At the Firefly Gate (10 page)

EIGHTEEN

AT THE FIREFLY GATE

Henry was too excited to sleep.

He kept reliving the events of the past two days — Rusty Dobbs, the race, Dottie’s voice coming to him from nowhere, the surge of energy that pushed him towards the winning tape. He wouldn’t have believed it if the red certificate — First Place, Relay — hadn’t been propped against the bookshelf, with his name on it along with Simon’s, Ellie’s and Neil’s. They’d been given one each.

It wasn’t fully dark. The bedroom curtains stirred in a faint breeze, and through them he could see the almost-lightness of a summer night that would soon turn to early dawn. Henry thought of the strange night when he’d lain in bed and listened to the Lancaster bombers flying overhead, out towards the sea. And not just heard them, but seen them; or if not, it had been an extraordinarily vivid dream.

He didn’t think he’d carry on seeing and hearing things any more.

Dottie’s funeral was to be held on Thursday, in the village church. ‘Not a very nice start to the summer holidays for you,’ Mum had said. ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’

Henry didn’t know whether he wanted to go or not. He didn’t like the idea of a funeral. There would be lots of people and flowers and there was a proper way of doing it, all solemn and dignified, but it wouldn’t have much to do with Dottie.

‘Oh, I can’t be doing with all that fuss,’ he imagined her saying.

But Rusty Dobbs was going. Henry was pleased about that. It seemed right; a proper ending to something that had taken all these years to reach an end. In a way, Rusty would be saying a final goodbye to Henry. Rusty had had all the luck and Henry the Navigator hadn’t. Now it was Henry’s turn to keep Rusty’s lucky sixpence. Mum had found some special silver-polish; now, as bright and shiny as in his dream, the sixpence was on his bedside table, next to his lamp, where he could keep looking at it.

Henry thought about Rusty’s bout of flu. If only Henry had caught it too! Then his story and Dottie’s could have had a different ending.

And if Rusty Dobbs hadn’t caught the flu, Henry wouldn’t have Simon for a friend.

He hadn’t told Simon, yet, about all the things he knew; maybe he never would. Perhaps it was meant to be his secret; his and Dottie’s. And Henry’s.

He threw back his duvet and slid out of bed, feeling the warm smoothness of floorboards with his feet. Dottie’s Scrabble set was on top of his chest of drawers. He hadn’t yet opened it, but now he lifted the lid, took out the board and put out one letter-rack. Would the letters still say anything that made sense, now that Dottie had gone?

Closing his eyes, he picked seven tiles, as if getting ready to play a game all by himself.

U B K E L Y C

He hardly needed to start moving them around before he saw what they spelled out.

BE LUCKY.

Thank you,
he said silently.

He went to the window and opened it wide. Nighttime smells wafted in — mown grass and roses and the honey-sweet smell of the lime trees in front of the Old Rectory. Somewhere, over the fields, a bird screeched.

He couldn’t see them at first; then they started to appear, one by one, like someone lighting tiny candles. The fireflies, dancing round the gate as if showing the way.

Someone was walking towards the gate, beneath the trees. Henry stared, his eyes making out shapes through the twisted branches. Hunched shoulders, hands deep in pockets. Feet walking as far as the gate, then stopping. A face in profile, looking towards the Old Rectory.

Henry’s haunt! Henry was waiting for Dottie at the firefly gate, still waiting, keeping the promise he had kept for years. But he couldn’t know that Dottie wasn’t here any more.

Am I dreaming or am I awake?
Henry wondered how he could tell. On an impulse, he leaned farther out of the window. ‘Henry!’ he shouted.

For an instant the young man’s face turned in his direction. Then another voice called out, ‘Henry!’ from the village end of the orchard, and both Henrys turned to look.

Dottie was running along the path, her long hair streaming.

Henry knew it was Dottie. It was the girl he had seen at the canteen van; the girl of the orchard; the girl with the amazing blue eyes, though he couldn’t see them now. She wore the sky-blue dress with the white collar, and her feet were in white plimsolls. She ran as lightly as a moth skimming the grass, the skirt of her dress floating out like papery wings.

Henry the Navigator held out his arms to her, and for a moment the two figures were locked together in the middle of the firefly dance.

Then they moved away, arm-in-arm, talking, beneath the trees.

Dottie laughed, a mischievous giggle that rippled into Henry’s ears, as her blue dress faded like smoke beneath the apple trees.

‘Goodbye, Dottie,’ he whispered.

But she had gone.

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Copyright © 2004 by Linda Newbery

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this work as follows:
Newbery, Linda.
At the firefly gate / Linda Newbery.
p. cm.
Summary: After moving with his parents from London to Suffolk near a former World War II airfield, Henry sees the shadowy image of a man by the orchard gate and feels an unusual affinity with an elderly woman who lives next door.
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. World War, 1939–1945—England—Fiction. 3. England—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.N4715Att 2007
[Fic]—dc22
2006001796

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