Howzat! (16 page)

‘What do you mean I was the last one to see her?’ And then I stopped. ‘Oh no,’ I said, my stomach tightening suddenly. Ally stepped forward.

‘What is it, Toby?’ She looked worried.

‘Go and see David,’ I snapped. It came out harsher than I meant it, but my words had the desired effect and they moved off to find David. I turned and ran before any of them could change my mind. I wasn’t sure I could do this on my own.

The MCG was an enormous space, and although it was virtually empty, hunting Freddy down would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

‘Freddy!’ I shouted, bounding down the escalators in the Members area four steps at a time. A few people turned to look. ‘Have you seen a guy, um, a kid wearing cricket gear go past this way?’ I asked a group of adults. One of them looked me up and down, frowning.

‘Well, ten minutes ago there was a group of them on the oval playing cricket.’ The others laughed. I smiled, pretending to find his joke funny. The oval. Maybe that’s where Freddy, or should I say the Grubber inside him, would go. Back to the place he knows best: the MCG pitch.

I was on the lower level but still had access to the ground. Sure enough, on the far side of the oval, walking around the perimeter beneath the Southern Stand, was the lone figure of Freddy.

There was no gate at the bottom, so I hurdled the fence and ran onto the ground, then stopped suddenly. Maybe it would be best if I sneaked around the stands so he didn’t see me, though what if I couldn’t get all the way around?

But it was too late; he’d seen me. He started jogging. I sprinted after him, angling myself across the ground so I’d intercept him—as long as he kept running in the same direction. But he stopped, and darted up into the outer. Veering right so I would avoid the pitch and the groundsmen out there working on it, I ran across the ground, trying to keep track of his movements.

By the time I’d got to the other side, he was out of sight again. I ran through the open gate and turned left, just managing to catch a glimpse of him as he headed towards the stairs at the back of the stand.

Pulling the cricket ball out of my pocket, I slowed momentarily, took aim and hurled it at Freddy. It missed him by millimetres, smacking into the top of the stairs and rebounding back towards me. Grabbing it, I stumbled up the steps after him.

‘Freddy!’ I panted, looking up. ‘You’ve got to stop!’ From somewhere above came a horrible screaming sound. ‘Freddy!’

I could hear him still climbing the steps, but his footsteps were getting slower. I threw the ball again as he was climbing the next flight of stairs, this time hitting him on the back leg. He slowed briefly, but then regained his balance, and struggled on.

‘The curse,’ I hissed, angrily. I’d forgotten to say the four words. I scampered up the next flight of stairs, hoping that Freddy wasn’t going all the way to the top deck of the Southern Stand. But as I rounded the corner, I knew straight away that he wasn’t.

With a grim smile on his face, Freddy was slowly walking backwards towards the edge of the second level.

‘No, Freddy!’ I called, frozen to the spot. ‘Stop!’ But he kept on moving. I could just make out the top of the huge sheet of material with my name splashed all over it. So this is where they had all sat, I thought, then shook my head, surprised that I could be thinking such a thing at a moment like this.

Freddy’s face was bright red and his body was heaving up and down, his mouth gulping desperately as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

‘You will destroy us both,’ he wheezed, continuing to walk backwards towards the edge.

I’m close enough to hit him, I thought, rotating the ball carefully in my hand so that the seam was over my index and big finger. From somewhere to our left a voice cried out. There was another scream. I looked across and almost fell over with shock. I was up on the big screen, along with Freddy. Someone was filming us now. I dropped my hand, suddenly nervous that there were people watching me. I paused, wondering if I’d get as good an opportunity again. In a flash the decision was clear; there would be time for explanations later.

Suddenly my arm was up and the ball was fizzing towards Freddy.

‘You’ve been caught out!’ I screamed. The ball made a whooshing noise as it spun through the air before connecting with Freddy’s neck. He stumbled back, his fingers frantically reaching for air as he lost his balance and fell onto the edge of the stand.

‘No!’ I yelled, rushing forwards. But it was too late. As if in slow motion, he toppled over. I watched in horror as he plunged over the edge, at the last moment clutching the sheet. There was a great ripping noise as his fingers caught onto the enormous piece of cloth.

I grabbed a hunk of rope and material still attached to the stand. For a split second nothing happened, then suddenly I was jerked forward, my stomach smashing into the concrete wall, forcing the air out of my lungs. I hung onto the thin rope tied to the ledge, praying that it wouldn’t give way. Every muscle in my body strained with the exertion of holding him steady. How far was he from the ground below?

There were more screams then the sound of feet and voices.

‘Hold on!’ I heard someone yell. And then, ‘Let go, son. We’ll catch you!’ But the weight I was fighting against didn’t budge. I felt a pair of hands, and then another pair, press in close and slowly I let go.

‘The kid’s paralysed with fear,’ someone shouted.

‘Freddy! It’s me. You’re okay,’ one of his teammates called from below. They must have seen what was happening on the scoreboard or on the monitors inside the dressing rooms, and all rushed over.

‘Jesus, Freddy, come on!’ Freddy’s knuckles grasping the torn sheet were white, and his face was frozen in terror. He was in total shock. He was only a few metres above a mass of outstretched arms, waiting to receive him.

I bent down, picked up the ball, and aimed at the small section of sheet just above his hands.

‘He’s coming down now,’ I yelled. ‘Hit his hands,’ I whispered to the ball, then threw it firmly at his outstretched fingers. The ball hit him directly on the knuckles and he immediately lost his grip. Freddy was caught by eight pairs of arms and gently lowered to the ground.

‘He’s okay,’ I said, as everyone suddenly turned to look at me.

‘Everything’s under control.’ A man in a dark suit with a kind face had suddenly taken over.

‘Brian Casboult?’ I whispered, looking up into his face.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Toby Jones. I have heard so much about you.’

Saturday—evening

‘Something very strange is happening and I am at a loss to explain it,’ the England coach, Ken Rummins, said to Mr Casboult, the chief executive of the MCG. We were sitting in his office, up in the top level of the Members Grandstand. ‘And especially the actions of the young man sitting in the office here with us,’ he added, turning to glare at me.

‘I understand your concern, Ken,’ Mr Casboult nodded. ‘Please be assured that what Toby did was in the interest of Freddy.’

‘Interest of Freddy?’ Ken Rummins scowled. ‘Chasing the poor lad halfway around the ground here, throwing cricket balls at him and almost causing his death? I beg your pardon, Brian, but I don’t quite follow the logic of your argument.’ How much did Brian Casboult know? I wondered. How much was I going to have to explain? If ever I needed Jim’s calm and gentle presence, it was now.

The phone in the coach’s top pocket buzzed.

‘Yes?’ he snapped. I stole a glance at Mr Casboult. He smiled, nodding his head. ‘I’m with the lad now.’ Mr Rummins looked across at me, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘No, by all means. Bring him up.’ He snapped his phone shut thoughtfully. ‘Well, Freddy is much improved and would like to talk with you.’

I nodded, not sure what to say.

‘Ken,’ Mr Casboult continued. ‘A gentleman by the name of Jim Oldfield has—how can I explain—made contact with cricketers from another place.’

‘Another time and place,’ I added, nodding.

‘Yes. Now I am not fully familiar with all the details, but I have called our librarian back, Mr David Howie, and I know he can clarify the situation further.’

‘I can explain, Mr Casboult,’ I said.

‘I think you’ve done quite enough,’ Mr Rummins snapped, standing up suddenly and walking towards the window. ‘I presume that what was shown on the scoreboard there has been recorded and will be available?’

‘I saved his life,’ I blurted out, unable to control my anger any longer. ‘Freddy had been taken over by one of the Grubbers. I saw him come onto the field and approach Freddy while I was batting.’ The two men were staring at me, but I wasn’t going to stop now. ‘The longer that Grubber stayed inside him the harder it would have been to get him out.’

‘A what?’ the coach finally asked.

‘A Grubber. It’s like a spirit. A spirit of a past Test player wanting to play cricket again.’

‘You’re talking rubbish, lad.’

‘It’s all right, Toby. We’ll sort this matter out,’ Mr Casboult reassured me.

‘If it wasn’t for the lads down there, I’d cancel this game here and now,’ the coach continued. Mr Casboult was saved from replying by a light knock on the door.

‘Mr Rummins,’ I pleaded, walking towards him. ‘Just tell me one thing. Was Freddy’s behaviour different when he came off the field today? Does he always bat like that?’ Mr Casboult opened the door. ‘Well?’

Mr Rummins turned from the window and looked at me. ‘I’ll be honest with you. No, he wasn’t his normal self. Not at all.’ He looked down at his feet, his voice quieter. ‘He normally bats at six…’

‘He wasn’t wearing a helmet,’ I said, as Mr Casboult ushered Freddy and an England official into the room. We both turned.

‘Toby?’ Freddy stepped forwards shyly, holding out his hand. The manager of the England team stood behind him.

‘Now wait on a moment, Freddy,’ Mr Rummins began, trying to step in between us. He was keen to keep the atmosphere tense.

‘Hi,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘Toby Jones. Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened out there.’

‘Um…’

‘I think we can leave these two boys here to chat for a while, don’t you, Ken?’ Brian Casboult said, walking towards the door.

‘Well, I’m not sure that’s a wise thing. What if…’

‘Come on, Ken,’ the England manager said. ‘The Aussies are shouting the bar tonight and they’ve arranged a highlights package of the 2005 Test series.’

Ken Rummins hesitated.

‘It’s okay, Mr Rummins.’ Freddy looked up at him. ‘In a funny, weird sort of way.’

‘Here,’ the manager said, taking a business card out of his pocket. ‘You ring me at once if there’s any problem, you hear?’ Mr Casboult rolled his eyes gently and winked at me.

‘No throwing English cricketers through glass windows,’ he whispered as he walked past me.

‘Promise,’ I mouthed back.

Freddy and I stayed up in the office for the next half-hour. We found a supply of snacks and a small fridge well stocked with all sorts of drinks.

‘Are you sure he won’t mind?’ he asked, as I threw him a bottle of lemon mineral water.

‘I reckon he can afford it,’ I laughed. I told Freddy the entire story—from the time I first met Jim and discovered I had the ability to use
Wisden
s to travel back in time. He listened attentively, only once stopping me to ask a question. It was a question others had asked me too.

‘Can you take me?’

‘Sure I could. But I’ve got a few other problems I have to solve.’ I asked Freddy to explain what it was like having the Grubber in him. Was he conscious of what was happening?

‘It was very strange,’ he said, after a pause. ‘It was like I had moved outside my body and I was watching from a distance. I couldn’t work out what was going on. And then slowly I sensed myself drifting back in.’

‘In?’

‘Into my body. I was saying things and hearing what I was saying but not really wanting to say them. But after a while it got easier. I sort of got more confident. But someone was talking for me; making decisions that I normally wouldn’t make.’

‘Like wanting to bat second drop?’

‘Yes. And then refusing to put the helmet on. That was very strange. When the wicket fell, I went to pick the helmet up, but for some reason I walked straight past it. I can remember one of the guys stopped me. Told me I’d forgotten it.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘I’ve never used one before and I’m not going to start using one now.’

‘Which, of course, isn’t true.’

‘No. I’ve been wearing them ever since I could hold a cricket bat.’

‘And what did the coaches say?’

‘Well, I was striding out of the room by then, but I think I heard Mr Rummins say, “Give him an over. He’ll come to his senses.”’

‘And then you belted us all round the park and they probably thought let’s not change anything here; Freddy’s on fire.’

I was enjoying chatting to Freddy but I had to get in contact with Ally and the others and see what was happening with Georgie. ‘Freddy, is there anyone else on your team that might have been got at?’ I asked, standing.

He shook his head. ‘No. Everyone’s their normal selves.’

‘Okay, well you keep me posted on stuff. Let me know first thing if there’s something bothering you.’

‘And you’ll come with your magic cricket ball.’

‘Something like that,’ I grinned.

‘Can I have a look at it?’ he asked. I pulled it out of my pocket. Mr Casboult had got one of the security guys to retrieve it from the seats in the stand.

‘It just looks like a normal cricket ball,’ he said, turning it around in his hand.

‘I know. But believe me, it’s not.’

‘Yeah, well just don’t use it on us tomorrow.’

‘If you bat like you did today, I might need to.’ I caught the ball from him and put it back in my pocket.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever hit the ball like that again,’ he sighed, standing up.

‘Freddy, remember—that wasn’t you hitting the ball.’

‘Can you find out who it was?’

‘Yeah, well we’re working on it.’ We shook hands, promising to catch up again either later that evening or some time tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to tell Jim what had happened, but first I needed to find Ally and the rest of them and see if they’d heard from Georgie.