The Lights Go On Again

by Kit Pearson

  “Now, Mary, we knew it would be short notice,” said Aunt Florence. “I certainly don’t want you to leave so soon, Norah, but who knows when another sailing will be available? And Dulcie and Lucy are going on the same ship—that will be pleasant for you.”

  “I’m sorry it’s so soon too—but it’s what we planned,” said Norah. Her eyes shone with excitement but she avoided looking at Gavin.

  “I’m going to have a large farewell party for you,” said Aunt Florence grandly. “You can ask whomever you like—your whole class, if you want!”

  “Really?” Aunt Florence didn’t approve of many of the teen-agers in Norah’s class. “Thank you!” Norah looked daringly at her guardian. “Can we roll up the rug for dancing?”

  “I suppose so,” smiled Aunt Florence. “But leave sitting space for the adults.”

  She and Aunt Mary began to pack a trunk for Norah. Every day Aunt Florence brought something home for her. “I want you to be the best-dressed girl in Ringden.” Norah didn’t even object that she hadn’t picked out the new clothes herself. Gavin was amazed that she and Aunt Florence, now that they were parting, were suddenly so easy with each other.

  Aunt Florence hardly paid any attention to Gavin—as if she were putting him off until later. Gavin knew he should be spending as much time as he could with his sister; he wouldn’t see her for a long time. But he still couldn’t talk to her. And all Norah seemed able to do was to give him the same yearning looks that Grandad did. Gavin kept on avoiding both of them.

  His relief at staying in Canada had turned sour. Guilt gnawed at him constantly, as if he had a small wild animal living inside him. He tried to reason the guilt away. If he left he’d make five people miserable—Aunt Florence, Aunt Mary, Hanny, Tim and Roger. Not to mention Bosley. By staying he was only hurting Norah and Grandad. And surely after they left this guilt would disappear. Aunt Florence would focus on him again and he’d be safe.

  The reasoning didn’t work. He skulked around home and school like a criminal.

  “What’s eating you?” complained Tim, when Gavin snapped at him for accidentally ramming into his bike.

  “Quit worrying, Gav,” smiled Roger. “He didn’t even scratch it.”

  Roger was blissful these days. His father was back and every afternoon Roger ran home to play chess with him. And Tim had just got a dollar in birthday money. He had endless, gloating discussions about what he’d buy with it.

  Gavin scowled at his friends. Why did they have to be so cheerful?

  “I get to go on a shi-ip, and you do-on’t!” taunted Lucy one morning in the schoolyard.

  “I don’t want to go,” retorted Gavin. “I’d rather stay in Canada.”

  “But you’re English, not Canadian!” said Lucy. “The Milnes don’t think it’s right that Mrs. Ogilvie is keeping you here.”

  “She’s not keeping me! I chose to stay!”

  “Well, I think you should come back with us. We all came over together—we should leave together, too. I can hardly wait to see my family.” She looked at Gavin curiously. “Of course, it’s different for you when your parents aren’t there any more. But don’t you want to see Ringden again?”

  “Just leave me alone!” Gavin turned his back on her, only to face Eleanor.

  “I’m having a birthday party this Sunday, Gavin,” she said. “Would you like to come?”

  “I don’t go to parties with girls,” he answered stiffly.

  “Then don’t come!” She flounced away.

  Why had he said that? It was as if someone else had said it.

  Then he found out that Eleanor had asked Tim and Roger too. They pretended to be scornful but Gavin could tell they were pleased. Only six boys, including Gavin, had been invited. It was the first mixed party in grade five.

  “I wouldn’t go to a sissy girls’ party,” Gavin told his friends at recess. Maybe he could change their minds.

  “I’m only going because Tim’s going,” Roger protested.

  “And I’m only going because Eleanor’s mother is such a great cook!” said Tim. “Remember that cake she brought last year?”

  “You’re going because you’re sissies,” pronounced Gavin. “A musketeer wouldn’t go.”

  Roger turned pale. “If you feel like that, maybe we shouldn’t be blood brothers any more. Right, Tim?”

  “Right!” muttered Tim. There were hurt tears in his eyes. The two of them left Gavin standing alone.

  He kicked at the dirt. Now what had he done? In only a few minutes he had alienated his best friends.

  I don’t care, he told himself.

  “Hey, Stoakes.” Mick was slouched by the bike stand, watching him. “Come over here.”

  Mick was back to his cruel self these days; Doris had laughed at him in front of her friends. Once again, everyone stayed out of his way.

  But Gavin made his feet walk over. He met Mick’s eyes and tried to sound cool. “Yeah?”

  Mick’s ugly mouth sneered. “Wanna make a few fast bucks?”

  “How?”

  “I have a plan, but I need someone to help me with it. If you do I’ll give you a share of the profits.”

  “What is it?” whispered Gavin.

  “Meet me here after school and I’ll tell you.”

  FOR THE REST of the day Gavin wondered if he would. Mrs. Moss scolded him for forgetting his blackboard monitor duties. When he said sullenly, “It wasn’t just my fault. Marit forgot too,” she frowned at him. “That’s not like you, Gavin. You know Marit was sick for half the week.” Gavin almost wished she’d keep him after school so he wouldn’t have to meet Mick, but she just looked disappointed and told him to fill the inkwells.

  When he came to Eleanor’s desk she deliberately shoved his arm. Blue ink splattered over the desk, Gavin and Eleanor, and the floor. The class snickered.

  Then Mrs. Moss was really cross. “Gavin! What’s wrong with you this week?”

  “It was Eleanor’s fault,” Gavin tried to tell her, but she made him get a wet rag from the janitor and clean up every spot.

  By tattling on both Marit and Eleanor, Gavin had broken the most sacred class rule. For the rest of the day no one spoke to him. He remembered when the class had acted like this towards snooty Colin. Now he knew how Colin must have felt. Hurt. Angry.

  If no one in 5A liked him any more, then he might as well do what Mick wanted.

  After school he waited by his bike, watching Tim and Roger get on theirs and ride away without a word. All the other bicycles were gone by the time Mick appeared.

  His leering face actually looked pleased. “So you came. I had to write stupid lines, or I would have been here sooner. Follow me. I’ll explain on the way.”

  Gavin didn’t dare ask where they were going. He walked his bike and tried to keep pace with Mick’s long legs. He hoped no one noticed him. And he hoped that this wouldn’t take too long. He was supposed to report home first before he went anywhere after school, and it was already late.

  “Okay, here’s the deal.” Gavin had to strain to hear Mick’s low voice. “You know Sullivan’s Hardware on Yonge Street?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “There’s an old dame who works in there. I want you to go and chat her up while I look over the goods.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Gavin.

  Mick looked impatient. “Women like kids like you, Stoakes. They think you’re cute. So go in there and talk to her. Ask her for something and get her into a long conversation. In the meantime I’ll stash one of those expensive fishing reels in my pocket. Don’t stop talking until after I’ve left the store. Then just go home. I’ll sell the reel—I know a guy who’ll buy it—and I’ll give you, say, a third of the price, okay?”

  Gavin stopped walking. “But that’s stealing!”

  Mick glared at him. “Yes, Mister Goody-Goody, it’s stealing. But I’m the one who’s doing it, so you don’t have to worry your pretty head about it. All you have to do is sweet-talk the lady for a few minutes a
nd you’ll get some cash.” He sniggered. “After all, I sort of owe you, don’t I?”

  Was he right? Was it only Mick who would be stealing? Gavin pretended he was right. A sick kind of excitement filled him, replacing the guilt.

  Why not do something wrong for a change? Everyone—Aunt Florence, Aunt Mary, Mrs. Moss—thought Gavin was good. But he wasn’t. He was letting his sister go away without him.

  He reminded himself of what Mick had done to Roger. But a reckless voice inside him said, “I don’t care.”

  “So, do you have enough guts to do it?” asked Mick. “Or are you as yellow as you look…?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Gavin quickly.

  Mick slapped him on the back and looked friendly again. “Good for you, Stoakes!”

  “But what if you get caught?”

  “I’ve never been caught,” boasted Mick, making Gavin wonder how many other times he had stolen something. “But if I am, just pretend you weren’t with me. I’m the one who’s taking the risk. You have nothing to lose.”

  They turned up Yonge Street. “So, kid …” said Mick, in an interested voice.

  Gavin looked at him with surprise. “Yeah?”

  “So how do you like being an orphan?”

  Gavin shrugged.

  “I’m an orphan, too, you know. My folks were killed in a car accident in Nova Scotia.”

  “When?”

  “Five years ago. I lived with my grandfather but he died too. So I had to move to this rotten city and live with my aunt. All she does is holler at me and she never gives me any money.”

  “Oh.” Why was Mick telling him all this? Mick looked as if he wondered too. He spat on the sidewalk. Gavin worked up some saliva in his mouth and spat too. Mick gave him a sudden, warm grin.

  They reached Sullivan’s Hardware. Gavin had often noticed it when he’d gone to the library, but he’d never been inside. Mick ordered him to park his bike by the door. Gavin needed more time to think, but Mick shoved him inside.

  Just as Mick had said, an older, white-haired woman was sitting on a stool behind the counter. She looked up from her knitting and smiled at Gavin. “Hello, dear.”

  “Hello,” Gavin squeaked, trembling so much he could hardly answer. But his fear made her warm to him.

  “Don’t be shy. May I help you?”

  “I want—” Why hadn’t Mick given him enough time to think of something? Gavin looked around desperately at the tool displays and lawn mowers. Behind the counter were dozens of open bins full of nails and screws.

  “I need some … nails,” he said.

  “What kind of nails, dear? As you can see, there are lots of sizes.”

  “Umm … about this long.” Gavin held his hands a little way apart. The woman laboriously got down from her stool and picked some nails out of a bin. Gavin could hear Mick entering quietly behind him. “This size?”

  “Those are a bit too long.” Gavin made her go back three times to pick another size. But the old woman was wheezing so much he couldn’t ask her again.

  “These are okay,” he said. He paused. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mick prowling the fishing section.

  “I need them for my costume,” he said wildly.

  “And what costume is that?”

  “There’s a costume parade on the last day of school.”

  “That sounds like fun. Do you go to Poplar Park?”

  “No, Prince Edward. I’m going to the parade as—as Sir Launcelot, so I need to make a sword.” Suddenly inspired, Gavin added, “My dog, Bosley, is going as my horse.”

  The woman laughed. “Bosley! That’s a funny name.”

  Now Gavin had no trouble talking to her, for he no longer needed to lie. He chatted easily about how Bosley had been already named when he got him, and how he had been a borrowed dog but now belonged to Gavin permanently. When the woman found out he’d come over as a war guest she asked him the usual questions about how he liked Canada. “I suppose you’ll be going home soon,” she said.

  “Actually, I’m staying in Canada. That’s why I get to keep Bosley. My parents were killed in the war so the family I’ve been living with is adopting me.”

  Her kind eyes filled with pity. “You poor dear! What a lot you’ve been through!”

  Gavin suddenly realized that Mick had left the store. “Um, I have to go now,” he said, turning to leave.

  “But what about your nails?”

  “Oh, yes.” Gavin dug in his pockets, then flushed. “I’m sorry—I forgot my money. I’ll come back for the nails later.”

  “It’s such a small amount.” The woman smiled. “Take them now, dear, then you can get started on your sword. You can come back tomorrow and pay me—you look like an honest little boy.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Gavin tried not to run out. Once he was outside he took a deep breath to steady his lurching stomach. He hopped on his bike and rode home as fast as he could.

  “GAVIN! Where have you been?” asked Aunt Mary as soon as he came into the hall.

  “I—I had to stay after school again,” mumbled Gavin.

  “But you should have phoned and told us, the way you usually do!”

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Aunt Florence.”

  Aunt Mary looked grave. “All right. But it’s not like you to be naughty. And I’m worried about how many times you’ve been kept after school this term. Is something wrong?”

  Gavin shook his head and escaped to his room. “Naughty” sounded so tame. Stealing and lying weren’t naughty; they were wrong.

  All the same, he was filled with a strange, defiant exhilaration. He and Mick hadn’t been caught, and he’d done the most daring deed in his life. He’d been as brave as a knight, he thought proudly, the way he’d talked to that woman without faltering. Wait until he told Tim and Roger! Then he sighed. Tim and Roger weren’t speaking to him.

  He wondered if Mick really would give him some of the money. If he did, Gavin would buy a whole lot of comics and gum and invite Tim and Roger over to share them. Maybe then they could be blood brothers again.

  14

  Hot Water

  Gavin sat in class the next afternoon colouring a map of the British Isles. “Make England red, Wales purple, Scotland yellow, the Irish Free State green and Northern Ireland orange,” Mrs. Moss instructed.

  Why those particular colours? wondered Gavin. Ordinarily he would have asked the teacher, but now he just filled in England with his red pencil crayon. Colouring was soothing, like being back in grade one.

  He was especially careful when he got to the area where Kent was. A year this summer he’d be visiting Norah there. He’d be eleven and a half then and going into grade seven, maybe to a fancy boys’ school. Norah would be sixteen! Would she look the same?

  Someone knocked on the door and Mrs. Moss took a piece of paper from a messenger. She read it and looked up. “Gavin … Mr. Evans would like to see you in his office.”

  Gavin froze. The whole class stared at him, the way it always did when someone was in trouble.

  “Run along, Gavin,” said Mrs. Moss gently. “He probably wants to talk about your staying next year. Carry on with your work, everyone.”

  Gavin forced his legs to stand up and take him out the door. Maybe Mrs. Moss was right, he thought frantically.

  His steps resounded on the wooden floor. The office seemed miles away, unlike the time he had sped along the same corridor to announce the end of the war.

  When he reached the outer office his slender thread of hope snapped. Mick was sprawled on the bench where you waited to see the principal.

  Gavin sat down beside him, his pulse pounding in his throat. “Hi, Mick,” he whispered.

  “Shut up, Stoakes,” Mick growled. “Just remember—we were each on our own.”

  Gavin didn’t have time to think or reply. The secretary came out of the inner office and said, “Mr. Evans will see you both now.”

  She closed the door behind them. They had to stand si
de by side in front of the principal’s desk. He sat behind it, leaning back in his chair, his usually absent-minded face intent with anger.

  “I’ve called the two of you in to discuss an incident that occurred in Sullivan’s Hardware after school yesterday. Mrs. Sullivan noticed a fishing reel missing after two boys had been in the store. She said the younger boy talked to her while an older boy came in. The younger boy said he went to Prince Edward School.”

  How could I be so stupid? thought Gavin.

  Mr. Evans cleared his throat and leaned forward. “She also said that the younger boy was a war guest. Therefore I have no doubt at all that the boys were you two. Gavin, you are the only war guest of that age left in this school and Mick, you’re rather accomplished at this sort of escapade, are you not? What I don’t know is whether this was a set-up. It certainly looks like it. But I find it very hard to believe, Gavin, that a boy like you would do such a thing. Did you? Or did you just happen to be in the store the same time as Mick…?”

  Gavin could say that. He knew Mr. Evans would believe him—he wanted Gavin to be innocent. Although the principal was remote, he had always been kind.

  Gavin remembered the friendly way Mick had talked to him on the way to the store, and how Mick was an orphan like he was. He remembered a phrase he had heard once: “honour among thieves.” He knew Mick wouldn’t tell on him.

  But why should Mick get all the blame?

  “Well, Gavin, I’m waiting.”

  Gavin hung his head. “Yes, sir. I—I helped Mick steal the fishing reel.”

  “I’m deeply shocked, Gavin.” He turned to Mick. “Do you admit to this crime?”

  “I have to, don’t I?” muttered Mick. “Now that he’s squealed on me.”

  Gavin gasped. That wasn’t what he’d meant to do!

  “This is the last straw for you, Mick,” said the principal. “You are out of this school. I’ve given you enough chances. I don’t want your kind here to influence younger boys. Go and wait outside. Your aunt will be here shortly. And a policeman. We’ll talk again when they both arrive.”

  Mick slouched out. Gavin tried to catch his eye. I’m sorry! he wanted to plead. Then he looked at Mr. Evans and began to tremble.