Howzat! (7 page)

‘You think?’ I looked out at the spot where I thought the ball had first landed. It was still well short of the fence. ‘C’mon, it’s going well. Let’s keep building.’

In the next over, after slogging a full ball back over the umpire’s head, I started getting a feeling of invincibility. Any ball was game. I was in the zone—capable of hitting anything anywhere. That’s the thing about cricket: every ball is a new ball. A new situation. I completely missed the next ball and my off-stump went cartwheeling out of the ground.

‘Great knock,’ Jimbo whispered as he jogged past me to join his team’s celebration. I caught his eye and smiled.

‘Keep it going, Cam,’ I called, then began the long walk back to the pavilion. I was getting a good round of applause from the crowd so I held my bat up. I wasn’t sure whether 37 warranted it, but it was the highest score so far.

We were all out for 146. Cam never looked like getting out, and we stood and applauded him all the way back in—which wasn’t that long given that he jogged again. He didn’t raise his bat, but he came straight over to me and gloved my hand.

‘That was the best, Toby,’ he grinned, peeling off his helmet.

‘Cam, you were brilliant. Where are you from?’ I asked.

Marto and the rest of the team gathered round. Cam hadn’t actually flayed the bowling, but he’d
looked as solid as a rock and played the perfect role for the other batters. His strokes were effortless and his timing was amazing.

‘The Mallee,’ he muttered, unsure about the attention.

‘Who’s your team, Cam? Who do you play for?’ someone asked.

For a moment Cam looked confused. ‘My brothers,’ he said. ‘Sometimes all the kids in the town.’

‘But what team?’ I persisted, then suddenly felt myself going red. Maybe Cam was from some tiny country town. Maybe there wasn’t a cricket team within a hundred kilometres. Someone had said he didn’t have any equipment.

‘No team. I never played for any team. That was my first proper game ever,’ he said, his face breaking into a smile like a huge piece of melon. Someone slapped him on the back and someone else jammed a bottle of drink into his hand.

‘Except once a man came to town with some other kids and we played a practice match. And then he goes and talks with my dad. Then he left and nothing happened.’

‘Until you got a letter?’ I asked.

Cam looked at me and grinned.

‘Yeah. I got a letter.’

‘Well, we’re sure glad you’re on our team,’ Greg said.

Sean threw me the ball—a brand new, bright red Kookaburra. Its white stitches were hard and sharp;
a fast, sharp catch into the slips could cut your hand. Jimbo was taking strike. He nodded briefly, took a look around the field, then settled over his bat.

Line and length, I said to myself as the umpire dropped his arm and called play.

Thinking that I might surprise Jimbo with a quick ball first up, I ran in hard. But it was way too short. Jimbo got inside the line of the ball easily and hoicked it over mid-wicket and out to the ropes for four. A smattering of applause echoed in the nearempty stands.

I looked up into the Great Southern Stand briefly as I headed back to the top of my run-up. Georgie and Ally both waved. I grinned, not knowing whether they’d see my face, then took a peek at the giant scoreboard as I turned. The screen hadn’t been working during our innings, but now my face filled the entire space. Embarrassed, I dropped my eyes quickly and charged in to bowl again. Better; this time Jimbo played it carefully back down the pitch. The rest of the over was uneventful. By the end of it, I’d stopped worrying about appearing on the big screen.

Jimbo and his opening partner started steadily. In the first five overs we missed two chances: a catch behind and a run-out at the bowler’s end. I could imagine what Marto would be saying back in the dressing rooms: good teams take their chances.

The game swung our way in my third over. Jimbo slogged the first ball over wide mid-on for four, then
smashed my second ball straight back at me. I got a hand to it before the ball cannoned into the stumps behind me. By pure fluke, I’d just run out Jimbo’s partner.

‘That’s the break we needed, guys,’ Sean said, slapping me on the back. We all turned to look at the screen for the replay.

‘Hey, Toby, you look like you’re more worried about your fingers,’ one of the guys joked.

‘Let’s attack,’ I said, looking at Sean.

‘Good idea,’ Sean replied.

The tactic worked. We’d left some inviting gaps on the off-side and the batter fell into the trap beautifully. I pitched a slower ball just outside offstump, hoping the batter’s eyes would light up and he’d go for a slog over cover. He did, but only managed to edge it to second slip, where Cam took a sharp catch overhead. We raced in screaming and yelling, slapping Cam on the back. Again we turned to the scoreboard. It was the most unreal feeling to see yourself bowling on the MCG screen and then taking a wicket.

We missed out on the team hat-trick, but we’d turned the game around and removed a bit of Barracuda confidence with the over.

Jimbo went on to score a fantastic 61 runs. Scott was given out lbw to our spinner, but he made 25 useful runs down the order, which in the end was the difference—they won with an over and a half to spare. Greg bowled off a short run, but was still the
fastest bowler in the match and there were a few people talking about him after the game.

We were a bit nervous about Marto’s reaction but, after shaking hands with the opposition, the two coaches talked together with us about the game: the highlights and areas each of us could improve on.

‘It’s probably no secret that the Ashes twelve for the Test match against England will come from the twenty-four kids in this room now,’ Marto finished. ‘Think about that all of you.’

We shuffled out to the Hugh Trumble Café for lunch. ‘Hey, grab two lunch tickets each,’ Marto called. ‘You guys get double everything today.’

‘Woo-hoo!’ we yelled.

Wednesday—evening

I wasn’t able to phone home until after five. After lunch we’d had a guest speaker, Jamie Cavanah—an amazing guy from New Zealand who’d lost both his legs in a horrific accident. He spoke about achieving, goalsetting, getting over adversity and taking nothing for granted. You could have heard a pin drop as he described how his life had flipped in one fateful moment. He was courageous and brilliantly motivating. We asked heaps of questions.

Afterwards, Bradley ended up cancelling the scoring session, telling us that we could have free time for the rest of the day. Jimbo, Cam and a few others stayed on to talk more with Jamie. I would have loved to stay, but was desperate to find out if Jim had returned.

‘Let me know,’ Jimbo whispered as I left.

I dialled 1 on my mobile. ‘Dad?’

‘Toby. Great game today. You’ve no idea how magical that was to see you bowling at the MCG.’

‘Did you see me on the scoreboard?’ I asked.

Dad laughed. ‘Too right we did. From five different angles too.’

‘Dad, did Jim come to the game?’

‘No. Unfortunately he had some work to do down at the State Library. He said he was meeting up with an old friend there and would be back in a few days.’

‘He said that? Back in a few days?’ I could hear the stressed note in my voice. Slow down, I said to myself.

‘Yeees,’ Dad said after a moment. I could imagine his frown on the other end of the phone. But I’d found out what I wanted to know. Jim was still away. Maybe in trouble. Maybe—

‘Look, Toby,’ Dad said, ‘however old and frail we think Jim is, he is still his own person and we have no rights over his comings and goings.’

‘But shouldn’t we be looking after him now that he’s staying with us?’

‘What do you expect me to do?’ said Dad. ‘Go down to the library with him? Go to his friend’s place and watch over him?’

‘He’s part of our family now,’ I said.

‘No, he’s not, Toby. He’s living with us like a boarder would. He’s not responsible to us—he can come and go as he pleases.’

I stared out at the lush green grass of the MCG. Groundsmen were working away at the pitch area again.

‘We have to look after him, Dad,’ I said quietly.

‘We do, Toby. He has a wonderful home to live in. He has meals cooked for him, a warm bed to sleep in. Good company, and the freedom to do as he likes, when he likes. We’ve even given him a garage space for…What do you call that bomb of a car he owns?’

‘Pixie.’

‘Pixie. Exactly. Plus a centrally heated studio full of cricket books. The list goes on,’ Dad said. Then he added: ‘And, perhaps most importantly, Tobes, he has you.’

I sighed. ‘Yep.’ But for how much longer?

‘Toby, what say I get Jim to give you a ring the moment he gets in, okay?’

‘Yep, okay, Dad. That’d be great. On the mobile,’ I added unnecessarily.

‘Listen, mate. Don’t worry about Jim. He’s a pretty shrewd and wise old guy, you know. I’ve had plenty of very interesting chats to him about one thing or another. He can look after himself.’

Sure, when it came to crossing roads, cutting tomatoes or speaking clearly on a telephone, I thought. But what about surviving Hugo Malchev and the burning of the stump in the Sanctum? The stump that was actually his life…

Dad was silent for a moment, as if weighing up whether he should add something or not. He decided to go for it. ‘Toby, there are things in Jim’s life that we
don’t know about. I think there are issues that need clearing up. Mum and I have talked about this. We don’t want to interfere, and I think Jim respects us and is grateful to us for that.’

I could tell them plenty about Jim’s issues but I was going to have to keep all that to myself for the moment. Jim was wise; if he hadn’t told Dad anything, then I was sure that meant that I shouldn’t be telling him anything either.

We got back to cricket camp conversation and I tried to sound upbeat, not wanting Dad to think that I wasn’t having a good time.

‘Tonight they’re selecting the team for tomorrow’s 60-over game against the English schoolboys side.’

‘Will that be the team that plays the Ashes Test match?’ Dad asked, pleased that the conversation had drifted back to cricket.

‘Basically yes, though Marto—he’s one of the coaches—reckons it’s not absolutely final.’

‘Hmmm,’ Dad said. ‘Well, whatever happens, Toby Jones, it sounds like this whole Cricket Academy camp is going to be a real eye-opener for you.’

Dad sure was right about that.

I guess I was expecting to see my name on the schoolboys game team sheet when Jimbo and I went to check it later in the afternoon. After all, I’d got a couple of wickets and made a few runs. I was shattered when I discovered that I’d been left off.

‘Not even twelfth man,’ I said, struggling to conceal my disappointment. I was just glad Scott wasn’t around to rub it in.

‘I reckon that’s a good thing,’ Jimbo said, trying to put a positive spin on it. ‘Twelfth man is a nothing position.’

‘No, it’s not. It means you’re on the verge of selection. It means that if there’s an injury, you’re in. Or if someone doesn’t perform well.’

‘Nope, I disagree. You remember what Marto said? Kids not selected will have the chance to work their butts off to prove that the selectors have made an error. Twelfth man can’t do that. He just gets to sit around on his arse all day watching.’

I wasn’t convinced. Still, there was nothing I could do about it. This was serious stuff and these guys obviously knew what they were doing. I looked at the team again. Competition for bowling spots was tight—and there was Scott, the all-rounder, who was more than handy as a bowler. Greg Mackie had made it as well, as had Cam and Sean from the Barramundi team.

‘Will you be watching the game, Toby?’ I hadn’t noticed Marto come up behind us.

‘What are the choices?’

‘Well, you can sit out there and score, or help out in the box with the stats or vision…’

‘Or?’ I asked.

‘Or you can get down into the nets and keep working. Tom and Glenn will be down there most of the day.’

‘But I don’t have to?’ I asked.

‘No. Thursday, as we said at the start of the program, is a free day.’

‘Except for those twelve,’ Jimbo said, pointing at the team sheet on the board.

‘Exactly.’

‘I guess I want to keep an eye on what’s happening out in the middle too,’ I said. ‘I’ll go for a bit of both.’

‘Fair enough.’ Marto slapped me on the back and headed off.

‘Marto?’ I called, not exactly sure how I was going to put it.

He stopped, turned around and smiled.

‘You want to know why you’re not on that list, don’t you?’

I looked him in the eye then nodded.

‘Well, I’ve got no idea.’ It wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. Marto shrugged. ‘Unless you’ve gone and upset one of the selectors,’ he added, smiling wryly.

‘Phillip Smale isn’t one of the selectors, is he?’ I asked.

‘Who?’

‘Never mind.’

‘Enjoy your evening, boys,’ Marto said.

Tonight was Open Night, when our families were invited in for a big dinner in the Long Room and a special tour of all the facilities.

Jimbo, Greg, Cam and I went down to the indoor nets and set up the bowling machine. We played for an hour, taking it in turns to bat. Each of us received twenty-four balls and, using indoor cricket rules to score, tried to smash as many runs as we could.

In the early evening, we showered and got dressed into some smarter clothes we’d been told to bring along. Maybe the coaches were getting us used to the idea of dressing up for dinner in the Members area.

Georgie, Rahul, Jay and Ally arrived with Mum, Dad and my younger sister Nat.

‘He said a couple of days, Toby,’ Dad said to me quietly, noticing my disappointment at not seeing Jim. If only Dad knew just how much seeing Jim right then would mean to me. Ally and Georgie kept giving me enquiring looks, but I wasn’t going to fill them in until later.

We had a great table near the windows. Television screens showed highlights of the Twenty/20 game as well as our fielding and net sessions. Poor Rahul spent most of the first half-hour watching the screens, and looking jealous. He would have loved being at the camp.

‘Toby, guess who I saw down in the car park?’ Georgie whispered to me as our main meal arrived.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I grimaced. ‘He’s been around all week.’

Georgie looked at me quizzically. ‘Alistair?’

‘Alistair? Here? Did he see you? Did you talk?’

Alistair was the young guy who’d set up the Master Blaster earlier in the year down at the shopping centre. It was a virtual cricket machine with a giant screen. You got to put the pads on and face up
to any bowler at any ground and in any situation you wanted.

‘He looked hassled,’ Georgie said. ‘He was getting into the back of a small truck. He didn’t see us. We were running late and your dad was mad keen not to miss out on anything.’

‘Like the steak,’ I laughed, watching Dad tucking into his dinner. ‘Wouldn’t mind going for a quick walk after this to see if we can find him,’ I added.

We finally managed to sneak away when Nat, Mum and Dad joined the tour. Rahul looked a bit disappointed that he’d miss out on seeing the facilities we’d been using over the past few days.

We headed down the escalators and turned left to where the guys had seen Alistair. On the way I filled them in on the time travel I’d done to London, where I’d met up with Phillip Smale and the albino guy, and the next journey to the MCG with Ally and Jim. Ally had explained a lot already, but they didn’t seem to mind hearing it again.

‘So, Jim’s a Cricket Lord?’ Rahul asked.

‘Yes. He was made one back in the 1950s. We used the stump that gives him his power to help Ally, but as Ally got stronger, Jim got weaker.’

‘A lot weaker,’ Ally added. She stopped by a gate. ‘Do we want to go out here?’ she asked. Georgie nodded. A security guard wearing a neat black uniform watched us leave the foyer.

‘But couldn’t Jim use his own stump to give him back his power?’ Rahul said.

‘Yeah, I thought of that too,’ I said. ‘But the way I get it is that Jim’s stump
is
his power. It’s sort of him. To get the power, you have to burn the stump. And burning the stump makes him weaker.’

‘Why not use someone else’s stump?’

‘Well, that would weaken
that
person,’ I explained.

‘Well, I hope that stump’s in a safe place,’ Rahul muttered. ‘A very safe place.’

‘Hey, this is where we saw Alistair,’ Georgie said.

‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘Ally and I left Jim and this Marcus dude with the Malchev albino guy charging straight for them.’

‘Did you actually see him?’ Georgie asked.

I looked at Ally.

‘We heard him, but I never saw him,’ she said.

‘Nup, nor me,’ I said. ‘But if it was the same guy I saw in London, then I’m glad we didn’t. He had powers, I’m sure of it. He was the Cricket Lord who got trapped by the washed-out MCG Test match.’

‘So let me get this straight,’ Rahul said. ‘You go to Lord’s by mistake—’

‘No, the Oval. It’s another cricket ground in London. Smale tricked me—he took out Jim’s note and wrote his own. His plan was to lure me to the London Underground, handcuff me to the stairs in a fire escape there and leave me for dead.’

‘For dead?’

‘Well, I couldn’t travel. And you’ve only got two hours away from your own time.’ I didn’t tell them about
my mind-travelling. I still wasn’t convinced that it had happened.

‘And so then this Hugo Malchev guy, the albino Cricket Lord, turns up and rescues you?’ Rahul continued.

‘Well, not really. He didn’t actually rescue me. He scared Smale, who then freed me so he could use me to travel back home again. I saw Malchev floating around the ground while I was watching the cricket, waiting for Jim. It was like the guy who died in the black cloak with the half-face. They’re like ghosts in a way.’

‘But no one else saw him?’ Georgie asked.

‘No. Smale did, but he was a time traveller too, like me.’

‘And then what?’ Jay asked.

‘Smale got freaked because he thought he was going to lose his precious scorecard.’

‘He did lose it, didn’t he?’ Ally asked, turning to me.

‘No. Malchev took his
Wisden
, so maybe he thought Smale couldn’t get back without the scorecard
and
the
Wisden
.’

‘So he can’t have known you were a time traveller. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left you there with Smale,’ Georgie said.

‘Exactly. But Smale knew the only way to get back was with me. So he unlocked the handcuff and grabbed on to me.’

‘You should have left him there,’ Jay said.

‘Well, I wasn’t thinking that straight, really. I just wanted out, and he was hanging on to me like his life depended on it.’

‘It did,’ Georgie said dryly.

‘Smale owes you one, Toby,’ said Rahul.

‘Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime,’ Georgie said. She stopped suddenly. ‘There’s the truck.’

We jogged up to it, but there was no sign of anyone.

Jay jumped up onto a step by the front door and peered in. ‘Anything?’ I called.

‘Nah, it’s locked.’

‘Hey! What’s going on?’

Jay froze. I spun round, recognising the voice. ‘Alistair?’

‘How do you know my name?’ he said, and glared at me.

Jay stepped down from the side of the truck carefully.

‘It’s me, Toby. Remember? We played the Master Blaster down at the shopping centre.’

‘I was there too,’ Georgie added.

Alistair eyed each of us suspiciously. He wasn’t looking convinced. ‘Yeah well, maybe, but beat it, you kids.’

‘C’mon, Alistair,’ I said. ‘What’s up? How’s the Master Blaster going?’

Alistair looked about nervously, then back at me. Was Smale close by?

‘Look, I’m doing real well for myself now. The Master Blaster is going to revolutionise cricket—
entertainment and training. I’ve even got my own manager.’

‘Phillip Smale?’ It was only a guess, but why else would Alistair be parked outside the MCG.

He looked up sharply. ‘What of it? The guy’s got heaps of money and knows everything about cricket. And he’s got something else too.’