The Lights Go On Again (15 page)

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.

“G
AVIN
! 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

G
avin 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 side 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.

“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.