The Lights Go On Again (11 page)

“What does
she
want?” demanded Norah, when Gavin appeared at her door. “I'm trying to finish my essay.”

“Just go and see her,” said Gavin. He put his hand on Norah's arm as she brushed past him. “And Norah … listen to her, okay?”

Norah gave him a quizzical look and flounced downstairs. Gavin followed slowly. His mouth was dry and his stomach churned. He sat on the floor outside his room and watched Aunt Florence's closed door. Bosley's warm side pressed against him.

At first he heard the low, reasoned murmur of Aunt Florence's words. Norah's response was swift and sure:
“No!”
Gavin clutched Bosley as her voice grew louder. “He's not staying! You can't
do
this!”

“What's going on?” Aunt Mary had come out of her room.

Gavin gave her a desperate look. “Aunt Florence is telling Norah.”

“The poor child,” murmured Aunt Mary. “I wonder if this idea of Mother's is right …”

Gavin couldn't bear to be left out any longer. He stood up and opened the door. Norah and Aunt Florence were facing each other like two opponents in a boxing ring. Both pairs of grey eyes flashed with determination. Norah looked much angrier, however, while Aunt Florence was struggling to stay calm.

“I knew you'd react this way, Norah,” she said. “But I think that once you've thought about it, you'll see it's the best thing for Gavin. Isn't he the one we should be thinking about?”

“Gavin is not staying in Canada!” shouted Norah.

Desperation filled Gavin. Norah was standing in his way—destroying his only chance of safety and happiness.

“Listen to me, Norah!” They all stared at him with surprise. “I
want
to stay! I
want
to live in Canada!” Her hurt expression melted his anger into tears. “Oh, Norah … why can't you stay too?”

“I have already suggested to Norah that I adopt her as well,” said Aunt Florence stiffly. “She says she would rather go back to England.”

“But
I
want to stay here!” begged Gavin. “
Please,
Norah …”

Norah looked around at all of them. Her face was bleached of colour and her voice icy. “All right, Gavin—stay. You can have him, Aunt Florence. And you can all just—go—to—hell!” She spun around and ran out of the room.

B
Y THE EVENING
they were limp from spent emotion. Aunt Florence had gone up to Norah's room and stayed there a long time.

“She wants to speak to you now,” she told Gavin. She shut herself up with Aunt Mary and Gavin trudged up the stairs to the tower.

“Come in,” said Norah weakly. She was lying on her bed. “Listen, Gavin,” she muttered. “I'm sorry I said that awful thing. I didn't mean it. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” whispered Gavin, although he didn't think he'd ever forget the sting of those words. Words
hurt
. He sat down on the end of the bed, keeping as far away from Norah as he could. Her voice still sounded bitter and she looked as terrible as when they'd heard about their parents. Her hair was in uncombed strings over her tear-marked cheeks and her nose was raw from crying.
He
had made her feel this way.

“Do you really want to stay here?” Norah asked him.

Gavin nodded miserably. He was wounding her even more but he had no choice.

“Are you sure Aunt Florence hasn't just brainwashed you into saying yes? She's always had some sort of weird power over you.”

“I made up my own mind. I'm sorry, Norah. I
have
to stay, don't you see? Canada's my
home
. I don't
remember
England. I don't even remember—” He stopped, afraid to hurt her again.

“You don't remember Mum and Dad,” she sighed. “I know that now.”

“I don't want to lose
you,
” said Gavin. “But Aunt Florence said we can visit you, and you can visit us too.”

“She told me that too.” Norah sat up. “Aunt Florence is offering you a lot,” she said tightly. “You'll get a good education and one day you'll be rich.”

And I'll get to keep Bosley, Gavin added to himself.

“She seems to think it's the best thing for you,” continued Norah. “I don't! But Aunt Florence always gets what she wants. I just hope Grandad refuses—I bet he will.”

She finally managed a small, clenched smile. “But I also want you to be happy, Gavin. Aunt Florence says I shouldn't upset you about it. So I'll keep quiet until we hear Grandad's decision. That's the best I can offer.”

“Thank you,” whispered Gavin. He had to leave before he cried. He ran down to his room and crawled under his eiderdown.

What a horrible, horrible day. It was even worse than when his parents died, because this time all the anguish revolved around
him
. He gazed around his neat room, at his models and soldiers and books arranged exactly as he liked them. In Muriel's house in England he probably wouldn't even have his own room.

Surely Grandad would say yes and Norah would accept it. Then maybe he could stop feeling so guilty.

A
UNT FLORENCE
sent Grandad a cable, asking him to telephone at her expense. To Norah's fury, the call came through when they were in school. “I wanted to talk to him!” she cried.

“He's going to phone back again,” said Aunt Florence. “Maybe you can talk to him then. His voice was amazingly clear.”

“But what did he
say
?” demanded Norah.

She looked embarrassed. “He was … well … surprised, of course. He said he'd think about my proposal and phone back. I did most of the talking.”

“I bet you did,” Norah muttered, so low that only Gavin heard her.

Then a cable arrived:

MUST CONSULT REST FAMILY STOP WILL NOT TELEPHONE UNTIL JUNE

JAMES LOGGIN

“June!” spluttered Aunt Florence. “That's too long! Doesn't he realize how hard it is on Gavin to wait? And we can't make any arrangements for a ship until we know if one or both of you are going.”

“But Mother,” said Aunt Mary timidly, “you can understand how Mr. Loggin needs time to think about it. After all, you're asking him to give up his only grandson.” Aunt Florence frowned at her.

Gavin stole a glance at Norah. She looked as frustrated as the rest of them not to
know
.

“Well, he's left us no choice,” sighed Aunt Florence. Later she told Gavin in private not to worry. “He didn't sound negative, pet—just rather shocked, which is understandable. Let's assume you
are
staying. I'm going to write a long letter to your grandfather. I'm sure I can convince him. But until we know, remember it's still a secret.”

B
UT GAVIN COULDN
'
T KEEP
the secret bottled up any longer. One afternoon, when he and Tim and Roger were in the fort, he told his friends that he might stay in Canada.

“Hooray!” shouted Tim. Roger just grinned.

“Don't tell anyone,” warned Gavin. “It's a secret! And my grandfather might
make
me go back.”

“He must be really mean to do that,” said Roger.

This was exactly how Gavin had been imagining Grandad lately—a mean old man who wanted to spoil his happiness.

“He
is
mean,” said Gavin. “It would be awful to have to live with him. We don't even have a house! We'd have to squeeze into my sister's house. And she and her husband are probably mean too,” he added wildly. He looked at their sympathetic faces. “But wouldn't it be keen if I stayed in Canada? Then we'd always be friends!”

“I have an idea,” said Tim. “Let's make a pact, just in case you do have to go back. A pact in blood.”

“Blood!” the other two cried.

“Just a little bit of blood,” said Tim. “We'll prick our fingers and be blood brothers, the way they did in
Secret Water
.” They were all avid readers of the Arthur Ransome books.

Roger looked nervous when Tim took out his jackknife and placed it on a log.

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

“I don't think I want to,” said Gavin.

“Don't be such cowards,” said Tim scornfully. “Look, I'll go first.”

He opened up the knife and scratched the blade tentatively on the ball of his forefinger. Then he jabbed. Gavin closed his eyes.

But nothing happened. Tim jabbed again: two, three, five times. But the blade was too dull to penetrate his skin.

“Oh, well,” said Roger. “We can just
say
a pact.”

“No, there has to be blood,” insisted Tim. He rooted in his pockets and pulled out a safety pin. “This should work.” Placing the point of the pin on the same place, he pushed slowly and withdrew the tip. “There!” They all peered at the tiny gleam of blood on his finger.

“Hurry!” said Tim. “Do yours before mine dries!”

Roger took the pin and pushed it in quickly. “Ouch!” He stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Don't waste it!” said Tim. “Now you, Gavin.”

Gavin held the pin over his fingertip. “Do it!” ordered Tim.

He pressed the pin into his finger. It really hurt and he withdrew it quickly. Some blood welled up and pooled along the lines in his skin.

How strange to think that his body was full of gallons of this bright red liquid. Blood
flowed;
that's what they learned in school. It meant you were alive—life blood. A gruesome thought came into his head. His parents' blood would have stopped flowing when they were killed. That was what death was.

“You can get way more if you squeeze,” said Roger. They pinched their sore fingers until half a red globule hung from each one.

“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

T
he 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.