped their mouths closed, then opened them again to chant “The Lord's Prayer.”