Howzat! (18 page)

Saturday—evening

I left Jay down in the library to explain to Ally and Rahul about Georgie while I went off to grab something to eat and find Jimbo. Ally would have to do some fast talking to explain Georgie’s absence to her mum.

‘Welcome back to the land of the living,’ Jimbo said, patting me on the back when I returned to the corporate box he and I were sleeping in during the cricket camp. Tonight would be our last night.

‘You don’t know how true that comment is.’

‘You’ve been to the Timeless Cricket Match?’

‘Yup.’ I told him about the scoreboard and Jim defeating Father Time.

‘Just like that?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Well, yeah. I guess I was a bit amazed at how quickly it happened too. Jim said that Father Time wasn’t his former self. He’d been up in that dusty scoreboard for years and years and had lost his strength.’

‘I didn’t think ghosts and immortals could lose their strength,’ Jimbo said, closing his cricket magazine and walking over to the small fridge to grab a drink. I looked up sharply.

‘What do you mean, immortals? What do you know about Father Time?’

Jimbo unscrewed the top of his drink bottle and took a swig. ‘David rocked up about half an hour ago. He’d got a call from Ally.’

‘Oh, is he still here now?’ I asked, pulling out my phone.

‘Yeah, he will be. He said he was going to wait for them or you to return. Anyway, I think Jim’s told him quite a bit about Father Time and stuff.’

‘Like?’

‘Well, David didn’t tell me much. He just said that…’ Jimbo paused, then looked at me nervously. He’d said too much.

‘What, Jimbo? You can tell me.’

‘Yeah, well he said that there may come a time when Jim doesn’t return. Or that if he does, it won’t be as Jim.’

‘What does that mean?’ I said. There was so much happening that I wasn’t understanding. Everyone seemed to be speaking in riddles.

‘I dunno. That’s what I asked David.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘That he didn’t know either.’

I sat down on the bed and sighed. Closing my eyes, I lay back on the bed, enjoying the quietness
and calm. I felt the cricket ball nestled against my side.

‘Hey, they’re picking the World Cup team at the moment,’ Jimbo said. I sat bolt upright.

‘Now?’ The World Cup was on in nine days’ time, and the Australian team was going to be selected from the squad playing in this match.

‘Yup.’ Jimbo looked at his watch. ‘Want to listen?’

‘What do you mean?’

Jimbo smiled. ‘David knows where the meeting’s happening. Come on.’

‘So?’ I asked, following Jimbo out into the corridor. ‘They’re hardly going to say, “Oh, look, it’s Toby and Jimbo. Come in, guys. We’re just selecting the Under 15 Australian World Cup team and thought you’d like to help us.”’ Jimbo said nothing. ‘Well, can you at least tell me where we’re going?’

‘Oh, hello, boys,’ David called from the bottom of the escalators. ‘I was just coming up to look for you.’

‘We’re just going to…’ Jimbo whispered, winking at David.

‘Going to?’ David cocked his head to one side.

‘You know,’ Jimbo hissed. ‘What you said before?’ David looked at him blankly. ‘David! The meeting! Remember?’

‘Oh!’ David cried, clapping his hands together. ‘Yes, well there’s really no time for that. I didn’t mean that you
would
actually listen.’

I shrugged at David. ‘Did you see the others?’ I asked him. ‘Ally and the two boys?’

‘Oh yes. They were very relieved to hear that Georgie is in safe hands with Jim, though I rather think they would have preferred it if she was back here. But Jim must have his reasons.’ David frowned, as if he’d forgotten what he was saying. ‘Anyway, I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t leave before I return,’ he called, heading for the café.

‘Just a quick listen,’ Jimbo said. I shrugged and followed him into David’s office.

‘Through here,’ Jimbo whispered, putting a finger to his lips. He opened a door behind David’s study and walked into what looked like a storeroom. He bent down and crawled behind a couch. A shaft of light shone through from the bottom section of wall behind it. I squeezed in next to him and gasped.

Through some sort of vent I could see down into a large meeting room. Six men were gathered around an enormous table, which was littered with folders, papers and an assortment of drinks and snacks. Another guy, who I didn’t recognise, stood next to a whiteboard which was covered with names written in various colours.

‘We can’t be here,’ I breathed, but wishing I had some binoculars to see more clearly the names on the whiteboard.

‘Okay, go then,’ Jimbo said.

I thought I’d stay for a few minutes, just to see if we could actually hear anything. Everyone seemed to be writing except the man out the front. It was as if
they’d all been asked to write an answer. Suddenly the guy standing in the front started to speak.

‘So, who have you got?’ he asked. A familiar voice spoke. His back was to us but I knew it was Marty.

‘I’ve put down Toby Jones.’ Jimbo nudged me. I held my breath. ‘The kid’s got a cricket brain, there’s no doubt about it. He’s not volatile and when we need someone with a sense of calm, I think he’s the guy who’s going to deliver.’

‘You call his behaviour today calm?’ I didn’t recognise that voice.

‘That was a situation that was out of his control. None of us knows what’s going on there. We’re here to talk about his cricket ability and nothing else.’

Feeling uncomfortable, I edged back and returned to David’s office. He was bent over by a filing cabinet, searching for something.

‘Ah, Toby,’ he said, looking up. ‘Actually, I was just coming to get you. We thought you’d be interested in getting a look at the selection room.’

‘We?’

‘Jim and I. He was keen for you to maintain your interest in your current cricket games.’

Jimbo joined us. ‘One of ’em reckons I’ll play Test cricket for Australia one day,’ he beamed, collapsing in a chair by the window. ‘But yeah, it actually felt a bit dodgy lying there listening.’

‘Especially when our names were being mentioned.’ I turned back to David. ‘But of course I’m interested in my cricket. We’re playing a Test match
against the Poms and the team for the World Cup is about to be announced.’

‘Exactly, Toby.’ David nodded, then took a sip of his coffee.

‘Well?’

‘There are other matters at hand too,’ he said, glancing at the door. Jimbo moved over and closed it gently.

‘You mean the Grubbers and Father Time?’ said Jimbo. ‘But Jim’s fixed all that. We just have to get Georgie back.’

‘And Jim,’ I added. ‘It’s not quite all over. I’m not going to leave him in that grotty scoreboard for the rest of his days—’

‘Toby, listen to me.’ David’s normally light and pleasant voice suddenly sounded serious. ‘Jim said two things to me before he left here. The first he was quite emphatic about. On no account are you to return to attempt to rescue him and bring him back.’

‘But why?’ asked Jimbo.

‘Because if Jim leaves that scoreboard the game of cricket will die.’ I shook my head angrily. David continued. ‘Don’t ask me to explain how, Toby. But Jim was adamant. Cricket is dearer to him than anything else.’

‘What about his family? How can a game be more important than your family?’ I looked into David’s eyes, searching for an answer. He didn’t have one and he knew it. I didn’t know of any family that Jim had, but he was becoming more and more a part of ours.

‘I don’t know, Toby. Really I don’t.’ I stared out his office window at the lights beyond the Yarra River. For a moment no one spoke, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

‘And the second thing?’ Jimbo asked, finally.

‘Oh yes,’ David replied, placing his coffee cup gently on the table. ‘He said when things look like they’re fixed, that’s the time to question and doubt with all your heart, strength and soul. He said you’d both understand, especially you, Jimbo, being a batsman.’

‘Yeah, I know what he means,’ Jimbo said.

‘So do I,’ I said. David looked at me, eyebrows raised. I continued. ‘Just when you think you’re settled in, you’ve put away a few boundaries, you’re seeing the ball well, then bang! You’re out.’ I clapped my hands on saying the word ‘bang’, which caused David to jump slightly. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered.

‘No, no, that’s quite all right.’

‘David,’ I said, trying to sound relaxed. ‘There’s just one other thing. Jim needs a copy of the first
Wisden
.’ David spun around, a look of horror on his face.

‘1864? I don’t think so, Toby.’ He couldn’t hide a puzzled frown.

‘But it’s for Georgie.’

‘Georgie?’

‘I don’t exactly know why or how, but Jim said he needs it to help her. It’s something about fixing up time problems for people who’ve been affected by
Father Time. We were going to have to burn it if Father Time was still around.’

David spluttered. ‘Burn it? The first ever
Wisden
? Over my dead body.’

‘Can I at least see it?’ I asked, walking across the library to the
Wisden
section. I scanned the books, working my way back to the very earliest editions. ‘Did you say 1864?’ I asked, peering closely at the spines. I heard David chuckle softly behind me. ‘It’s gone!’

‘Jim’s instructions,’ David said.

‘But—’

‘He said you might come looking for it.’

‘Jim did? I don’t get it.’

‘Toby, nor do I, and I’m his closest friend, outside your family. I’m off to lock up. Don’t forget the cricket match you’re playing in.’

‘Weird,’ I muttered, staring out at the lights around the ground as I followed Jimbo up the escalator. ‘Why does Jim ask me to get the
Wisden
if he’s already hidden it?’

‘Do you reckon David knows where it is?’ Jimbo asked.

‘I dunno. It wouldn’t surprise me.’

Jimbo stopped at the top of the escalators and turned to me. ‘Listen, mate. We’ve got a monster day of cricket out there tomorrow. How we go might have a big bearing on whether we get selected in the World Cup squad. They’ll probably only pick two Victorians.’

‘No way! If there are five of us good enough, then five of us should get in. That’s how it is with the
Australian Test team. Sometimes there’s no one from a particular state. Name the last South Australian to play in the one-day Australian team.’ Jimbo shrugged and started walking again.

‘You know what I mean, Toby,’ he said, softly. And I did. It was time to shelve Grubbers, scoreboards, Jim and Georgie and focus on the game tomorrow. For a night and a day, they would all have to look after themselves.

But if I’d known what was really happening out there in the mists and fogs swirling around the Timeless Cricket Match, the Test against England would have been the last thing on my mind.

Sunday—morning

Cam and Jimbo, our opening pair, continued their steady partnership the following morning. After an hour’s play, they had advanced the score to 0 for 75. The England attack was steady and persistent but unable to make the breakthrough.

‘Of course, you realise England hold the Ashes unless we can force the outright,’ Marty said, sitting down next to me.

‘So, we send out a message with drinks to tell them to get on with it,’ Scott said from behind us.

‘You think so?’ Marty turned around.

‘Of course! What’s the point of batting out the day? We might as well go down fighting.’

‘Sean? Toby? Anyone else? It’s drinks next over. We can get a message out then.’

‘I agree with Scott,’ I said, probably for the first time ever. ‘England is slowing it all down. What they
don’t want is for us to push the pace; force the issue. There are no over limits or anything, are there, Marty?’ He shook his head. ‘We pull out stumps at six o’clock, regardless.’

‘So, that means there’s another five hours of play.’ I was thinking aloud. ‘We add on, say, another 80 runs before lunch and we’ve got a lead of about 140. Bat for another hour after lunch and push it out to 210 runs. That gives England three hours to make the runs. Would they go for it?’

‘Would we want them to?’ Marty asked.

‘Yeah, of course,’ I said. ‘Like Scott says, we go down on the first innings or we go down outright. Either way, we go down. But surely we have to fight for a victory ourselves.’ I noticed Scott nodding.

‘What do you think, skipper?’ We all turned to look at Sean.

‘Yeah, it’s your call, mate,’ Greg said.

‘Geez, I dunno,’ Sean said finally. ‘Isn’t this a good chance for us to get some really good batting practice? Out on the MCG. Class bowling attack. I reckon we’re no chance for an outright. Once we start forcing the pace, we’ll just collapse again.’

I was surprised that Sean was talking so negatively. Maybe, as captain, he wasn’t too rapt about the prospect of going down by an innings.

‘Well, as Greg says, it’s your call, Sean.’

Sean looked around. ‘Who reckons we should force the pace? Go for it?’ Six arms shot up in the air straight away. ‘Yeah, well I guess the team has spoken,’ he
grinned. ‘Toby, go out with the drinks. Scott, go put the pads on.’

‘You got it!’ Scott cried. He was out of his seat in a flash. In spite of him, I smiled. Scott saw me smile and stopped at the door. ‘Hey—and, Jones?’

‘What?’

‘No bloody warm-ups with your bowling!’ he grinned, and raced out.

I grabbed a couple of towels and a few drink bottles and joined our twelfth man, Kyle van de Brun, as he walked out onto the ground.

‘We’re going for it,’ I said to Cam and Jimbo.

‘Yeah?’ Jimbo took a long swig of his drink. ‘Sean said for us to go nice and steady and wear down the bowlers.’

Cam nodded. ‘Well, Sean has seen the light. You guys are batting beautifully. You’re settled and ready to go.’

The field spread quickly to all parts of the ground as Cam and Jimbo upped the tempo. Off one over they hit 17 runs, including three cracking fours in a row by Jimbo off their off-spinner. In the next over he planted a short ball way over square leg for six. Surely he’d done enough to get himself selected for the World Cup squad, I thought, applauding loudly. He tried to glide the next ball through a vacant slips area, but only managed to feather a faint edge through to the keeper.

I looked up at the scoreboard. Ninety-one runs for Jimbo. None of us were aware he’d got so close to his
century. I recalled the comment he made about playing for Australia and suddenly realised, with absolute confidence and clarity, that he actually would play for Australia. He was the best batter on the two teams by far, not counting Freddy’s brief effort. But that wasn’t Freddy; that had been a real Test cricketer.

‘Just when I was settled,’ he grinned at me. I shook his hand, as did everyone else in the dressing room.

Cam followed soon after, and the applause he got from the sparse crowd sprinkled around the stands was just as heartfelt and enthusiastic.

By lunch we had moved to 3 for 161 with Scott looking ominous. The England guys weren’t as chatty during the lunch break, keeping to themselves, but I made a point of seeking out Freddy.

‘You guys are batting well,’ he said, grabbing another salad roll from the table.

‘You won’t want to be eating too many of those,’ I told him, smiling. ‘You guys will be chasing some serious leather this afternoon.’

‘You’ll be chasing plenty of leather yourself as we run down the target and get the outright,’ he replied, quick as a flash. He gave me a gentle whack on the shoulder.

We lost a steady stream of wickets after lunch. I could only manage five runs myself before being caught off the gloves down the leg side. For a moment I thought the umpire was going to give me
the benefit of the doubt. I had taken a step towards the dressing room, then froze suddenly. But I think the umpire took my step as a sign that I’d hit it. Slowly he raised his finger.

On the long walk back, I thought of Adam Gilchrist, and how he said that he would always walk if he knew he was out, rather than wait for the umpire to actually give him out. It sounded great, but boy, it was hard. When you were out in the middle, with a few runs, or even a lot of runs next to your name, I realised it took a lot of strength and honesty to turn away and give yourself out, even though the umpire might not have raised his finger.

We declared the innings closed at 8 for 188. Our last few batters were probably not going to give us many extra runs, but by being in, they would instead be soaking up valuable time—time that we needed to try and get 10 wickets.

We gathered in a close circle halfway between the fence and the pitch, as the England openers walked out to bat. Sean suddenly appeared lost for words.

‘Ten wickets,’ I said. Scott nodded, flicking the shiny new ball from hand to hand.

‘Total commitment in the field,’ he yelled, looking around at us. ‘Back each other up, right?’

‘Attacking fields, Sean,’ I said. ‘Don’t let the runs they score bother you. They don’t matter. They win on first innings, they win on the outright. Who cares?’

We broke up and jogged to our positions.

I glanced at the scoreboard from my place at midon. England needed 176 runs and they had 75 minutes in this session and a full two-hour session after tea to do it in. 195 minutes. It was nearly a run a minute, but it was definitely possible. I quickly realised why the rules had changed in cricket—it used to be that play would always end at six o’clock, regardless of the number of overs bowled.

We could just play as slowly as possible, grinding out the overs; changing the field, the occasional fake injury. The umpires would probably get annoyed and try and speed things up. Then again, if we were chasing the win, maybe we’d need as many deliveries as possible to get the 10 wickets.

I was a bit disappointed not to be given the new ball, especially as Greg was off the field and not likely to bowl for the rest of the day, but Scott’s aggression was a positive and Jaimi, while not super quick, had good accuracy and a mean faster ball.

The runs flowed steadily as England took advantage of the many gaps. Sean had set an attacking field with three fielders in slips, as well as a gully and point. We had no third man or mid-off and the clear, dry air meant the ball wasn’t swinging much.

‘Bang it in,’ I said, jogging over to Jaimi as he prepared to start his third over. ‘Get them on the back foot.’

‘Pitch is dead,’ he replied. I rubbed the ball hard on my trousers, trying to get as much shine as I could
on one side of the ball. I could win this game for us, I thought suddenly, thinking of the magic cricket ball, tucked away at the bottom of my bag. But that could never happen. Not even Scott had suggested it.

They knocked another seven runs off Jaimi’s over, taking their score on to 0 for 34. At this rate they would get the runs in about 25 overs. Suddenly the target of 176 was looking much smaller. It was now down to 142. Worse, England still had 10 wickets in hand.

I watched Sean at first slip. He hadn’t once spoken to his bowlers or even made a change in the field. Perhaps Wesley had told him not to bother making any changes. Occasionally he clapped his hands in encouragement, but even that had been half-hearted.

‘Scott, we’ve got to try something different,’ I said, meeting him at mid-pitch.

‘Tell me about it. I wanted to do a bit of leg theory, especially on the left-hander, but Sean says I’ve got to attack off-stump.’

‘Leave it with me,’ I said, jogging quickly down to the slips.

‘Sean, we need something different. I’m going to field at square,’ I said, pointing past the square leg umpire, who was already in position. Sean shrugged. ‘Sean, what’s the matter?’

‘Hey, Toby,’ said Wesley. ‘Don’t hassle him. He’s—’

‘What are you talking about, Wesley? This is a bloody Test match, not beach cricket. We’ve got to do something. Now!’ I said sharply.

‘Guys,’ Sean said, then suddenly collapsed to the ground. One minute he was standing there, the next he was lying on the turf, moaning softly. I waved frantically towards the dressing room, trying to ignore the twisting knot of fear in my stomach. Was this somehow related to the Grubbers?

‘Bloody hell, Jones. What did you do, whack him one?’

‘As if, Scott.’

‘Okay, you’re captain now,’ he pressed on, trying to drag me to one side.

‘Scott, hang on!’ I watched Marty and two other coaches talking softly with Sean, getting down close to his head, and patting him on the back.

‘Move back, boys,’ a man said, jogging in to join the huddle around Sean. I guessed he must have been a doctor by the way he was dressed. Perhaps he’d been sitting somewhere in the crowd watching the game.

‘Do you reckon that’s his dad?’ someone else said. After a few minutes, Sean was helped to his feet. Supported by the doctor guy and one of the coaches, they made their way slowly from the field.

‘Marty?’ I called. He jogged over to us.

‘Possibly a migraine, but we’re not sure. I doubt he’ll be back on. Toby, you take over as captain. I’ll try and organise one of the England players to sub.’

‘Hey, we don’t need one of their players,’ Scott said, scowling.

‘We need all the players we can get,’ Wesley said.
‘We’ve lost our fastest bowler, our captain and second spinner and—’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Scott growled, glaring at Wesley. ‘Put a sock in it. Come on, Toby. What’s the plan?’ He turned expectantly towards me.

‘Okay, Jaimi, fine leg. Jimbo, go to regular midwicket. No one else on the leg side. I want—’

‘I thought you said we were going short. Attack the body.’

‘We are, Scott.’

‘But I need some protection. I need more than two bloody fielders out there.’

‘Scott, short and fast, yes. But make him hit you from outside off-stump. Make the ball come on at him hard. Make the batter think that anything he hits to leg is easy runs.’

‘It
is
easy runs,’ Wesley muttered.

‘Hey, have you got a better idea?’ Scott snapped.

‘Jaimi, I’ll bowl from your end, then bring you back on after Scott’s spell, okay?’

‘No worries, Toby,’ he replied.

Scott charged in and let rip the fastest delivery of the Test match with his first ball after the break. It fizzed past the left-hander’s head. Wesley jumped high, but wasn’t able to stop it cleanly. He fell to the ground, crying out in pain, as he hurled one of his gloves away.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ he yelled, staring in horror at the blood already congealing inside his inners. Wesley didn’t wait for the trainers, but picked up his glove and made for the dressing rooms.

‘Hey, we need your equipment!’ Scott yelled after him.

‘Get your own,’ he fired back, not even turning around. We gathered in again, each of us staring despondently in the direction of the dressing rooms, hoping for a miracle. Or at least a wicketkeeper.

‘Anyone done any keeping before?’ I asked.

‘I’ve done—’

‘NO!’ we all yelled, turning on Scott.

‘Jimbo?’

‘I could have a go at it, I guess,’ he said, reluctantly.

‘Bloody hell, what’s
she
doing,’ Barton Rivers, our spinner, said. We all turned. I had never been so glad in my life to see Ally, jogging happily towards us, a huge grin on her face. She was fixing her hair as she ran.

‘Hey, she’s cute,’ Callum, our number 4 batsman, noted. I couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride as she joined our group.

‘Hey, guys,’ she said. ‘Where do you want me?’

‘Y-you’re a girl,’ Barton said.

‘Shut up, Barton,’ Scott said. ‘She plays cricket.’

‘Ally, you’re keeping. You’re going to have to go back to the dressing rooms and find whatever gear you need.’

‘Got it!’ she said, sprinting off.

‘What do you mean she’s keeping? She’s a girl!’ Barton said.

‘You’ve already told us that,’ Jimbo said, turning towards the dressing rooms. ‘Toby, I’ll go help her
find some gear. I reckon Marty and the rest will be pretty busy with Sean and Wesley.’

The game finally got going again, though without Jimbo, who for some reason was still in the dressing rooms. I could barely recognise the team I’d played with yesterday. There was no Sean, Jimbo, Greg or Wesley. Rahul was out at mid-off, wearing a pair of white shorts and a white, buttoned school shirt. I’d never seen him look so happy. The England team had given us two of theirs, but without Jimbo we were still a player down. Scott finished the rest of his over with a series of short, fast deliveries.

‘Just like Riverwall,’ Ally called, clapping her gloves together, after she’d made it back onto the field.

I took the ball and started to measure out my runup. ‘Heads up, everyone!’

Rahul looked in my direction. ‘I’m playing for Australia, Toby,’ he grinned, excitedly. He didn’t seem to care about what he was wearing.

The opener played and missed two of my first three balls. I pushed the fourth ball through quicker and fuller. He jabbed his bat down too late, the ball hitting him on the foot instead. I leaped in the air, appealing loudly, turning my back on the batter as he crumpled to the pitch. The umpire didn’t hesitate, raising his arm quickly.