The Lights Go On Again

by Kit Pearson

  “Okay, rub them together,” said Tim. He smeared his bloody finger over Roger’s finger, then Gavin’s. The others did the same.

  “Now I have blood from both of you mingled with mine,” said Tim, examining his finger with satisfaction.

  “We should say something,” said Gavin.

  Roger looked solemn. “We three swear, by the mingling of our blood, that we will be blood brothers and friends forever.”

  “I swear,” said Tim, choking with laughter.

  “I swear,” said Gavin fervently. “Now we really are like the Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all!” They were musketeers until dinner time.

  10

  A Surprise Visitor

  The family tried to carry on as if they weren’t waiting for a decision that would change their lives forever. By unspoken agreement no one talked about it, but the whole household itched with prickly suspense. Aunt Mary was overcome by spring allergies and took to her bed. Hanny served dull, badly cooked meals and sat around the kitchen morosely nursing her tea and cigarette. Norah had to study for her final exams. Sometimes Paige persuaded her to go to a movie or the canteen, but most of the time she escaped into her books. Aunt Florence took Gavin to the Riverdale Zoo on Firecracker Day. They were both relieved when the outing was over, after the strain of pretending that everything was normal.

  But when June came and there was still no word from Grandad, Aunt Florence broke the silence. “When is he going to phone?” she asked Norah angrily. “It’s unbearable, keeping us in suspense like this! If he hasn’t phoned by Monday I’m going to send another telegram.”

  “How should I know why?” said Norah sullenly. “It isn’t my fault he hasn’t phoned yet! I want to know what he’s decided just as much as you do.” The two of them were as antagonistic as when Norah and Gavin had first arrived, as if their four years’ truce had never happened.

  Gavin began to daydream so much in class that Mrs. Moss had to keep him after school several times to finish his work. “Are you worried about going back to England?” she asked during one of these detentions. She looked up from her desk as he tried to concentrate on a page of long division.

  He couldn’t tell her his secret. He just whispered “Yes, Mrs. Moss” so sadly that she let him leave.

  Gavin walked home slowly, kicking at the sidewalk and scuffing his new oxfords. He didn’t care. Waiting. It seemed that all he had done in 1945 was wait. He felt as dry and wrung-out as the twisted dishcloths that Hanny hung on the line.

  Today was Monday—the day Aunt Florence said she’d send Grandad another telegram. That cheered him up a little. At least they were doing something.

  The house was silent when Gavin got there. Hanny told him the aunts had gone out to vote in the Ontario election. “Norah’s at the library. I’d like to nip out and vote myself before I start dinner. Will you be all right by yourself for half an hour?”

  “Sure.” After Hanny had gone, he wandered upstairs, Bosley padding behind and whining for a bite of his cookie. Gavin was rarely alone in the house. He decided to explore every inch of it, as if he had never been here before.

  First he climbed on a chair and tried to open the trap door to the roof, but he couldn’t quite reach it. Then he made his way slowly downwards, from Norah’s tower to the musty basement.

  He even ventured into the aunts’ rooms, careful not to touch anything. He examined the childhood photograph of Aunt Mary and her brother Hugh, which she always kept on her chest of drawers. On her bedside table lay a Bible and a library book called The Building of Jalna. A watercolour picture of Gairloch hung on one wall. Surely he’d be back in that magical place this summer …

  Aunt Florence’s room smelled like the flowery perfume she always wore. It was stuffed with cushions, soft furniture, family photographs and hat boxes. Beside her bed was a book about the Royal Family. Almost everything in the room was pink. Being in here always made Gavin feel as if he were enveloped in a soft pink cloud of security.

  As he continued his expedition through the house, its solid presence held him like a hug. If Aunt Florence adopted him he would own this house one day! He’d own part of Gairloch too. Not until he was grown up, of course.

  Bosley would be dead by then. It was so unfair that dogs didn’t live as long as humans. But he’d always have a springer spaniel, Gavin thought dreamily. They would all be black-and-white and they’d all be called Bosley.

  After his tour he lay on the den floor, listening to “Terry and the Pirates” on the radio. Bosley’s freckled muzzle rested on his stomach. Then the door knocker banged and Bosley jumped up with a warning bark.

  “Shhh! It’s probably Norah, silly. Hanny must have locked the door.” Gavin got up to open it.

  An old man stood there. He was short and tubby, with a white fringe of hair under his crumpled hat. Heavy brows fell over his eyes and his stiff moustache was stained with tobacco. He wore a grimy suit and a bedraggled blue tie. His shoes needed polishing. In one hand he held a battered suitcase, in the other a pipe.

  Gavin backed off with alarm. He must be a tramp! Tramps usually came to the kitchen door and begged for some food from Hanny. Would this man expect him to give him something? Bosley growled and Gavin put one hand on his collar.

  The man stared at Gavin with a curious, searching expression. Then he said softly, “Is it Gavin?”

  “Who are you?” whispered Gavin. “How do you know my name?” Suddenly the man’s face looked familiar—where had he seen it?

  “Don’t you recognize me? I’m your grandad! I’ve come to take you home.”

  HALF AN HOUR LATER everyone sat in the living room, staring dumbfounded at Grandad.

  Except for Norah. She pressed against her grandfather, hanging onto his arm like an anchor. Gavin would never forget the look of utter relief on her face when she’d come through the door, minutes after Gavin had awkwardly invited Grandad into the hall. She had screamed, then collapsed sobbing in his arms, as if she were sobbing away four and a half years’ homesickness as well as the grief over her parents. “Grandad! Oh, Grandad …”

  “There, there, my brave Norah. I’m here now. Everything is going to be all right. Just look how you’ve grown! Both of you!”

  Norah kept hold of Grandad while they stumbled into the living room and collapsed on the chesterfield. Then Hanny and the aunts arrived. Grandad introduced himself gruffly. Aunt Mary cried out with delighted surprise. Aunt Florence stiffened, then shook Grandad’s hand without a word. She stared coldly at the old man while Hanny brought them tea and stayed to listen to his story.

  “A fellow I know in the navy got me onto a ship for Canada. It was a cheap passage and I’ve made a bit of money this year doing carpentry. It was some voyage, I can tell you! Full of war brides and babies. The whole ship reeked of nappies!” He wiped his bald forehead with his handkerchief.

  “We are so glad to meet you after all these years,” Aunt Mary said again. “Norah has told us all about you and you can tell what a comfort it is for her to see you again.” She smiled warmly at Norah.

  Finally Aunt Florence spoke. “You’re very welcome to stay here, of course, Mr. Loggin. But I’m curious. Why did you journey all this way when Norah is about to return to England anyway?”

  Gavin froze; even Bosley seemed to hold his breath.

  “Your request put me into such a dither, Ma’am, that I couldn’t think straight. I’ve never been one for letters or telephones, so I decided to come over and talk to you in person about … this matter. But let’s wait until tomorrow for that. Right now I want to catch up with these young ones.”

  “Of course you do!” said Aunt Mary giddily. “We’ll leave the three of you alone until dinner’s ready.” She and Aunt Florence and Hanny left the room.

  Gavin shoved piece after piece of Hanny’s gingerbread into his mouth while Norah found her voice. She and Grandad talked and talked, interrupting each other with excited comments about the rest of the family.

 
Grandad had an English accent, of course, but he wasn’t easy to understand like some of the English teachers in school. His speech was garbled and rough and Mrs. Moss would have been shocked at some of the words he used. Every once in a while he stopped and stared at Norah and Gavin. “I can’t believe how much you’ve both changed! But of course, it’s been almost five years. Do you remember me, Gavin?”

  “Yes, sir,” lied Gavin.

  Grandad laughed. “You don’t have to say ‘sir’ to your own grandad! And listen to your accent! Norah’s not as bad, but you sound like the Yanks we had in our village.”

  “I’m Canadian, not American,” mumbled Gavin.

  “Gavin!” Norah frowned at him. “You’re not Canadian, you know that. You just sound like one.”

  Grandad grew solemn and talked about their parents’ death and the funeral that the whole village had attended. Norah cried again. Curled up against Grandad she looked even younger than Gavin.

  “It’s such a damned tragedy,” exclaimed Grandad. “My only daughter … how I miss the arguments Janie and I used to have! And Arthur, always so cheerful and calm. He never agreed with me on much, but he always accepted me.” Tears formed in his sea-blue eyes.

  “It’s all right, Grandad,” said Norah softly. “You’ve got us now. I’m going to quit school and take care of you.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, young woman!” bristled Grandad. “You’ll finish your education. I’ve heard about your good marks—it would be a bloody waste. And I’m pretty good at housekeeping, myself. Wait until you taste my meat pies, young Gavin!” He looked up at Gavin slyly. “If you search in my pockets you might find a sweetie.”

  When Gavin didn’t respond Grandad looked embarrassed. Gavin lowered his head. A “sweetie” must be a candy. Did his grandfather think he was still five?

  Was Grandad really going to take him back to England like he’d said? Was that what he was going to tell Aunt Florence tomorrow?

  He glared at the grubby old man sitting on Aunt Florence’s sleek chesterfield. He smelled! He used bad words! Gavin edged away from him as he and Norah talked and laughed. This stranger wanted to remove Gavin from the only home he had ever known.

  GRANDAD DIDN’T LOOK nearly as grubby after a bath and a shave. But he still wore the shiny suit and the frayed tie at their late dinner. Gavin could tell that Aunt Florence was embarrassed to have him in the house. He thought of Uncle Reg’s meticulous dark suits and snowy shirts. To Gavin’s horror Grandad tucked his napkin under his chin and slurped his soup.

  “A super meal,” he told Hanny, as she took away his dessert plate. Hanny smiled—she seemed to like him as much as Aunt Mary did. “You wouldn’t believe the food in England,” said Grandad. “Rationing’s getting worse instead of better. Of course the parcels you’ve sent us have really helped.”

  He glanced at the mahogany table and the silver gleaming in the candlelight. “Norah and Gavin were certainly lucky, to come to such a fine house. I’m sure they wouldn’t look so fit if they’d stayed in England.” He cleared his throat. “I know Jane and Arthur would want me to thank you. We can never repay you for the kindness you’ve shown our young ones.”

  Aunt Mary dabbed at her eyes. “It was our privilege, Mr. Loggin. They’re wonderful children and it’s changed our lives to have them with us for so long.” She and Grandad beamed at each other. Grandad lit his pipe and puffed foul-smelling smoke into the room. Norah sniffed it in and sighed happily.

  But Aunt Florence and Gavin sat stiffly in their chairs, one disapproving and the other afraid.

  11

  A Decision

  Grandad was put into the spare room next to Gavin’s. Gavin tossed all night, his dreams interrupted by the snuffle and wheeze of loud snores.

  Their grandfather was still asleep when Gavin and Norah left for school. “The poor man must be exhausted after such a long journey,” said Aunt Mary.

  When Grandad got up, thought Gavin, he would tell Aunt Florence he was taking Gavin back to England. By the time he got home for lunch it would all be decided.

  At least they had lantern slides in school that morning. Gavin sat woodenly in the darkened classroom, while Mrs. Moss’s voice droned on about daily life in Lapland. Tim sneaked Gavin a package of Lifesavers. Gavin just held it in his lap, until Martin snatched it, hissing, “What’s the matter with you, Stoakes? Pass it on!”

  “No talking! Remember there will be questions afterwards,” warned Mrs. Moss. Luckily she didn’t call on Gavin; nothing from the slides had sunk in.

  He thought of asking himself to Tim’s house for lunch. But that would just stretch out the agony of not knowing.

  When Gavin got home, however, no one was there but Hanny. She gave him a peanut butter sandwich alone in the dining room.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  “Norah took her lunch as usual. Mrs. O and Mary had their Red Cross meeting. And your grandfather has gone out to buy some tobacco. My, he’s a card. He says I cook eggs better than his wife did!”

  “Did—did he and Aunt Florence talk to each other?”

  Hanny sat down beside him. “Yes, Gavin, they did. They were in the den for an hour. You’re worried about your grandfather wanting you back, aren’t you …”

  “What did Aunt Florence look like when she went out? Mad?” He could picture exactly her affronted expression when she didn’t get her way.

  “I’m sorry, Gavin, I was doing the dishes when she left. Your grandfather seemed fairly cheerful, though, when he came in to ask me directions.”

  “But that’s bad!” cried Gavin. “If he was cheerful, maybe he got what he wanted!”

  “Now, now …” Hanny patted his arm. “We don’t know that yet.” She sighed. “It’s such an impossible decision. You can understand why both he and Mrs. O want you. I’d like you to stay, of course, but I wonder what’s best …”

  “It’s best that I stay!” Gavin pushed away his sandwich and ran up to his room. If even Hanny wasn’t sure he should live in Canada, maybe he wouldn’t be allowed to.

  “Gavin?” Hanny had followed him up. “Are you all right?”

  “I feel sick.” His head was whirling and his stomach felt queer. “Can I stay home from school this afternoon?”

  “Of course you can. I don’t know how you’d sit through it, waiting to hear the decision. Shall I bring the kitchen radio up?”

  “All right.”

  He lay on his bed and listened dully to “The Happy Gang.” Then he turned off the radio and tried to read, but soon he slept. His dreams were a jangled repetition of big hands reaching out again and again to snatch him and pull him apart. He woke up sweating. Red lines were etched in his cheek from pressing against the pattern in his bedspread.

  The house was silent. Gavin crept to the door of his room and listened. Footsteps sounded in the downstairs hall and Aunt Florence’s voice said, “Very well. I’ll see if he’s awake.”

  She started up the stairs, then saw him standing at the top. “There you are, sweetness! Are you feeling better? Hanny said you weren’t well.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Come into the den, please, Gavin. Your grandfather and I want to talk to you.”

  This was it. He followed Aunt Florence’s erect back down the stairs. He couldn’t tell from her voice what the decision was.

  Gavin sat down in the den, his legs trembling. He was curiously relieved; at least he was finally going to know. Bosley lifted his head from the rug and gave his tail a sympathetic thump.

  “Gavin …” Grandad looked as fierce as Norah did when she knew what she wanted. “As you know, Mrs. Ogilvie has offered to take you permanently into her family—to adopt you.” A strained politeness came into his voice. “It’s a very generous offer, especially after all she’s already done for you. She also says that you want her to adopt you. Is that right?”

  Gavin lifted his head. “Yes, sir,” he said clearly.

  Grandad winced. “I can understand that.
You’ve obviously been happy here and you don’t remember your real home. And if you stayed in Canada you’d have a lot of advantages our family could never give you.”

  Hope stirred in Gavin. Was it possible that Grandad was going to agree?

  But then Grandad sat up straighter. With a stubborn look at Aunt Florence he said, “Perhaps it’s unfair of me to deprive you of those advantages, Gavin, but I can’t give you up. Neither can Norah or your other sisters. Even though you’ve lost your parents, you still have us. We’re your family. I know you don’t remember us—but we remember you. We love you. You belong with us. So I’m afraid …” He wiped his forehead and carried on firmly. “I’m afraid that I can’t allow Mrs. Ogilvie to adopt you.”

  For a few seconds the room spun. “But I want to stay here,” Gavin said weakly. “Please, sir—Grandad—can’t you let me?”

  “Gavin, old man, I know you want to stay. But you’re only ten. You don’t know what’s best for you. You’ll get used to me—and to England. Believe me, in a year or two you’ll be glad I made this decision for you. And I am your legal guardian,” he added, with another defiant glance at Aunt Florence. “I’m supposed to make decisions for you.”

  “Aunt Florence!” cried Gavin. “Don’t let him take me!”

  Aunt Florence’s voice was low and furious. “There’s nothing I can do about it, pet. We’ve gone over and over it all day, but he won’t budge.”

  The two adults stared at Gavin greedily, as if they were pulling him apart—just like his dream.

  Gavin jumped to his feet. “No!” he shouted, facing Grandad. “I won’t go back with you! It’s not fair! I’m happy here! I belong here! Why can’t you let me stay where I’m happy?” Tears streamed over his cheeks, but he didn’t even notice, his anger was so overpowering.

  “Gavin!” Aunt Florence pulled him over to her. “Calm down! You’re getting hysterical!”

  “Oh, Aunt Florence …” Gavin buried his face in the haven of her soft front and sobbed frantically. “Aunt Florence, I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want to live with him! Don’t let him take me away from you! Please!”