Howzat!

by Brett Lee

  ‘I know you’re worried about her,’ Jim said, ‘but she can’t get worse. And it’s been important for me to work on getting stronger myself. Of course, I’m going to need your help to get me to Lord’s, but I don’t want to be a burden. Ally is the one who will need all our attention.’

  ‘So what exactly is wrong with her? And when do we go?’

  I smacked another half-volley into the fence. The ball made a satisfying crack as it hit the wooden palings before rebounding away towards the nectarine tree. Nat scurried after it.

  ‘Each of us is more than just body,’ Jim said softly, patting his chest to explain. ‘We are mind and soul also. We might not be able to see these things, but they are there. It’s a difficult thing to grasp, Toby, but as time travellers we expose these other parts of ourselves and become vulnerable. Ally broke the rules, and that’s why she’s suffering now. When the time is right, we’ll take her to a place where she can be given some of her soul back again.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Through me.’

  I thought for a moment. ‘But does that mean you’ll then lose some of your soul?’

  ‘A little.’

  A moment of panic swept through me. What if Jim got sick like Ally? Or worse? He was an old man now, not as strong as he’d once been.

  Jim must have seen the worried look on my face. ‘And as for your other question, Toby—I think it may have to be during the week of the cricket camp. I shall contact you through David at the MCG library.’

  ‘David?’ Then I remembered: David was the main librarian there.

  ‘But what if I’m not selected?’ I said.

  ‘The MCG will be in cricket mode again, Toby. That’s what we need.’

  Did Jim know something I didn’t? I stared into his old, wrinkled face but his expression gave nothing away.

  ‘Found it!’ Nat called, holding up the ball. ‘And this,’ she added, rolling an ancient, almost grey cricket ball towards us.

  ‘That looks like something from my time,’ Jim laughed, flicking the muddy ball into the air. ‘Come along, Toby. Let’s see that drive working.’

  I couldn’t believe the growing springiness in Jim’s movements. Maybe he was taking pills or applying some kind of magic lotion to his limbs and joints. He even looked younger.

  ‘Now make sure your foot’s right there to the pitch of the ball, Toby. I’m not sure you’re giving this your full attention. You need to focus on each stroke. Any ball that hits the fence halfway up or higher is a catch to mid-off.’

  I opened my mouth to speak, thought better of it, and watched Jim’s next toss carefully. It was slightly shorter, just like his previous throw, and I checked my shot, letting the ball come onto the bat. I stroked it gently towards the fence.

  ‘Better,’ Jim said, nodding appreciatively. ‘If you’re not quite to the pitch of the ball, you’ve always a chance to hit it in the air, especially if you follow through with your shot. Wait for the half-volley, Toby.’

  Three balls later it came, and I creamed it away past Jim again.

  ‘C’mon, you guys,’ Dad called from the back door. ‘Dinner.’

  ‘Help Nat gather up those balls, Toby,’ Jim said. ‘No, on second thoughts, leave them to me. There are a few weeds I want to pull out by the fence while I’m there.’

  ‘Dad, has the mail come?’ I shouted, rushing inside.

  ‘No idea, tiger. But it’s—’

  The front door banged behind me as I ran down the path to the letter box. This time there were only three envelopes and the local paper. My heart was racing as I walked back up the path. A bill for Dad, a letter from some theatre company for Mum, and then a plain white envelope with my name typed on a label…plain except for a cricket association crest in the top righthand corner…

  ‘Dad! Mum!’ I yelled, beginning to run.

  Dad, Mum, Natalie and Jim were all standing together on the doorstep, watching and smiling.

  ‘You knew?’ I asked, staring at them.

  ‘It was your job to collect the mail this week, Toby,’ Dad said, laughing.

  ‘Of course we didn’t know,’ added Mum.

  I looked at Jim.

  ‘Mind you, we were hopeful,’ he said, smiling.

  Taking a knife from the kitchen drawer, I carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the neatly folded sheets of paper.

  Dear Toby,

  I am delighted to inform you of your selection to participate in the first National Junior Cricket Camp to be held at the new Cricket Academy in Melbourne starting on 13 November and concluding with an ‘Ashes’ Test match between an Australian and an English schoolboys side.

  Specific details of the four- or six-day program (depending on selection in the twelve for the Ashes Test) are included on a separate page along with other details about the program. Your parent(s) will need to sign the enclosed indemnity and medical forms and these should be returned to me on or before 18 October. Failure to do so will compromise your placement.

  Similar training camps are taking place in all States and Territories around Australia. A national squad to represent Australia at the inaugural Junior World Cup, to be played in Melbourne next January, will be chosen from players attending the cricket camps.

  Being selected for this camp is recognition of the wonderful season you have had with the Riverwall team and a reward for your hard work and fine achievement.

  I hope you approach the opportunity of working with the first-class facilities and coaches during the Victorian Cricket Camp with an attitude similar to the one that brought about so much success for you during the cricket season last summer.

  I look forward to receiving confirmation of your participation in this year’s camp.

  Yours sincerely,

  Trevor Barnes

  I think the letter must have been read aloud at least six times before Mum finally insisted I put it away so we could concentrate on eating.

  ‘Will you ring your friend Jimbo?’ Jim asked, looking over at me. ‘Or anyone else? Scott Craven?’

  ‘I won’t be ringing Scott Craven,’ I said. ‘But I’ll bet he got the letter.’

  I didn’t want to ring Jimbo in case he hadn’t been invited to attend. Maybe there was some policy about selecting just one player from each team.

  ‘I guess I’ll wait till I see Jimbo at school next week,’ I said. ‘Do you reckon he’d have rung if he’d got a letter?’

  ‘He might be delaying for the same reason you are, Toby,’ Jim said, smiling.

  ‘If Jimbo doesn’t make it, they’ve stuffed up big time,’ I said. ‘He’s a talented batter and he’s got a cricket brain.’

  After dinner I logged into CROC (Cricketer’s Room of Chat), a chatroom that we’d set up ourselves. Jimbo, Rahul, Georgie, Ally, Jay, Ivo and I often met in there to discuss cricket. Other things too sometimes, but usually cricket.

  I checked the screen to see if anyone had logged on, but there was no one there. I hung around for a while, flicking through my collection of cricket magazines, rereading Trevor Barnes’s letter a couple more times, and even hauling out my album of cricket cards. The glossy cards looked great in their plastic pockets. I’d even managed to get a couple of them signed. I kept those in their own pocket at the front of the album, even though the cards were from different years.

  Sighing, I closed the album, took one last look at the screen and headed back to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m calling Jimbo,’ I said to no one in particular, picking up the phone from the kitchen bench. Jim looked up, nodding in approval. I jumped when the phone started ringing in my hand.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Toby, is that you?’

  ‘Jimbo?’ I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.

  ‘Um, I just wanted to ring and…yeah, well—’

  ‘You got an invite to the cricket camp,’ I said.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So did I.’

  ‘You did? Well, why didn’t you ring?’ Suddenly he
sounded excited too.

  ‘Probably the same reason you didn’t,’ I laughed. ‘Anyway, I had the phone in my hand and was just about to call.’

  We grabbed our letters and read them out over the phone. They were different enough for us to appreciate that Trevor Barnes had written them individually.

  ‘I reckon I know who else got one,’ Jimbo said.

  I knew who he meant. Scott Craven was maybe the best cricketer in our competition, a big-hitting allrounder. He’d opened the bowling for us at Riverwall before moving to the Scorpions to play in his uncle’s side. His uncle just happened to be the guy who’d been behind most of our problems with all the time travel—Phillip Smale.

  ‘Scott probably would have got in just on his batting,’ I said.

  ‘Or just on his bowling,’ said Jimbo. ‘Still, at least there’s the two of us.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed, delighted not only that Jimbo was going, but that he also sounded rapt that I was going.

  Our conversation quickly turned to the camp itself, wondering what we’d be doing and who would be coaching. Maybe famous players from the past? Or current players?

  ‘You reckon Ricky Ponting or Adam Gilchrist will be there?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re probably all going to be taken up with their own training,’ Jimbo said.

  ‘Yeah. Trying to win back the Ashes is about as serious as it gets in cricket. As if they’d be spending time talking to us.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Jimbo. ‘We’re the future of Australian cricket. We’re the next generation. At least that’s what my dad says.’

  I realised with a thrill that Jimbo was right. Being picked for this cricket camp was a step towards maybe playing for Australia one day. ‘Exactly. And we’ve even got our own Ashes Test to play.’

  ‘If we get picked in the team,’ Jimbo said, the voice of reason.

  I went to bed that night dreaming of playing in an Ashes Test. Normally my dreaming had me as an older cricketer: Toby Jones running in fast from the Members End, bowling the first ball of the Boxing Day Test match to Marcus Trescothick, the opener for England. (He probably wouldn’t be around when I finally made it into the Aussie Test team, but he had recently been the England opener so he’d have to do.) But to play a real Test match for the Ashes—probably the first ever Test match for kids? My mind was full to bursting with the thought of it. I wanted desperately to be part of the team—even twelfth man would be okay.

  I made a list in my head of all the things I could do to get selected:

  Work on my batting.

  Work on my bowling.

  Work on my fielding.

  Improve my tactical knowledge of cricket.

  Improve my knowledge of the game and its history.

  Learn more about the rules.

  Get fitter.

  Work on having a positive mental attitude to my team-mates and the game.

  I couldn’t wait till morning to start putting my plan into action.

  3

  It’s Good to See You Too, Scott

  Sunday—evening

  I sat on my bed and stared around my room. Cricket posters covered the walls: Ricky Ponting hooking a boundary; Cameron White bowling his leggies; Adam Gilchrist squatting behind the stumps, his baggy green cap shielding his eyes from the sun; and Glenn McGrath just about to bowl another mean away swinger.

  The last six weeks had passed as if in a blur. All Jimbo and I could think about was the cricket camp. Luckily, the others had been interested too—and very patient with us. Now, my cricket bag was packed full with all the gear I could possibly need on the camp, as well as a couple of extra cricket magazines and a few of my Wisdens. We’d also been told to pack some school books, though the only school work Jimbo and I thought had half a chance of getting looked at was Mr Pasquali’s mini assignment—a visual diary of our week at camp. He’d even let us borrow the school digital camera to take along.

  There was a gentle knock on my bedroom door. ‘Toby, my dear fellow. All packed?’ Jim said, poking his head inside.

  ‘I think so.’ I stood up and hauled my cricket kit a few centimetres off the ground to prove my point, then dropped it quickly. ‘Maybe I should dump a few of the Wisdens,’ I said, leaning over and opening up the bag.

  Jim smiled and sat down on my desk chair. ‘Now Toby, I’ve been doing some extensive research over the past few days with a view to us getting to Lord’s. The time has come.’

  ‘Now?’ I asked, taken aback. I felt guilty that my excitement about the cricket camp had pushed my worries about Ally and how we were going to help her to the back of my mind.

  ‘No, no,’ Jim said, shaking his head slowly. ‘I want to do the travel from the MCG. It’s a place I’m familiar with, and it’s the perfect opportunity with you being there for the camp.’

  ‘What about Ally? How do we get her there?’ I asked.

  ‘That, Toby, is my job. I will bring the Wisden too. I’ll make contact with you once the camp has started. The most difficult aspect of this whole business will be getting the timing right.’

  Nat’s face appeared at the door. ‘Dinner, you two.’

  ‘Coming, my dear. And we must finish our game of checkers too,’ Jim said. He slapped his hands on his thighs and rose briskly.

  ‘Jim?’ I said, not moving from the bed.

  Jim looked across at me and frowned. ‘Toby, I told you that this mission is dangerous, and I’ve tried to talk myself out of it a hundred times. Or at least, talk myself out of the need to take you with me. But I fear I would never get there on my own—’

  ‘I’m good, Jim. I’m with you,’ I broke in.

  Jim held up a hand. ‘This isn’t a time travel trip to sit in the sunshine somewhere in the outer watching a glorious game of cricket unfold in front of us. This trip will be very different.’

  I held Jim’s gaze and said firmly, ‘There’s nothing that could stop me from doing this for Ally. I was the one who took her travelling in the first place. It’s my fault she got involved in all this.’

  ‘I’m sure Ally wouldn’t agree,’ Jim said, but his normally calm face looked troubled. He sure was worried about this trip.

  ‘We can do it, Jim. You and me.’

  Jim put a hand on my shoulder and for a moment his eyes sparkled. ‘The young and the old. Wise experience coupled with adventurous youth. A good batting partnership, don’t you think?’

  ‘Even better than Matty Hayden and Justin Langer,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Or Herb Sutcliffe and Sir Jack Hobbs. Or perhaps Arthur Morris and Sydney Barnes.’

  ‘Them too,’ I said, walking down the stairs ahead of him. ‘Did they play for Australia?’

  ‘Morris and Barnes did. The other pair opened for England. Toby…’ Jim’s voice sounded suddenly urgent. I looked back at him. ‘If we get through this,’ he said, ‘you and I will go to a game together, just to watch cricket. Just the two of us. Could we do that?’

  Was that a tremble in his voice?

  ‘You bet we will, Jim. Just you and me.’

  I held out my hand to him and together we walked into the kitchen.

  Monday—morning

  The following morning, Mum, Dad, Nat and Jim drove me to the MCG, then stayed to watch while I enrolled at the cricket camp. There were long tables with signs reading A–K and L–Z. I queued up behind a kid who stood head and shoulders above everyone else.

  I turned to look back down the line. Scott Craven was standing staring at me, a smirk on his face. For a moment I held his gaze. Then someone next to him spoke and he turned his head slowly.

  ‘Name?’ I’d reached the desk and the woman there was waiting to check me off her list.

  ‘Jones. Toby Jones.’

  She typed my name using the keyboard in front of her, then held out a red sticker shaped like a cricket ball that came out of the printer next to her. ‘Welcome to the MCG. Here, pop this on your shirt.’

  ‘Look up!’ she said, and indicated the
camera behind her. There was a flash. ‘You’ll get your security tag next door,’ she went on. ‘Now take this form to the table over there, fill it in and make sure your parents sign the bottom.’

  I turned to where my family were standing. Nat waved.

  ‘I see you’ve brought your sister and your grandpa too,’ the lady said.

  ‘Oh no, he’s not—’

  ‘Get yourself a bag of goodies from that table over there,’ she said quickly, ignoring me and pointing to her left. ‘And tell them Maureen says they’re to find something for your little sister too. Next!’

  ‘Okay. Thanks,’ I mumbled, and headed to the far side of the room, where I collected a bag for myself and another for Nat.

  ‘Hey, don’t be so greedy, Jones,’ Scott Craven said loudly. A number of heads turned my way.

  ‘It’s for my sister,’ I said, regretting the words as soon as they left my lips.

  ‘What, she made it into camp too?’ he scoffed. ‘What’d you do—pay these guys to get in? I guess that’s what you have to do if you don’t have the talent.’

  My grip on the bags tightened. I sensed other people’s eyes on me, waiting for me to respond.

  ‘Yeah, whatever, Scott,’ I said finally, and walked away.

  Dad and the others were waiting by the door. Dad filled in the rest of the form while Mum and Nat rifled through the bag of free stuff.

  ‘Gee, thanks, Toby,’ Nat said, looking thrilled. ‘You’re a legend.’

  ‘No problems.’

  ‘Good luck, Toby,’ Jim said, holding out his hand. His handshake was firm. ‘Be prepared,’ he added, smiling briefly.

  I gave everyone a kiss and a hug then dashed off. I’d seen Jimbo heading up an escalator to the room upstairs where our first meeting was to be held. I turned briefly at the top. My family were still watching, and waved when they saw me look back.

  A voice sounded loudly close by. ‘You bring your bat, did ya, Toby Jones?’ Scott again, on his way up the escalator.

  ‘Of course—’

  ‘Well, since you can’t bat, you probably won’t need it. It’s all-rounders they’re looking for, and sure as hell you’re not gonna make the Ashes team as a bowler.’