The Lights Go On Again (7 page)

Why didn't Grandad say more?” She sighed. “I guess we'll just have to wait for his letter.”

“Why don't we phone him?”

“They—M-mum and Dad—didn't have a phone. And we don't even know if Grandad is in the house any more. We don't even know if the house is still
there
…” She picked up Dad's letter again. “I still can't believe it! I need to be alone, Gavin. Tell them I don't want any dinner, okay? We'll talk again in the morning. Will you be all right?”

Gavin nodded. He wasn't all right, but he could never tell her why. Not because he felt sad about his parents. Because he didn't feel anything at all.

G
AVIN AND NORAH
stayed home from school for the rest of that week. Aunt Florence arranged a memorial service for Saturday. “They'll be having a funeral in England, of course, but
we
have to do something too. It's important for the children to go through a ritual,” Gavin heard her say to Aunt Mary. Both of them seemed grateful to throw themselves into getting ready for the service.

Norah stalked around the house with puffy eyes, breaking into torrents of tears with no warning. The adults kept handing her fresh handkerchiefs and tried to comfort her. Gavin wished he could escape from her pain, but he forced himself to listen every time she wanted to talk.

“If only I'd
told
them!” she agonized.

“Told them what?”

“Told them about my dream! Then it might not have happened!”

Other times she talked about how she shouldn't have argued so much with her mother. “I was awful to Mum our last night at home,” she moaned. “I hardly spoke to her, I was so mad they were sending us to Canada—and that was almost the last time I saw her!”

Gavin tried to comfort his sister, but his words bounced off her grief—as if Norah were enclosed in a box that shut him out.

Almost worse was how everyone in the family kept asking how
he
was. He muttered, “I'm okay,” but they didn't seem to believe him. He knew they wanted him to cry. But however hard he tried, he couldn't.

If only he could go out and play with his friends as if this hadn't happened! Aunt Florence even suggested it, but Gavin didn't know what he'd say to them.

Instead he spent long hours in his room, making a difficult model or reading until his eyes stung. At least next week he'd be allowed to go back to school. But that would be different as well, he thought drearily. Now
everything
was different.

S
T. PETER
'
S CHURCH
was packed. Gavin sat in the front pew with Norah, the Ogilvies, Hanny and her husband, and Uncle Reg, who'd come to represent the Montreal relatives. He sneaked some looks behind him while they were singing “The Lord Is My Shepherd.” Tim was there beside his parents, and Roger with his mother. He avoided their eyes. He also spotted Mrs. Moss, Mr. Evans, Paige and her family, and Dulcie and Lucy. Even Miss Gleeson, the public librarian whom Norah and Gavin had got to know over the years, was there.

Gavin tried to pay attention to when he was supposed to stand and sit and kneel. He tried not to think about musketeers or baseball or the new trick he was teaching Bosley.

“Let not your hearts be troubled,” said Reverend Milne. He looked down at the front pew with such a concerned expression that Gavin flushed and hung his head.

The last hymn was “Abide With Me.” Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary kept dabbing their eyes with their handkerchiefs. Norah didn't sing but held her head high. “She's being
so
brave,” Gavin heard Hanny whisper to her husband.

“Where is death's sting / Where, grave, thy vic-tor-y …” Gavin shifted with impatience; what a
slow
hymn. Half the people in the church were weeping while the ponderous melody droned on. Gavin could feel the whole congregation's pity pressing against his back. Why did his parents have to go and die and put him through this?

A
GRAVE, DARK-CLOTHED CROWD
filled the Ogilvies' house after the service. Norah was safe in a corner; Paige and Dulcie and their sisters surrounded her protectively, warding off sympathetic adults. Gavin wasn't as lucky. He had to shake hands and say “thank you” again and again, as one person after another came up and said “I'm so sorry.” Women kept glancing at him and wiping their eyes.

Tim and Roger approached with their parents. Gavin turned as crimson as if he'd been found out about something he'd done wrong. His friends looked just as embarrassed.

Tim's father put his hand on Gavin's head and Tim's mother hugged him wordlessly. Roger's mother clasped his hand and murmured something about “this terrible war.” Then the three adults waited for Tim and Roger to say something.

“I'm sorry about your parents,” mumbled Roger, his head down and his fingers scratching rapidly at the skin on his thumbs.

“Me too,” said Tim. “Was it a V-1 or a V-2 bomb?”

“Tim!” cried his parents, pulling him away.

“He hasn't cried yet,” Aunt Mary was telling Paige's mother. “We're not sure it's sunk in.”

“He doesn't
have
to cry, Mary,” said Aunt Florence. “He hardly remembers his parents.
I'm
much more of a mother to him now.”

Gavin chewed on a sandwich, the crumbs sticking in his throat. Aunt Florence was the only one who understood.

6

Try to Remember

O
n Monday Norah said she couldn't face school yet and no one made her go. Gavin, however, was out of the house as soon as he finished breakfast. He took his bike and didn't pause to wait at the corner for Tim and Roger.

After the bell he sat at his desk, lowering his flushed face, while Mrs. Moss told him in front of the whole class how sorry they were. At recess all of grade five avoided him, as if he had some disease. At lunchtime Tim and Roger gave him clumsy smiles, then quickly bicycled away.

Finally Gavin couldn't stand it. After school he went up to Tim and Roger at the bike stands.

“Hi.” He tried to smile nonchalantly, but his cheeks burned.

“Oh, hi, Gav,” mumbled Roger.

“How are you?” added Tim.

“I'm all right. Look …” Gavin paused. Then he rushed out his words before he lost his nerve. “Look, let's just
forget
about my parents. I mean, not forget about them … but let's just act like before. Okay?”

“Okay!” said Tim. “Do you want to go to the fort? One wall needs fixing.”

“Sure!” said Gavin.

“Uh-oh … Mick's standing over there by the corner of the school,” whispered Roger.

Tim swung his leg across his bike. “Who cares? All for one and one for all!”

Gavin glanced at Mick. The bully was staring intensely, at
him
. He cycled fast to catch up with Tim and Roger.

All week teachers and some of the older girls came up to Gavin to say they were sorry. But now that he had his friends back he didn't mind as much. He was practised at smiling sadly and saying “thank you” every time someone mentioned his parents' death. Otherwise he acted so normal that soon everyone at school seemed to forget about it.

W
HEN THE LETTER
from Grandad finally arrived, Norah asked Aunt Florence to read it to them. She sat beside Gavin on the chesterfield, gripping his hand and crushing his fingers together.

Aunt Florence's voice was quiet and steady as she read:

Dear Norah and Gavin,

I find it very difficult to tell you about Jane and Arthur's death, but it has to be done. There isn't much to say about it. On Monday, March 12 your parents were having their noon meal at home. I was out at the pub when I heard the infernal ticking of a doodle-bug. We thought they were all over. There's a few seconds of quiet before the damned thing drops. When the explosion came so close we all rushed out of the pub and I ran home.

The house was smashed—just like my house in Camber was. So this is the second time I've escaped a Jerry bomb by being out. I want you to know I would gladly have gone in their place. It's so bloody unfair that an old man like me survived and they went.

They were killed instantly and would have felt no pain. Thank God you young ones weren't there as well. I never wanted you to go to Canada but since it probably saved your lives, I'm glad you went.

But now it's time for you to come back. The war's nearly over and you belong here. I know there still could be some danger, but everyone says that bomb was a fluke. We haven't seen any since and anyway, lightning never strikes twice in the same place. I am living with Muriel but I'm planning to rebuild the house. There's a lot that can be salvaged. I would like you both to live there with me. It's where you belong. Muriel and Barry and Tibby agree that would be best. We will all look after each other.

Regards to the Ogilvies. Please let me know immediately when you are coming back. We can all stay with Muriel until the house is rebuilt.

Your affectionate grandfather,
James Loggin

A heavy silence filled the room. Gavin pretended to inspect Bosley's toenails. What did his guardians think of this rough-sounding man who said “damned” and “bloody”?

Aunt Florence spoke first. “Norah, dear, do you want to read the letter again alone?”

Norah took the piece of paper from her. Her face was almost as white as it was. “I'll read it again but we can talk now. How soon can we leave?”

“Norah!” gasped Aunt Mary.

Norah turned to her. “I'm sorry, Aunt Mary. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. But we have to go home! Grandad needs us. And we can help him build the house again,” she added, her voice breaking.

“Building the house isn't going to bring back your parents, Norah,” said Aunt Mary gently.

“I know … but we have to go
home,
” Norah pleaded. “Don't you understand?”

Aunt Florence had been unusually quiet. Now she patted Norah's knee and said in a strained voice, “Of course we understand. We've always known you would have to leave us. Now it's just more urgent. But
you
have to understand, Norah, how hard it's going to be for Mary and me. You're part of the family. We—we
love
you,” she added stiffly.

Norah began to cry again. “I know that, Aunt Florence. And we can't thank you enough for all you've done for us. But now it's time to go!
Isn't
it, Gavin …”

Gavin gulped and because Norah looked so desperate he nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Aunt Florence glanced at him and then back at Norah. “Listen to me, Norah. I understand why you want to go back right away and why your grandfather wants you as soon as possible. Your family has had a terrible loss—you need to be with each other. But we can't just decide when you'll go. You heard what the social worker said. The ships are very erratic. If we tell them you want to go now it could be next week, or three weeks, or three months. None of us can live with that uncertainty.”

“But—” protested Norah.

“Hear me out, please. I couldn't sleep nights if I thought we'd sent you back before the war's over. I don't agree with your grandfather about it being safe. What if there
are
more bombs in Kent? And it's important for you to finish your school year. You have final exams in June, which will help you get placed in an English school.”

Aunt Florence sat up straighter, her voice growing more and more decided. “Here's my suggestion. Stay until the end of school. I'll tell the social service people we'd like to apply for a ship that sails
after
that—if the war's over by then, of course. You and Gavin have had a dreadful shock. I think you need time to recover before the additional change of returning to England. What do you think? I'm sure your grandfather and sisters can wait a few more months,” she finished grandly.

It took half an hour to convince Norah; half an hour in which Gavin sat in silent agony, praying she would agree. Finally she turned to him wearily. “What do
you
think, Gavin? Do you want to go back now or later?”

“Later, please,” whispered Gavin.
Never,
he added to himself.

“All right. We'll wait until school's over.” Norah sounded exhausted. She looked down at the letter in her hand and her face twitched.

“Come along, dear,” said Aunt Mary. “I'm going to put you to bed with a hot drink and then I'll read to you.”

Gavin twiddled the radio knobs after they'd left the room. He looked up to find Aunt Florence staring at him. Not with sorrow, which he would have expected, but with a kind of triumph. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing's wrong, pet,” she smiled. She kissed the top of his head. “Nothing's wrong at all.”

A
FTER THAT
Norah acted more and more strangely. She alternated between profound sleepiness and bursts of anger. Hanny kept tempting her with her favourite food, but she scarcely ate. She yawned through meals and dozed on the chesterfield when they were all in the den.

“How is she ever going to get through her studies?” whispered Aunt Mary, as they looked at Norah curled up like a little girl in the cushions.

“I've written a note to her teacher to excuse her from homework for a week or so,” said Aunt Florence. “He agrees with me that this is just a reaction to help her get over the shock.”

Gavin tried to think up ways to make Norah feel better. He suggested they go to see
House of Frankenstein
but she refused. She never left the house except to go to school, and whenever Paige called on her she made up some excuse not to see her.

One afternoon Gavin was sent up to the tower to wake Norah for dinner. He sat on her bed while she got ready, chatting to her about school and normal things.

“How can you act as if nothing has happened?” she snapped.