by Kit Pearson
“You’re in very hot water, young man. Sit down over there.” Gavin sat in the chair Mr. Evans waved to. Was he going to have to see the policeman too? Would he be put in jail?
Mr. Evans seemed to read his mind. “You’re lucky, Gavin, that you’re not going to be involved with the police as well,” he said sternly. “But you have such an unblemished record that they said I could deal with you myself.”
Gavin waited to be dealt with. But instead of being stern, Mr. Evans’s voice became kind—so kind that Gavin’s tears spilled over.
“I know you’ve had a difficult time this term,” said the principal. “Your parents’ death and your guardian’s decision to adopt you must have disrupted you considerably. But do you understand what a terrible thing it is that you’ve done?”
On and on went his tired, disappointed voice. “Yes, sir,” whispered Gavin at intervals. He wanted to sink into the floor with shame. Sir Launcelot or a musketeer or the Shadow would never have stolen—or betrayed someone. On the radio the Shadow always said that crime didn’t pay—he was right. Gavin promised never to steal again. He apologized tearfully over and over until Mr. Evans seemed satisfied.
“All right. I believe you, and I know that you would never have done it if Mick hadn’t put you up to it. However …” Mr. Evans’s voice was stern again. The principal was pulling open a drawer in his desk, the drawer that every boy in the school dreaded …
“You know that I can’t let you get away with this without punishment, Gavin. Stand up, please, and hold out your hand.”
Gavin didn’t think he could stand up, his legs were so wobbly. His hand shook just as much. Mr. Evans came around the desk holding the strap. Gavin had never seen it but it was familiar from other boys’ descriptions: thick, black and rubbery, about the length of a ruler.
He was hit six times on each palm. His hand sunk under the force of each blow, but Gavin knew you were supposed to bring it up again on your own, or else the principal would hold your wrist. Finally it was over. Gavin couldn’t stop blubbering as he frantically rubbed his stinging palms against the sides of his pants.
“All right,” said Mr. Evans gruffly. “Go to the boys’ washroom until you’ve calmed down. Then go back to your classroom. I’m going to have to phone Mrs. Ogilvie and tell her about this. But I don’t want to hear that you’ve talked to anyone else about it, do you understand? The matter is closed.”
Outside the office Mick was sitting beside a sourlooking woman and a grave policeman. Gavin scuttered past them, hanging his head to hide his tears.
He rushed into the boys’ washroom, sat in a cubicle and sobbed. Then he held his flaming, puffy hands under cold water until they felt a bit better. He splashed water on his face too and slowly walked back to the classroom.
After you got the strap you were supposed to grin while you swaggered back to your seat. Gavin couldn’t manage it. Everyone murmured with surprise when they noticed his hands. “Back to work, class,” said Mrs. Moss, but she looked as shocked as the rest of them. Gavin bent over his map but his throbbing fingers couldn’t grasp the pencil crayon.
At recess he was surrounded. “What did you do?” they all asked.
Gavin reddened. “I’m not allowed to say.”
“How many times?”
“Six on each hand.”
“Wow … the most I’ve ever had is three,” said Tim. “Meet Roger and me after school, okay?” he added in a whisper.
“Okay,” said Gavin gratefully.
When they lined up to go in Eleanor came over and demanded to look at his hands. “Strapping’s so mean!” she shuddered. “And it’s not fair that only the boys in this school get the strap when the girls don’t. Are you sure you don’t want to come to my party, Gavin?”
“I’ll come,” said Gavin, trying to return her smile.
Mrs. Moss kept him after school for a few minutes. “I’ve heard all about it, Gavin,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry you had to be punished. I think you know that Mick has been permanently suspended.”
“What will happen to him?” asked Gavin.
“He’ll go to a special school.” Mrs. Moss sighed. “Maybe they can help him.”
It’s my fault he had to go, Gavin thought. But it wasn’t really. Mick would likely have been caught even if Gavin hadn’t squealed; if not for this incident, for something else.
He would probably never see Mick again. He thought once more of the strange bond between them on the way to the store.
On the way home Gavin told Tim and Roger a condensed version of the robbery. He knew he could trust them not to tell anyone else.
“I can’t believe you did it!” said Tim, half-horrified and half-admiring.
“Why did you?” said Roger. He seemed more certain than Tim of the enormity of Gavin’s crime.
“I don’t know,” said Gavin. “I guess I just wanted to see what it was like. But I never will again!” he added sheepishly.
“Want to come over to my house?” Tim asked.
Gavin shook his head. It was a comfort to have his friends back, but now he had to face the music at home. What if Aunt Florence was angry too?
15
Leave Me Alone
Norah was modelling a new coat for Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary in the den. The three of them greeted Gavin so normally he knew Mr. Evans hadn’t phoned yet. He decided he might as well tell them first.
Slowly he stuttered out the whole story. Aunt Florence’s stout figure shook with fury as she listened. Then she pressed Gavin’s wounded palms between her large, plump hands. “How dare someone hit you!”
“I didn’t think old Evans would ever strap you!” said Norah. “Did it hurt a lot?”
Gavin nodded and Bosley put one paw on his knee.
“First thing in the morning I’m going to go to the school and give that man a piece of my mind!” snorted Aunt Florence. “He has no right to hit you! Especially when it was Mick’s fault, not yours!”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Mick?” fumed Norah. “I could have done something about him! Is that who you had to get the money for in December?” Gavin nodded again.
“What money?” demanded Aunt Florence. “What else has this Mick done?”
In a halting voice Gavin told them about the money, then about Roger being left naked in the ravine.
“But you should have told us!” cried Aunt Florence. “You poor little boy, putting up with him all this time!”
“Imagine letting a bully like that stay in the school! Someone who forces younger boys to help him steal!” shuddered Aunt Mary.
“It’s completely unjustified!” said her mother. “Gavin should never have been punished. I’m going to demand that Mr. Evans apologize to you, pet—to you and to me.”
“Hold it!” said Grandad. Gavin didn’t realize he’d come into the room. “I think we’re getting things a little out of proportion here.”
“What do you mean?” said Aunt Florence coldly. “Gavin has been struck!”
“I heard,” said Grandad quietly. “And I’m sorry he has. But listen to me for a minute, Gavin. This is the usual punishment at your school when someone does something wrong, am I right?”
“Yes,” whispered Gavin.
“So it seems to me the question is whether or not you deserved to be punished. Do you think you did?”
Gavin gulped at how stern Grandad’s eyes looked under their bushy brows. “Yes, sir.”
“He didn’t deserve it!” cried Aunt Florence. “That boy made you go along with him, didn’t he?”
Gavin started to agree. Then he looked back at Grandad. “No, Aunt Florence. I didn’t have to do it.”
“But you’d never do such a thing of your own free will!”
“I did, though,” said Gavin, wincing at the shocked expression that came into her eyes.
Everyone was quiet while they digested this. “But why, Gavin?” Aunt Mary finally asked.
“I don’t know. I just … did! I promise I nev
er will again,” he said to Aunt Florence.
She bridled. “Well, you may think you chose to—to steal—but I don’t believe it! That boy brainwashed you! And no child of mine is going to be strapped! I’m still going to ask Mr. Evans to apologize to you.”
“But—” Gavin could well imagine her marching into the school and giving Mr. Evans a “piece of her mind.” He’d never be able to face his classmates again.
“I can’t let you do that, Ma’am,” said Grandad.
Aunt Florence looked as if she hadn’t heard properly. “What did you say?”
Grandad’s voice was low but angry. “I won’t let you embarrass my grandson by saying anything to his principal. In the first place he isn’t your child—not yet. And you heard what Gavin said. He was wrong. He knew very well what he was doing—he could have refused. I don’t believe in hitting children myself, but we have to accept the school’s methods. Gavin deserved his punishment. And after school tomorrow he and I are going to that hardware store so he can apologize to the owner.”
“He is not!” cried Aunt Florence. “Why should he have to suffer any more than he has? He’s coming to Mr. Evans’s office with me first thing in the morning!”
“No!” Gavin wondered who had shouted so loud, then realized it was himself. He glared at Aunt Florence and shook with anger. “I don’t want you to go to his office, Aunt Florence! Everyone will laugh at me if you go! And Grandad’s right—I did steal! I’m not always good! I’m tired of being good! Stop treating me like a baby! Just—just leave me alone!”
He was still shouting, standing in front of her and clenching his fists.
Aunt Florence wilted against the cushions of her chair, as deflated as if he had poked her with a pin.
“Thatta boy, Gavin!” whispered Norah. They all waited for him to continue. But his fury had fallen as quickly as it had risen. “Please, Aunt Florence,” he continued wearily. “Please don’t say anything to Mr. Evans.”
“Very well, Gavin,” said Aunt Florence stiffly. “If that’s what you want, we won’t discuss the matter any further.” She marched out of the room.
Never, in the whole time since Gavin had known her, had she spoken to him so coldly.
GRANDAD MET GAVIN after school the next day. It was raining and the gloomy weather added to Gavin’s dread as they approached the hardware store.
“What shall I say to her?” he asked outside the door.
“Just say you’re sorry.”
“But she might be really mad!”
“I wouldn’t be suprised if she was,” said Grandad. “Would you like me to come in with you?”
“Yes, please,” said Gavin.
He kept as close to Grandad as possible as they went over to the counter. The woman looked up, then frowned.
“So it’s you.”
“I’m very sorry I helped Mick steal the fishing reel,” said Gavin as fast as he could. But his tongue was like a piece of wood and his words came out fuzzily. “It was wrong. I promise I’ll never do it again.”
“How can you expect me to believe you? And to think I thought you were such an honest-looking boy! I won’t be fooled like that again, I’ll tell you!” She scowled at both of them. “And who’s this?”
“My grandfather,” said Gavin, taking Grandad’s hand. The skin on it was rough but warm.
“Huh! I bet he’s pretty ashamed of you.”
“If my grandson says he’ll never steal again he won’t,” said Grandad quietly.
“Don’t be so sure.” She glared even harder at Gavin. “You’d better be careful you don’t end up in reform school like that other boy! Get out of my store! I never want to see you in here again!”
Gavin pulled Grandad out of the store. “She wasn’t very nice!” he said when they got outside.
“Well, you weren’t very nice to her, were you? She’s angry because she trusted you and now you’ve betrayed that trust.”
Gavin sniffled and Grandad handed him his handkerchief. “Never mind, old man. You’ve apologized—that’s the most important. You were brave. I’m proud of you.” Gavin kept hold of his hand all the way home.
“I’M SORRY I shouted at you, Aunt Florence,” said Gavin that evening. She hadn’t spoken to him all day.
Aunt Florence’s voice was remote and sad. “I accept your apology, Gavin. Perhaps I was slightly precipitate.”
Gavin didn’t know what “precipitate” meant. She didn’t call him “pet” the way she usually did. “Pet” was an awfully babyish nickname, though …
“Give me a kiss and run along, then.” She held out her cheek but she didn’t add a hug the way she usually did.
After that Aunt Florence did what he’d asked her to—she left him alone. She was as polite and distant to him as if he were a visitor.
Gavin wondered if he really wanted this. It was like standing in a bright open field instead of in a protective forest. He could tell she was still hurt by his words. But surely, after Norah and Grandad left, her old easy affection would return.
All weekend Gavin sat in the study with his grandfather and sister. They were leaving him alone as well; they no longer made him feel pressured to change his mind. Like Aunt Florence, they seemed afraid to upset him.
As usual Grandad and Norah talked about home. Little Whitebull the way it used to be … Ringden with its shops, cricket green and surrounding hop-fields … various people in the village … and, of course, their family. As Gavin listened, faint outlines of these places and people formed in his mind. He didn’t know whether he was remembering or imagining.
“I feel sorriest for Tibby,” said Grandad, “because most of her things were still in the house. Do you remember the watercolours she used to do, Norah? They were all lost.”
“She painted a picture of a cow,” said Gavin suddenly. “With brown spots.”
“Gavin!” cried Norah with delight. “I remember that picture! She painted it for you! For your fifth birthday!”
Gavin scrunched up his face to hold onto the memory, but it sank back into his mind as quickly as it had bobbed up.
The next day, though, a few more things came back to him—like a blurry film coming into focus. He remembered the tinkle of the bell in the village shop and the sour smell of the scullery in their house. When he told this to Norah and Grandad they hugged him.
“Oh, Gavin …” said Norah, but Grandad gave her a warning glance.
The three of them chatted together quietly, enjoying their fragile new harmony. No one dared mention they only had three weeks left together.
16
The Birthday Party
That Sunday Gavin, Tim and Roger walked slowly along the sidewalk to Eleanor’s house.
“How many boys are going?” Roger asked again.
Gavin counted on his fingers. “Us three, Jamie, George and Billy.”
“And all the girls,” groaned Tim.
“I don’t think I’ll come after all,” said Roger when they reached Eleanor’s house.
Gavin tugged him up the steps by his sleeve. “Come on, Rog. All for one and one for all!” He banged the knocker before Roger could flee.
Mrs. Austen stood in the doorway, an apron over her dress. “My, don’t you all look spiffy! Let’s see … I know Tim from church. Are you Roger?” Roger nodded shyly. She put her hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Then you must be the poor little English boy who lost his parents—Gavin, isn’t it? Come and join the others in the living room.”
Now Gavin wanted to leave too, but they had to follow Eleanor’s mother along the hall.
Fourteen girls were crowded together on one side of the living room, whispering to each other. Jamie, George and Billy sat silently on the other side.
Gavin sneaked a look at Eleanor after they had joined the other boys. Like all the girls she wore a fluffy dress and had a large bow tied on one side of her head. Her dress had tiny pink flowers dotted over it. He had never seen her hair loose before. It waved around her face.
The only sounds were stifled giggles from some of the girls. Eleanor looked as if she wished she hadn’t decided to have a mixed party. Gavin tried to catch her eye and reassure her.
Mrs. Austen bustled back into the room. “What’s all this shyness about?” she cried, with a silly, tinkling laugh. “Let’s have a game and break the ice!” She clapped her hands. “Everyone into a big circle!”
They all had to stand in a circle as if they were three years old. Gavin manoeuvred himself so he was next to Eleanor.
“Hokie Pokie!” cried Mrs. Austen. “You put your right hand in, you put your right hand out …” She flung her hand in and out in time to the tune. No one sang, and only two girls copied her.
“You put your left hand in …” She faltered, then stopped singing. “I guess you don’t know that one. Sit down where you are and we’ll play Button, Button.”
Mrs. Austen reached into her pocket and showed them a small white button. “Now, who wants to be It?”
When no one volunteered, she looked at her daughter. “How about the birthday girl!”
Eleanor blushed. She took the button from her mother and knelt in front of each person in turn. “Button, button, who’s got the button?” she muttered, placing her palms together and passing them through each person’s praying hands.
Gavin smiled at her when she reached him and she gave him a tiny smile back. Then she opened her hands slightly and let go of the button. He pressed his palms against it tightly.
“Can anyone guess who has it?” asked Mrs. Austen.
“Gavin,” said Tim accusingly. He must have seen their exchanged smiles.
Gavin opened his hands to reveal the button.
“Good for you, Tim! Now you’re It.”
Gavin grinned as poor Tim had to touch each of the girls’ hands. He knew he would give the button to Roger; but he didn’t want to guess and have to be It next. Everyone else refused to guess too.
Mrs. Austen sighed. “Well, if you’re tired of Button, Button, I have another game. Don’t go away!” She hurried out of the room and returned with a tray filled with small objects. “Kim’s Game! I’ll give you five minutes to memorize the contents.”
