by Brett Lee
‘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.
We had them rattled. Scott and I bowled without a break until tea, focusing on forcing them back and getting the batsmen in two minds. It worked a treat. Scott had their first drop caught top-edging a mistimed pull, and I snared two more wickets; one with a change of pace, and the other with a nice outswinger. Ally took the catch comfortably in front of her face. They weren’t enjoying our aggressive approach and the sudden pace we were generating.
First slip had suddenly become the premium position on the field, but as captain I wasn’t letting anyone else take it.
‘What happened to Jimbo?’ I asked Ally as we walked off for tea.
‘Yeah, I dunno,’ she replied. ‘I was wondering why he didn’t show up again. He went looking for a pair of inners for me, but he never returned. I had the choice of either wearing Wesley’s blood or going without.’
‘Which did you choose?’
‘Neither.’ I stopped and watched as she removed the gloves. She was wearing an inner on her left hand but nothing on her right.
‘Fair enough,’ I laughed.
‘Four for not many, Toby Jones,’ Scott said, smacking me on the back as he passed me. ‘Game on, mate.’
‘Your new friend?’ asked Ally.
‘When you’re playing for Australia with a common goal, anything’s possible.’
We had them 4 for 55. The game was probably evenly balanced. Freddy was in and playing solidly.
Marty told us we had 10 minutes before he wanted to chat with us.
‘Where’s Jimbo?’ I asked him, helping myself to a sandwich.
‘That’s what I was about to ask you.’ He looked annoyed.
‘I’ll go upstairs and have a look.’
‘Back in 10, Toby. Jimbo or no Jimbo.’ I nodded in agreement. We had a big game to win, and if it had to be done wi
thout Jimbo then so be it.
Although I hadn’t seen any Grubbers on the field, an uneasiness had been gnawing away at me with every minute of Jimbo’s non-appearance and it only grew as I bounded up the escalators and ran along the corridor to the corporate box that we had called home this past week.
‘Jimbo?’ I called, flinging open the door. There was no answer. All his clothes and belongings were still lying haphazardly about the room, just as they had been that morning. I flung open cupboard doors, searched under the portable beds and poked my head into the bathroom further down the corridor. Nothing.
Something someone had said, some comment that had been made, was making me feel nervous, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall just what it was. Was it one of the coaches who had said something?
I returned to our room and gazed out over the ground. Marty and one of the other coaches were talking with two of our players down by the fence.
There was no way Jimbo would miss this match of his own choosing. Something or someone had taken him. A Grubber? That was the only explanation. I looked at my watch. Two minutes.
‘I’ll find you, Jimbo,’ I muttered, closing the door gently. I wasn’t exactly sure how, but it was going to have to wait until after the last session of play. I knew Jimbo wouldn’t want me missing it.
Umar Gul has recorded the best bowling figures so far in international Twenty/20 cricket. In a game against New Zealand at The Oval, in England on 12 September 2007, he recorded the incredible figures of 3—0—6—5..
12
What a Finish
Sunday—afternoon
‘Do you think they’ll go for the outright?’ I asked Marty.
‘I think they’ll try and not lose any wickets for the first half hour and just see where they stand. As I said to the team, Toby, the first eight overs are critical. If we can get a wicket, maybe two, we really have the upper hand. They’ve got a long tail. Attack, attack.’
‘And we can’t get an IIth player?’
Marty shook his head. ‘We’re lucky to have your friend Ally out there. It’s only that her father was here and was able to sign an indemnity form.’
‘Her dad’s here?’
‘He’s called Peter,’ he said, giving me a wink. ‘Looked a lot like your old man actually.’
‘You mean Dad—’
‘Keep your shirt on, Toby. We made all the phone calls. Now go and lead your team out onto the MCG and don’t come back until we’ve scored a famous Ashes victory.’
I jogged down the steps, adjusting my green cap, Scott close behind me. Dad must have signed for Ally to make it legit for her to play, though I doubt he would have done it without her parents knowing.
‘How many more overs have you got in you, Scott?’
‘Plenty. Don’t take me off. I’ll bowl unchanged from the far end.’ A bank of dark clouds had moved over the ground; the air was thick and humid.
‘There might be some swing out here. Keep the ball off the ground and shiny,’ I called.
The first six overs were uneventful, with one half chance going just over second slip off a nice outswinger from Scott. The four that resulted hurt almost as much as the missed chance; it was their first boundary for ages.
‘We need to suck them in for easy runs,’ I said to Scott at the end of his over.
For my next over I had two slips, a gully, third man and a short straight mid-off on the off-side. I’d left a massive gap out through the covers—hopefully to tempt the batters to try and hit the ball out there but with an angled bat. On the on-side I had a fine leg, mid-wicket and mid-on. It was amazing how much you missed having the full team of 11 players to use.
The England batter played the first two balls crisply to Scott at short mid-off. I pitched the third ball slightly wider. He couldn’t help himself; he swung wildly at it, carving the ball out past point for four.
I bowled the next ball slightly quicker, but on the same line as the previous ball. Again he went for it, but this time only managed to get a thick edge. I held my breath as the ball flew to Barton in the gully. He took the catch in front of his face and hurled the ball into the sky.
‘That’s the one,’ Scott yelled, as we came together to congratulate Barton. He’d taken a blinder.
I brought Jaimi from mid-wicket in to a bat pad position for the new batter. I sensed everyone on their toes as I charged in to bowl to the England keeper.
It was a short, rearing delivery. The keeper went to duck but left his bat dangling in the air. The ball crashed into the handle, lobbing towards Jaimi. He snatched at it, but only managed to flick the ball into the air. Before he could grab the rebound, the batter gave the ball a little flick with his bat, tapping it away from Jaimi’s outstretched fingers.
It was an instinctive reaction, but we all appealed. The umpire nodded his head then raised his finger in the air. You weren’t allowed to hit the ball twice, but worse, he had obstructed the fielder.
‘Do you get the wicket?’ Scott asked, as we came together again. I shrugged. I didn’t care.
‘Team hat-trick,’ I said. We watched the new batter walk slowly to the crease.
‘It’s that tall all-rounder. Give him another bouncer,’ Scott said.
‘I agree. Let’s crowd around him.’ Barton was rubbing his hands together in anticipation. But I had another plan.
‘Yorker,’ I whispered to Ally. Exactly the ball he hopefully wasn’t expecting. The last ball crashed into his feet then ricocheted onto the base of his offstump. For a ghastly moment I thought the bails weren’t coming off, but then one of them toppled over and fell to the ground.
‘Ball must have slipped,’ I grinned at Scott, who was staring at me in amazement.
‘Yeah, right. I would have gone the yorker too,’ he said, nodding his approval. We cleaned up the tail quickly, Scott bagging the last three wickets. The England players lined up and shook our hands as we left the ground.
There were speeches and presentations and it wasn’t until just after five that Ally, Rahul and I were finally able to get away.
‘So what’s going on?’ Ally asked, as they followed me upstairs to the corporate box. I was still on a high after the game and especially after receiving the small trophy for being nominated player of the match, but knew that some fast thinking had to be done. We were told that the ground would be closing in an hour and that all players, parents, friends and supporters had to be out by seven o’clock.
‘Georgie is with Jim at the Timeless Cricket Match,’ I said. ‘She was taken by a Grubber.’
‘A Grubber?’ Rahul looked confused. I explained to them everything that had happened as I hurriedly packed my gear.
‘Is she safe?’ Ally asked.
‘She’s with Jim, so yes, she’s safe.’
‘Especially now that the Father Time guy has been stitched up,’ said Rahul. I glanced over at him. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You’re right.’ I didn’t want to share my doubts about what had happened at the scoreboard. ‘She should be okay. It’s Jimbo that I’m worried about.’
‘What do we say to Georgie’s mum now?’ asked Ally, helping me with my cricket kit.
‘And Jimbo’s parents?’ Rahul added.
‘Come on, Rahul,’ Ally said, taking him by the arm. ‘I think Toby’s got enough problems to sort out. We’ll think of something.’
‘Thanks, guys.’ They paused at the door. ‘And thanks for helping out there.’ I jerked my thumb at the window to indicate the ground behind me.
‘Hey, well played yourself.’ Ally stepped forwards and gave me a quick hug. ‘You look worried, Toby. Relax, things will sort out. They always do with you and Jim.’
‘If only he was here,’ I muttered.
13
Toby Meets Toby
Sunday—evening
It was strange being home again after the enormous excitement of the cricket camp and Ashes Test at the MCG. I moped around the house, feeling removed; a
lmost as if I wasn’t a part of the family.
Mum and Dad must have realised the huge letdown I was going through after such an exciting week and left me to myself. They didn’t even ask about Jim, assuming he was with friends. I’d mentioned that he’d met some at the library.
Finally I hauled myself off the bed, pushed aside the cricket magazine I’d been skimming through and went down to say goodnight to everyone.
‘Great news about the cricket camp,’ Mum beamed, dropping the tea towel she was holding and giving me a warm hug.
‘The cricket camp? You mean the award?’
‘What award, sweetie?’ she said. Dad looked up from the kitchen table. I felt my stomach lurch. The clock on the kitchen wall told me that time had just gone backwards about three and a half hours.
‘But I’ve been to the cricket camp,’ I said slowly, looking from Mum to Dad.
‘In your dreams, Toby,’ Dad laughed as he stood up. ‘And I suppose you got to play on the MCG itself?’
I rushed out of the room, for some reason suddenly thinking about Jim and whether he would be alive right now. I stopped dead as soon as I entered the hall. Barely a metre away from me was myself, talking on the telephone! Hearing Dad follow me out into the corridor, I dashed into the laundry, gently closing the door. My heart was thumping. What was happening? I could hear myself talking to Jimbo. They were the exact words I’d used over a week ago.
I’d travelled back in time, but how? And why wasn’t I being forced into my other self? How long would I be here, a week behind my real self? I racked my brain, trying to recall whether I’d felt anything a week ago when I’d made the call to Jimbo, but there was nothing I could remember.
Then I realised that Jim would be here. I pressed my ear to the door, but could hear nothing. Easing the door open, I peered around the edge. There was no one in sight. Carefully I stepped into the corridor, looking left then right.
What would happen if Mum or Dad saw two Tobys?
‘Toby! You did it!’ Natalie screamed, rushing to hug me.
‘Hi, Nat,’ I said quietly. ‘Thanks.’
‘Why are you whispering?’ she asked, cocking her head to one side.