by Brett Lee
Georgie: hey, who’s here
Toby: just got on, you still here, georgie?
Rahul: thought you’d never get here, toby
Toby: hi rahul
Rahul: evening all, toby, are we on for fri?
Jay: i’m here to
Georgie: jay—thought you were out tonight?
Jay: i’m aloud to change my mind, are’nt i
Suddenly I knew it wasn’t Jay. He was the best speller in the class, by a mile. My mind jumped back to when Georgie had seen Scott following Jay near the end of practice.
Georgie: hey toby, i’ve told rahul all about jim and everything, hope that’s okay
Rahul: I can’t wait to meet him myself, toby
Toby: maybe now’s not the best time
Jay: no, tell
Georgie: go on toby, you’re dying to
Rahul: careful everyone, this is major deep, how much do you know, georgie?
Georgie: only that there’s this nice (I think) old guy at the library at the mcg who has given toby an awesome poem and is telling him weird stories about travelling through time and stuff. it’s cool
Rahul: what do you know, jay?
Toby: yeah, tell us what you think, jay. tell us what happened in the library when we first met jim
Georgie: jay—you there?
Rahul: he’s gone
Toby: no he hasn’t, he’s watching us and reading it all
Jay: your a pack of sicko loosers
Toby: get out of the room everyone, now
There was no more conversation. I rang up Georgie, then Rahul, explaining my suspicion. They both agreed that there was only one solution. We would have to dump that room and create another. The problem was, would we include Jay? Was it his fault? Or did Scott bully the information out of him?
Sometimes Georgie wrote by just putting down on paper the first things that came into her head. I tried it myself. I took out a pen and some paper, sat down at my desk, and started writing.
I have travelled to different parts of the world, and to different times, and only Jim knows.
Except for Rahul, who went all freaky when it happened to him.
And Georgie, who sort of knows something weird is going on.
And I should tell Jay—after all, he is one of my best friends.
Ivo is in hospital, obviously pretty sick.
Jim is there too.
Jimbo isn’t allowed to play cricket.
Georgie, and the kiss comment.
Scott is out to get me, for running him out.
Scott has got to Jay, and logged into CROC and now must surely know there is something big happening that he isn’t a part of.
The answer never did come to me. Maybe I just needed to share this whole thing with someone—an adult. But something was holding me back.
There was a tap at the door. Mum came in.
‘Hey, kiddo, do you want a snack? Dad’s making pancakes. He needs some eaters!’
‘Sure, Mum, coming,’ I said.
I wasn’t that hungry, but I went to the kitchen anyway. Mum had got out the family videos, and there were Nat, my younger sister, and me, prancing about, opening presents and looking cute and cuddly. It was good to forget about things for a while.
Then, suddenly I thought—if there was a game of cricket happening at the MCG that day, the day my sister and I were messing about in our little backyard pool all those years ago, I could travel back in time with the correct Wisden book, walk from the cricket ground, sneak up to the back fence, lean over, and watch myself, aged three, playing in the pool with my sister.
Could I?
Would I?
I knew there was no way I could answer that right now.
In 1884 the captain of an English team forced the touring Australians to show their bats. He wanted to make sure they were not too wide!
11 The Simpson Hospital
Friday—afternoon
DAD had been fine about visiting Ivo.
‘Of course I’ll take you,’ he said. ‘Poor kid. He deserves a change of luck, doesn’t he?’
On the way there in the car he shared old cricket stories. ‘Did I ever tell you about the time a spectator ran out onto the ground and got tackled?’
‘No. Who did the tackling?’
‘Terry Alderman, a great fast bowler from Western Australia. Actually, Toby, not unlike you in terms of style. He could swing the ball both ways. There was a great bit of graffiti up during the Ashes tour, ’89 I think: “Thatcher out”. Then someone had scrawled next to that, “lbw Alderman”.’
We both had a chuckle. I had no idea who Thatcher was, but Dad thought it was funny.
‘Anyway, this guy got tackled by Terry Alderman and he ended up dislocating his shoulder.’
‘Who?’
‘Terry Alderman. Absolute disaster. He was out of the game for ages.’
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, Toby?’ Dad looked at me. ‘What’s up?’
It was the closest I’d got, so far, to telling him about the Wisdens and the time travel. Dad, of all people, wouldn’t freak out. But there was something holding me back.
‘Tell me about that Test match between New Zealand and the West Indies. You know, the one when the West Indies were none for 276 and—’
‘Ah, yes. Amazing game. Probably one of the greatest escapes of all time.’
I decided I would tell him my secret later, and we would go on journey after journey, visiting all the famous games that have been played. We would make a list of them.
Maybe the biggest thing stopping me was the thought of Jim, lying somewhere in a hospital bed. Did he have a family? Was he someone’s grandad? I wanted to know a bit more about him. And then, maybe with him, decide what I would do with this magical power I had.
I owed Jim that.
While we were all visiting Martian, I would duck out and try to find him, just to let him know that I hadn’t forgotten him. But mainly I just wanted to see him again and make sure he was okay.
Hospitals are quiet and lonely. Well, the parts that most people see are. There’s probably plenty more action in the operating theatres, and more noise down in the emergency section, but I didn’t want to go and test out that theory.
I was meeting the rest of the guys in the foyer, where Dad said he would wait for me. We made our way up to Ivo’s room on the first floor. His parents were with him. Ivo lay propped up on a heap of pillows and there was a drip next to him.
‘Does it hurt?’ I asked him, looking at the place where the needle must have been passing some solution into his body. His mum smiled at us, and left with Mr Marshall, saying that she was going to buy some fruit.
Ivo looked at the drip, smiled, and shook his head.
‘Thanks for coming, guys,’ he said, tears brimming.
‘Oh, God, I knew this would happen,’ Georgie burst out, starting to cry herself. ‘What is it, Ivo?’ she asked, between sobs. ‘Why are you here?’
Ivo looked at our worried faces.
‘Nothing,’ he replied, shaking his head. There was a silence. Rahul picked up a clipboard at the end of his bed.
‘You going to tell us, Ivo, or am I going to have to find out for myself?’ he asked, adjusting his glasses.
‘Well, they’re doing a few tests and stuff and they did a bit of surgery too. I’ve just got to stay here a few days till things settle down.’
Georgie recovered, blew her nose, perched herself on the end of the bed and said, ‘Ivo, I want to tell you that you’re the number one keeper in our team, and that as soon as you’re back you’re going straight to the keeper’s spot. Okay?’
‘Sure, George. You bet.’
‘Yep. If that doesn’t happen, this team is going to lose both its female players.’
‘Both?’ I asked, looking at her.
‘Yep,’ she said. ‘Absadoodle.’
‘Well, I don’t think I’ll be pushing for selection for a few weeks yet,’ said Ivo.
We told him a
bout the game against St Mary’s and me running Craven out.
I caught Georgie’s eye and nodded to the door. She shook her head.
‘I’m just going to duck out for a moment, okay, guys?’
I didn’t wait for a reply. I walked over to the nurses’ area and asked the man there where Jim Oldfield was. He clicked his mouse and looked at his screen.
‘Room 225. Up another floor. Are you a relative?’
‘I’m sort of his godson. My dad’s just gone to buy some fruit,’ I added, as an afterthought.
He shrugged, and went back to his work.
I tapped on the door. There was no reply. I eased it open and poked my head around the corner. There were two beds. Two old men lay asleep. Jim was by the window. There was a cricket book on his bedside table.
I walked over and looked down at him. He lay very still. For a panic-stricken moment I thought he was dead.
Then he opened his eyes.
‘It’s all right, Toby. I’m a light sleeper,’ he whispered, smiling. ‘It was good of you to come.’ He sounded as though he was expecting me.
‘That’s okay, Mr Oldfield.’
He turned his head towards me. ‘Jim,’ he said. ‘Remember?’
‘Yes. Jim. Of course. I’ve travelled again,’ I blurted out. ‘I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. And I took Rahul with me to India. It was scary. It was—’
‘Ssh,’ Jim whispered, looking over at the other person. ‘I know you did, Toby. And I hope you have learned a valuable lesson. Those you carry are prone to go against your will. Against the will of the poem. Did this boy want to stay? Did he make it hard for you?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered back, ‘he did. It was like he was destined to be there or something.’
‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Rahul.’
‘Of Indian descent?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘Then he had other ties that are very hard to work against. He is one who perhaps should not travel with you, Toby.’
I had heaps of questions to ask Jim, but now that I was here they stuck in my throat.
‘Why are you here, Jim? Are you okay?’
‘My heart is not what it used to be, and it’s playing up just at the time when a certain special boy has come into my life,’ he replied.
‘Do you mean me?’ I asked. ‘I should never have walked into that library.’
‘Ah, but you had to. Don’t you see?’
I didn’t. Not one bit.
‘Jim, are you in danger?’ I asked, fearing his answer.
‘Not while I’m here, Toby. No, not at all,’ he added, sensing my anxiety.
‘But, why did I—’
A nurse walked in and started shooing me off as if I were a dog or something.
‘Please,’ Jim protested, rising slightly from his pillows. ‘He is my only family.’ He slumped back down again.
‘And where’s your mother?’ the nurse asked me as she straightened Jim’s bedclothes.
‘Dad’s just out buying some fruit,’ I told her. I might as well have just announced the fact over the loudspeaker system. I seemed to be telling everyone what Ivo’s dad was doing.
‘Right, then. Visiting time’s over. You can come back tomorrow.’
Jim reached out a hand. It was dry and lumpy, with veins and other marks. I reached over and took it. He clasped my hands in his.
‘Re-read the poem tonight, Toby. Promise me you will do that?’
‘I’ll read it, Jim. I promise,’ I said quietly.
He lay back and sighed. He looked content. Then he mumbled something. I didn’t quite catch what he said.
‘Pardon? What was that?’
But he just smiled, and shook his head.
I stayed a moment longer, looking at his wrinkled, gentle face. Then I turned around and left.
Jack Gregory, playing for Australia, holds the record for the most catches (by a non-wicket keeper) taken in a series. He took 15 catches during the five matches Australia played against England in 1921.
12 The Visit
Saturday—morning
I was running late for the game and this time it was Dad who was sitting in the car waiting for me. I couldn’t find my gloves. Nat had been belting some forehands at me and I’d put them on to protect my fingers. I eventually found them outside, under the trampoline. There were a few teeth marks in the soft, padded bits that go over the fingers but they were okay.
I grabbed the gloves and raced out to the car.
‘You going to use anything else to bat with?’ Dad asked, as I slammed the door and started to buckle up.
‘What?’ I said, looking at him blankly.
‘Your cricket bag!’
‘Oh yeah!’
Dad just chuckled to himself and turned the radio up as I raced back inside.
As expected, Scott Craven denied being online the night before last.
‘Why would I want to do that stupid chat stuff? With you?’ he scoffed, spinning his bat through his hands. Jay wasn’t talking to anyone.
It was much cooler this Saturday. We jogged out for a warm-up, with Mr Pasquali hitting us some short, and then longer catches. No one was really too concerned about defending such a huge total. The highest score we’d made was 271, and with Scott measuring out his long run, I didn’t think there was any way St Mary’s would get near it.
Once again Scott was in the action, taking three wickets himself and a catch at point. I stood next to Ally in first slip, answering all her questions and giving her hints about what to do after the ball had been played. She certainly seemed to be picking it up quickly.
I was brought on to bowl when they were 5 for 72. My first two overs were maidens. Scott Craven was itching to get back on and clean up the rest of the batting.
‘One more over,’ Jono said to me, ‘or two, if you get a wicket.’ I nodded. I bowled the first three balls a bit slower, pitching them just outside off-stump, trying to entice the batter to come out of his crease. Ally had moved forwards and was standing just behind the stumps—as she would for a spin bowler. The batter pushed forwards again on the third ball, but only managed to pad it back down the pitch. I looked at Ally, then pointed out to the covers.
‘You want me to move or what?’ Scott yelled. ‘Whaddya pointing at me for?’ I waved for him to come in a few metres. He walked in about five, looking at Jono, our captain, as he did so. Jono nodded.
I got to the end of my run-up, looked up, and nodded at Ally. She nodded back. I noticed her move, just slightly, towards the leg side.
But the ball, which was meant to race down the leg side, ended up more on middle and leg-stump. Again the batter pushed forwards, but in trying to turn the ball to the leg side, it spooned out to short cover, having caught a leading edge. Scott raced in a couple of metres and dived forwards to take the catch.
I clapped my hands, shrugged my shoulders at Ally and walked over to Scott.
‘Nice work, Toby,’ Jono said to me. ‘You can take over all fielding positions!’
‘Great catch,’ I said to Scott. He tossed the ball back to me with a look that was almost friendly. I think he was impressed with my decision to move him in.
‘We won’t tell anyone about TLT yet, eh, Toby?’ Ally laughed at the end of the over.
‘No, maybe not,’ I replied.
I got my extra over, and was whacked for two fours and two singles. Still, the wicket was worth it.
We won by 111 runs. Before we left, Mr Pasquali reminded us that next week’s game, a one-dayer against the Scorpions, the top team on the ladder, was the big one.
I caught up with Jay as he was walking across to his family’s car.
‘Hello, Jay!’
‘Hi,’ he said, in a flat voice.
I got straight to the point.
‘Jay, you shouldn’t have given Scott your ID for CROC. I reckon—’
‘I couldn’t help it. He threatened me. He said he was going to hurt you big time bec
ause of the run-out if I didn’t tell him what was going on, you know, with all the stuff happening.’
‘So you gave him your ID and told him to find out for himself?’ I said.
‘I was protecting you, okay!’ he said, sounding annoyed.
‘Okay. Fair enough. I would’ve probably done the same thing too.’
‘I know there’s something weird going on, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, but do you want to know about it?’ I asked.
Jay didn’t reply.
‘Were you in CROC last night?’ I asked him, my voice quieter.
‘Nope. I couldn’t get on. Craven must have been waiting for you guys for ages. What happened?’
‘He can’t spell like you can.’
Jay looked up at last and smiled.
‘I was kind of hoping something like that might happen,’ he said. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’
I felt a bit bad that Jay didn’t know, like Rahul or Georgie and even Jimbo, and I at least owed him an explanation. After all, he was the one that I’d dragged back to the library during the excursion.
‘Of course. Come round this arvo and I’ll tell you then. I’ve also been thinking for a while about going to visit Jimbo, you want to do that?’
‘Jimbo?’ He looked surprised. ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘I dunno. It’s just, well, I don’t reckon Jimbo would have many visitors.’ Jay looked anxious.
‘Well, maybe we’ll be the first. Okay?’
‘Yeah, okay.’
But he didn’t sound convinced.
We got there about mid-afternoon. I was hoping they’d be watching the one-dayer on TV. But then I remembered that Jimbo’s Saturdays were reserved for garage cleaning.
Jimbo’s dad met us at the door.
‘Yes?’ he asked. He was holding a pair of glasses in his hands and rubbing his eyes.
‘Um, is Jimbo in?’ I asked.
‘He’s busy right now. Sorry.’ He started to close the door.
‘Well could we come back later?’ I tried to sound cheerful. I didn’t feel it.
Another voice, maybe his mum’s, was calling out somewhere inside the house.
