Howzat! (15 page)

Saturday—afternoon

Jim hadn’t said whether my cricket ball would work against a Grubber that had possessed someone, or what would happen to the possessed person themselves, but I was almost certain that Freddy had been somehow taken over by the Grubber Jim had first seen on the oval earlier in the day.

I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do when I confronted Freddy, but I needed my cricket ball and I needed to find him before he went back out onto the ground.

‘Guys, that was a great effort—’ said Marty.

‘Marty, my cricket ball?’ I interrupted, rummaging through my kit. Marty glared at me, then must have remembered what Brian Casboult had said. But I felt stupid suddenly and apologised. ‘Sorry, Marty. Go on.’ I buried my head in my bag to hide my embarrassment.
What had got into me? Surely another hour or so wasn’t going to matter too much? Or would every minute count for Freddy? Maybe even now his personality had been taken over so completely that he couldn’t be saved.

Marty finished his speech and came over to me.

‘I’m sorry, Marty,’ I began, but he held up a hand.

‘No, that’s all right. Listen, I think one of the kids might have been rummaging through your bag. There was stuff everywhere. I put all the balls over there somewhere,’ he said, pointing vaguely to a spot beneath the window. ‘There was a box there.’ I felt a wave of panic.

‘Over where, Marty?’ I said, trying to stay calm.

‘Over…Hey! Oh, maybe Tom took the box down to the nets. You can go and throw a few at our openers.’

‘Who was going through my kit, and why?’ I fumed under my breath, racing down to the indoor nets.

‘Toby, grab a couple of balls and throw a few at Cam, would you?’ Tom called, as I entered the nets area.

‘Actually I was…’ I stopped mid-sentence as I watched Scott send down a whopping out-swinger to Jimbo.

‘Hey, Temple, that’s four in a row you’ve missed!’ Scott laughed, catching the ball Jimbo tossed back to him. I knew straight away that Scott had my cricket ball. I closed my eyes briefly. How typical! He looked in my direction and smirked.

‘You’re on the same side, Scott,’ I lashed out, suddenly angry. ‘Trying to build
up
his confidence before he goes out to bat, not get him out.’

‘Piss off, Jones. You’re talking out of your backside. This is much better preparation than bowling up your pathetic little half-volleys.’ He took a step towards me. ‘That’s not what they’re going to bowl out there!’ He pointed in the general direction of the ground. ‘It’s a bloody Test match, not some little kiddy game in a park.’

‘Yeah? It was too big an event for you to keep your cool, Scott. Great job you did for the team.’ I held my ground, knowing I’d gone too far. We stood there, both breathing hard, toe to toe.

‘Toby, just toss me a couple out here, would you?’ Jimbo called. ‘Or someone.’

‘Give me the ball, Scott,’ I said, holding out my hand.

‘No way, Jones. Not this one. It reverse swings a mile.’ Scott had apparently forgotten my outburst, or chosen to ignore my words. Perhaps he needed his ego stroked. ‘Watch this.’ He trotted back a few paces, turned and jogged in. The ball he bowled swung viciously from outside Jimbo’s off-stump, clipping him on the pads and crashing into the net behind. Was he wishing the ball to swing like that? Surely not.

‘Here, Jimbo!’ I called, sticking up my right hand and walking down the wicket towards him. I felt a shove from behind.

‘No way, Jones,’ Scott sneered, pushing me out of the way as Jimbo tossed the ball towards us. ‘This is my ball, mate.’

‘You ready, Jimbo?’ someone called from the doorway. I shrugged my shoulders at Jimbo, wished him good luck and set off after Scott.

‘Scott, wait up!’ I shouted. He’d gone into the far net. ‘Can I just take a look at that ball?’

‘Why?’

‘Well actually, it’s my ball.’ Scott glared at me and I realised how pathetic I sounded. I wasn’t about to tell him about the Cricket Lords and what the ball could actually do. ‘Um, it was a gift and it’s just special, that’s all.’

‘I don’t see anything on it that tells me it’s your ball, Jones.’

‘Everything okay there?’ Tom, one of the coaches, called, as he packed up the other balls and equipment.

‘All good,’ I replied, never taking my eyes off the ball. I sighed. ‘Okay, Scott. I’ll play you for it.’

‘What do you mean?’ He was interested, I could tell.

‘Two overs each. No protection for the batter. Indoor cricket scoring plus any runs you can make.’

‘And I get to use this ball?’

‘As long as I get to use it too. And the winner gets the ball.’

‘Forever?’ A small grin slowly broke out on his face. I nodded. ‘Toss you to bat first. Tom?’ he called,
not even turning around. ‘Can you umpire this game for us?’ Tom paused by the door.

‘Sure, explain the rules,’ he said, walking towards us.

I won the toss and chose to bat.

‘Yeah, well that suits me,’ Scott laughed. ‘I was going to bowl anyway.’

‘Toby, you’ll need to put on a helmet and a box,’ said Tom, as I walked into the net with nothing but my bat.

‘No way,’ Scott cried. ‘That’s what we agreed on.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have asked me to umpire. Do you think I’m that stupid to let either of you face up to the other without at least some protection? Now, I know there’s no love lost between you, which is a real shame as you’re two of the most talented cricketers we’ve had at these camps.’

‘We agreed…’

‘Scott, wait for Toby to put on his gear or get out of here,’ said Tom. I grabbed a box, slammed on a helmet and took guard.

‘Twelve balls only,’ Tom said, taking up position at the bowler’s end. ‘And you want lbw?’

‘Not for the first 12 balls,’ I grinned. Tom winked.

‘Hang on,’ Scott bellowed. ‘That’s not fair.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Joking!’

I knew Scott was thinking swing, reverse or otherwise. Hopefully that’s all I would have to try and
play for. Expecting a big in-swinger first up, I eased back, conscious of keeping my bat and pad as close together as possible. But instead, he bowled a huge out-swinger. I missed it by a mile.

I was rapped on the pads three times with his next five balls, but each was swinging too much for Tom to give the lbw decision.

‘It’s beautiful bowling, Scott,’ Tom called. A couple of coaches and players had wandered in to watch. I noticed Tom glance up above me. Two men wearing ties and jackets were sitting in the coaching booth on the next level.

I ran a single off the next ball and edged his eighth delivery into the back net. Scott yelled his appeal but it had travelled along the ground. Before he realised, I had snuck another two runs.

Four balls to go. Should I go for the slog and try and add some valuable runs but also risk a five-run penalty for getting out? Or should I try and sneak a couple more ones and twos?

Moving slightly out of my crease, I settled over my bat and waited. He dug the next ball in short. No time to swing, I hoped, getting quickly inside the line and belting it into the side netting. I set off for a single, and turned it into another two as Scott fumbled with the ball in the netting. He hurled it at the stumps but I’d made my ground. I snuck yet another single. I had now scored eight runs. I managed another two runs off his next two deliveries but was clean-bowled by a massively swinging ball on
his last. Ten runs had suddenly turned into five runs in the space of one ball.

‘Scott!’ I yelled, rushing towards him. He had placed the ball on the ground, and while Tom’s attention was diverted, I was convinced he was about to tread on it. His spikes would have made a mess of the ball. He looked up all innocent.

‘What?’ he glared at me, then picked up the ball and hurled it at me.

‘Stop!’ I yelled, staring in horror as the ball headed for my face. I threw up a hand, more in self-defence than in an attempt to catch it. But I needn’t have bothered. To my utter amazement, the ball hung in the air, frozen in front of my face. I quickly snatched the ball, pretending nothing had happened, and desperately hoping that none of the bystanders had seen it either.

‘What the—?’ Scott began, his mouth open.

‘What?’ I eyed him suspiciously. ‘Just good reflexes, that’s all.’

‘No, that ball…’

‘Come on, Scott. We should be out there watching the game.’ I walked past him, and called to Tom, who was chatting with a couple of guys near the doorway. The two men upstairs had left the booth. Perhaps that was a good thing.

Scott took his time getting himself organised, but finally after a stern word from Tom, who probably thought we should also be back upstairs with the team, he finally settled over his bat.

‘Hit the stumps,’ I whispered softly, the ball near my mouth. It tingled and felt good in my hand; bright white stitching and a deep cherry red colour with one side so shiny I could almost see my reflection. Scott’s two overs with the ball hadn’t dulled the shine at all.

The ball swung back sharply from outside Scott’s off-stump, deflecting off the inside edge of his bat and cannoning into the stumps. Scott swore loudly, swinging his bat at the stumps. Kicking the ball back to me, Scott adjusted his helmet.

‘I can’t see out of this,’ he snapped. I didn’t reply.

‘Find the edge of the bat,’ I said quietly, as I walked back to the top of my mark. The next ball swung hard again, crashing into Scott’s pads. I didn’t detect a nick but Scott looked anxiously at Tom before once again kicking the ball in my direction.

‘Why on earth didn’t you appeal?’ Tom asked, as I brushed past him.

‘He hit it, didn’t he?’

Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he? I’d make a hopeless umpire.’

I bowled Scott out twice more. I sensed his final score of minus four could have been a lot worse. But I’d decided that he was still a part of the Aussie team and would be a better player if his confidence wasn’t shredded by being dismissed by Toby Jones six times in two overs.

Scott threw me the ball, still muttering about the helmet. It seemed a perfect fit to me.

‘Thanks, Tom,’ I said, trying to shove the ball into my pocket.

‘You were playing for that?’ Tom asked, holding out a hand for the ball. I tossed it to him.

‘It has special value to me,’ I said, watching him nervously as he turned the ball over in his hand.

‘It talks, Toby,’ he grinned, lobbing it back to me. ‘Fast bowlers love a ball that talks.’

‘You can say that again.’ I smiled to myself.

We’d made another solid start with Jimbo and Cam both on 13 not out. I noticed that Jaimi Clayton, our number 8, had the pads on.

‘Nightwatchman?’ I asked, sitting down next to him. He nodded, not taking his eyes off the play. A nightwatchman is used near the end of the day’s play when you need to protect your main batters. If a wicket falls, the captain can choose to send in one of the bowlers. Jaimi was the designated nightwatchman.

Freddy was standing at second slip, his hands on his hips. I watched him carefully during the last few overs of the day, looking for any sign that he might be behaving a bit differently from how he should be, but there was nothing about him that made him stand out from the rest of his team.

He walked slowly between the change of overs, often looking up into the stands and at the scoreboard. But then, we all did that. It wasn’t every day that you got to play on the MCG.

He was the last to leave the ground at the close of play, walking off alone about a minute after the rest of the team.

After congratulating Jimbo and Cam for their stand, I walked quickly towards the library. I wanted to find out if David had managed to discover any more news about cricketers playing their last Test match here. But when I arrived, the door to the library was locked; the area outside it deserted.

When I got back upstairs, the England players and coaches had all joined our team. I grabbed a bottle of water and immediately made a line towards Freddy, who was sitting on his own.

‘Hey, well batted today.’ He looked at me. His eyes looked pale and red—as if he’d been crying.

‘It’s a harsh sun you have out here.’ His head moved slowly as he turned to look at me. It was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

‘Yeah, well we’ve been lucky with the cloud cover. Sometimes in February and March it gets over 40 here.’

‘Forty?’ he looked puzzled. Maybe they used Fahrenheit in England, like they did in America.

‘Um, very, very hot.’ He leaned back and sighed, a slight smile on his face.

‘What’s your highest score?’ I asked. I thought he mustn’t have heard me. I was about to repeat the question but Freddy stood up suddenly, glancing about the room as if searching for something.

‘Where you heading, Fred?’ one of the England coaches asked, his face showing concern. Perhaps
they had noticed some odd behaviour. Freddy muttered something incoherent and pushed his way out of the room. I got up and followed.

‘Toby?’ I almost crashed into Ally, who was standing outside the doorway with Rahul and Jay.

‘Hey, guys, did you see which way that kid went?’

‘Toby, there’s something wrong,’ Jay said, grabbing my arm. I shrugged it off.

‘Guys, this is important.’ I broke away and headed up the ramp, looking right and left.

‘Listen, Toby.’ There was a sense of urgency in Ally’s voice that made me stop. ‘Something’s happened to Georgie. We can’t find her.’

‘What do you mean, you can’t find her? Have you tried her phone? Didn’t she say where she was going?’

‘Of course we have,’ Ally snapped.

I had to think fast. I was worried that Freddy might do something crazy. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but I didn’t trust the Grubber and I was the only person who could help him.

‘Listen. Go in and grab Jimbo. Get him to get my phone and ring David, the MCC librarian. His number’s on my phone.’

‘What will
he
do?’ Jay asked, looking sceptical.

‘More than I can do,’ I snapped back. ‘He knows this place. He knows the security people.’

‘I thought she was your best friend?’ Ally said, eyeing me keenly.

‘And, Toby, you were the last one to see her. Did she say anything? Where she was going?’ Rahul sounded anxious.