by Brett Lee
Almost the last thing Jim had said to me was that he might not always be here when I came. I reached into the cupboard to take out the 1931 Wisden. It was old and brown. This was the Wisden that would describe the Test match that Jim had missed as a 10-year-old boy. The 1930 Test match at Leeds. The game he longed to return to, but couldn’t. He’d tried, but had only travelled from the hospital to the library here. There must have been some force stopping him. He’d had all his life to go back.
There was something hidden in the gap behind the Wisden.
‘Hey, um—’
‘Mr Smale,’ the man said softly, walking towards me.
‘Mr Smale. It’s the old diary Jim was sent.’
‘Well, well, so it is,’ he whispered, holding his hand out. ‘Best you give that to me, Toby. It’s very precious. I can’t imagine why Jim would hide it in there.’
I’m not sure what prompted me—perhaps the fact that no one else seemed to know about the invitation and the award or maybe because Mr Smale seemed to know too much about the Wisdens and yet not quite enough—but suddenly I bolted. I had the 1931 Wisden in one hand and the diary in the other as I charged towards the door.
‘Toby?’ Mr Smale sounded surprised. For a moment I hesitated.
‘Stop!’ This time I heard his anger. I ran.
I belted round the corner and headed for the stairs. I could hear his footsteps not far behind. I tore down the steps, three—four—at a time, almost overbalancing.
‘Stop him! He’s stolen a valuable book!’ Phillip Smale cried from the top of the stairs.
‘Hey!’
I had cannoned into a lady coming up. But I was past her before she could do anything. I got to the bottom and spun around. I heard more footsteps coming from the opposite direction. A voice called from behind. I tucked the diary inside my shirt and bolted to the right. I was in the long tunnel that ran around the ground.
I glanced back over my shoulder, still running. A man stood at the bottom of some steps, talking into a phone. Maybe he was security, organising for all the exits to be closed.
I ran on until I was out of his line of sight, then ducked behind a drinks stand and pulled out my mobile. I pressed 2, then hit send.
‘Georgie? Is that you?’
‘Toby, geez, I’m sorry. Have I—’
‘Doesn’t m-matter,’ I said, panting. ‘I’m in strife. Listen. How far away are you?’
‘Toby, I’m here.’
‘Where?’
‘In the library. But where—’
‘Doesn’t matter. Come down those stairs just near the kitchen, but watch out for the guy with…Georgie? Georgie?’ I shouted.
‘Toby? Is that you?’ There was a new voice on the phone. ‘You silly boy, what on earth has got into you? Now come on up and return those books. I’d hate to think what Jim would say if he knew what was going on.’
I turned the phone off. Was it time to call in help? Or was I the person at fault here? I mean, what had the guy actually done? Sure, he’d acted a bit weird. But maybe guys who collected old books were a bit weird. Or maybe it was me that was acting weird. Maybe the Wisdens were doing something to me.
Still, there was no choice now that Georgie was up there with him. I’d go up to the library, give him the diary and then Georgie and I would clear out fast.
‘Well, thank heavens for that,’ Phillip Smale said, holding out his hand for the diary. He was smiling pleasantly. I didn’t even get to open it, I thought, as I went to pass it to him.
‘Wait!’ called Georgie. ‘Did you find the scorecard in there?’ she asked me.
‘Wha—’
‘It’s very precious to Jim, and you promised him you’d never let it leave your sight.’ Georgie had just put her foot in it, big time. I didn’t have the scorecard and she knew it.
We were both looking at her now.
‘What are you talking about?’ I said.
‘Let me look!’ Phillip Smale grabbed the diary and flicked through it quickly, holding it upside down.
‘Where is it?’ he snapped.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, making a face at Georgie. It was the truth.
‘Jim must have it,’ Georgie said. ‘We’ve never actually seen it.’
‘You’re lying!’ Smale shouted.
‘We aren’t lying,’ Georgie said. She was starting to sound frightened.
‘Look, I think for Jim’s sake we’d all better have a quick hunt for it. He is getting a bit forgetful. What do you say? Five minutes?’ The cheeriness had come back into Mr Smale’s voice but now I could tell it was fake.
I licked my lips and nodded. Georgie didn’t say anything.
‘C’mon, Georgie, let’s start on the Wisdens,’ I said.
But Georgie seemed to be in a panic. Her face went white and she began breathing in gasps.
‘Why don’t you just sit down, young lady, while Toby and I search,’ said Smale.
I couldn’t understand Georgie’s behaviour. Normally she was the brave one. The first in for a dare; the first up for a challenge. But now she was sobbing. Her shoulders heaved as her breathing became more hysterical.
‘Goodness me!’ Phillip Smale cried, sounding exasperated, but trying to keep some calm in his voice.
‘Georgie,’ I said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her gently. She moved a little so that I was standing between her and Smale, who was rummaging through Jim’s desk. She looked down, still gasping and wheezing. I followed her gaze. Somehow she had got hold of the diary while Smale was distracted by searching for the scorecard. She nodded slightly towards the Wisden in my hand.
‘C’mon, Georgie, we’ll be fine,’ I said, opening it and staring intently at the page. If I could do it to escape fire, I could do it from here. I still held her shoulders and my grip tightened as the words began to appear.
Georgie kept on sobbing, but more quietly now. I was almost there. The word ‘Leeds’ flashed into my consciousness, then disappeared. Then, suddenly, ‘334’.
No, it can’t be! I thought, my eyes racing across the page to see more words.
‘Right. Calmed down, has she?’
Ignoring Mr Smale, I locked onto that one number again—maybe one of the most famous scores in Australian cricket history. The numbers spun, merged, then formed again: ‘334’. I could even make out the name close by: ‘Bradman’.
‘Hold on, Georgie.’
‘Hey! Where’s the…’
But Mr Smale’s voice drifted away into the distance, or else we did. For a moment I was aware of Georgie and me and nothing else.
8 The Great Don Bradman
‘TOBY?’ Georgie’s voice sounded in my head. I opened my eyes and made a quick survey of the scene around me.
‘Come on!’ I said, hauling her to her feet.
‘Toby? What happened?’ She turned to look at the crowd behind us. ‘Why is everyone…’ Her voice trailed away.
We were standing next to a square brick building that looked like a shelter. Everyone was crammed in, their backs to us, facing the oval. And suddenly I realised why.
‘Georgie, it’ll be Don Bradman out there.’
‘Good. Can you wake me up now?’
I grabbed her by the arms and turned her to face me.
‘Listen, Georgie. We’ve done what I’ve been telling you about for the last five weeks. We’ve just travelled back in time. Back to a cricket match. I just happened to be holding the 1931 Wisden.’
A bit of colour was coming back to her face. She still clutched the diary to her chest.
‘Georgie? It’s okay. We can’t go back now. Smale will be waiting for us. C’mon.’
Georgie tucked the diary under her T-shirt and followed me into the crowd. The spectators were packed in close and spilling out onto the oval itself, where hordes of people sat in the bright sunshine enjoying the cricket. There wasn’t the usual noise of a modern Test match. It was quieter, with lots of chatter rather than shouts and chants.
‘Toby, l
ook at us!’
‘What?’
‘What we’re wearing.’
I noticed a guy with a cloth cap and waistcoat, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, looking at me.
‘Where’s tha been? A fancy dress party, eh?’
‘Yes,’ Georgie said, her head lowered. ‘Very fancy dress.’
‘’Ere, Eddy,’ the man went on. ‘You think our John down at the mill would like a look at this get-up?’
I looked at Georgie. She smiled and shrugged.
‘Well, we’d better be going,’ I told the man, trying to sound English.
‘Aye, that’s a right queer accent too,’ he chuckled.
We both pushed into the crowd. I was desperate to get a look at Don Bradman. What would Jim say when I told him this?
‘Toby, I don’t think this is a good idea,’ Georgie whispered as I squeezed myself into a small gap between two kids. They were giving us strange looks.
‘How much is he?’ I asked the kid next to me. He was wearing long shorts, socks and a cap. He looked like he’d walked straight out of school.
‘Tha what?’
He also talked in a funny way.
‘D-o-n B-r-a-d-m-a-n.’ I spoke the two words slowly.
‘Look at the scoreboard,’ he said, nodding to his left, still staring at me. I went to tuck in my T-shirt but I couldn’t cover the words ‘Go Aussies’ splashed across the front in green and gold.
There was a buzz of noise, then a ripple of applause. It didn’t last long. One of the batters had just smacked a four.
‘Was that Bradman?’ I asked.
‘Aye,’ the kid nodded.
Georgie was looking more relaxed now. The whisper was going round a portion of the crowd nearby that we were just back from some fancy dress party.
‘We’ll give it three overs then head back,’ I murmured to Georgie. ‘We can’t be away forever.’
‘But won’t that guy at the library be waiting for us?’
‘Probably. And he’s got all night, but we haven’t. We’re going to have to chance it. Whatever happens, we can’t stay here for long. We’ll get stuck, like that hooded guy I told you about.’
There was another rise in crowd noise, though people didn’t shout, they just clapped then started talking again. I looked at the scoreboard. It was a big wooden box. Bradman had scored 81 and the other batter, Woodfull, was on 18.
Bradman was awesome. He was so quick to move, dancing down to make a half volley or stepping back to cut a ball for four. He didn’t seem to hit the ball hard, but worked the ball around. He must have had really strong wrists.
I think Georgie had finally realised where she was, though she couldn’t decide between looking at the cricket and staring at the faces around us. There were plenty of fairly grim-looking people, but they seemed engrossed in the cricket. Maybe they were looking glum because of Don Bradman.
‘C’mon,’ I said to her, starting to move away.
‘Is tha comin’ back?’ the boy asked me.
‘Probably not for a while.’
He was holding something out to me.
‘They’re boiled lollies,’ Georgie whispered. ‘Take one.’
He offered them to Georgie too. She reached into her pocket and pulled out something.
‘Georgie, no, you can’t!’
‘What’s it matter?’ She had a packet of pink fluoro bubble gum. She unwrapped one, popped it in her mouth then passed the packet to the boy. He took it, but looked nervous.
‘Georgie, no!’
She blew an enormous bubble. It splashed back onto her face, covering her nose and mouth. Everyone around was watching. Georgie grinned. ‘See you later, guys!’ she called.
We weaved a path back through the crowd of people, all dressed in browns and blacks, with the odd splash of white, until we reached the edge.
‘Be ready, okay?’
‘Ready to what?’ she asked.
‘I dunno. Just be ready.’
I grabbed her hand and said aloud the first two lines of the poem.
At once the sound of clapping was drowned out by a whooshing sensation that raced up my body, finishing in my head.
Instinctively I ducked as we found ourselves on the carpet of the library. Georgie scrambled behind me. We held our breath. Everything was silent. I looked around the room. The Wisden was still lying on the floor, where it had fallen when we travelled.
‘It’s clear,’ I whispered.
‘Just wait a few moments.’
‘No! Let’s get out of here.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Ten to six. C’mon.’
I got up and crept over to the door, waving at Georgie to follow. We heard the knock at the same time and darted back to the table.
‘No, over here!’ I whispered, urging Georgie over to a trolley stacked with books. We crouched behind it as the door opened.
‘Toby?’
‘Dad?’
‘I guess I’m too—’
‘Hi, Mr Jones,’ called Georgie, getting up.
‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ he asked, looking at us oddly.
‘Boy, are we glad to see you!’ I cried. I rushed over to him. ‘Did you see him anywhere? The guy who gave you the invitation?’
‘Who? No, I haven’t seen anyone up here. Has he left already? You in some sort of strife?’ Dad must have sensed my panicky voice.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Jones. Toby’s pretending we’re in this big crime thingo. That’s why we were hiding. You see, there’s this guy who’s out to get us. But then you arrived.’
‘Okay. I get it,’ Dad said thoughtfully. ‘So, how did the presentation go?’
‘Well—’
‘It was great! He got this!’ Georgie pulled out the diary from under her shirt.
‘Wow, that looks impressive,’ said Dad, as Georgie placed it on the table in front of him. ‘Oh, I’m with you now. The baddy was after this. So that’s why you were hiding?’
‘Exactly!’ we said simultaneously. I looked at Georgie, who smiled.
‘Can we go home now? I’m starving,’ I said, picking up my ‘prize’ from the table.
‘Good idea. Everyone left pretty quickly then?’ Dad asked as we headed off down the stairs. ‘I didn’t think I was going to be that late.’
I didn’t answer. I was too busy peering around, expecting someone to jump me at each corner.
‘Tobes, you can probably stop acting now,’ Dad suggested as I took a last quick look around before getting into the car.
‘Yeah, I think we’ve won, Toby. Your Dad saved the day.’ Georgie gave me a thump in the ribs as we settled into the back seat.
When we got home Dad went straight over to the site of the burnt-out garage and Georgie and I walked slowly towards the front door.
‘Hey, Georgie, what exactly are mills? You know, that pommy guy said something about a mill?’
‘I think it’s where they make clothes. They’d probably never seen anything like our clothes before. And maybe in 1930 no one wore these colours,’ she said, pulling at her shirt, which was a hot pink. ‘We’ll have to make sure we dress less conspicuously next time.’
‘What do you mean, next time?’
‘Well, we have to go back.’
Oh, no. I thought of Rahul and his urge to return to India.
‘Why?’
‘Are you kidding? We’ve got to see Don Bradman again. And Jim too. We can take him with us. He’d be rapt!’
I was getting worried by all the ‘we’ talk. But she was so excited, I let it ride. ‘You going to tell anyone?’ I asked.
‘Der! Why do you think I got you out of trouble when you were about to blab to your dad?’
‘So why did you go all asthmatic with Smale? I thought you were going to spew or faint or…or something!’
‘Geez, Tobes. That was a put-on, to distract him, and so I could get a bit of time travel myself. It worked, huh?’
I nodded. ‘That guy was weird.’
‘No, he’s just greedy. He doesn’t know us from squat.’
But that’s where Georgie was wrong. I sensed that Smale knew a lot about me.
Only once has a player bowled two maiden overs in an innings—that is, bowling an over without having runs scored. Dewald Nel, playing for Scotland against Bermuda, had bowling figures of 4 overs, 3 maidens, 2 wickets for 12 runs.
9 A Birthday Away
Tuesday—afternoon
TUESDAY. My birthday. It was pretty low-key. I got to jump into Mum’s and Dad’s bed in the morning to open my presents.
Dad gave me a copy of the 2001 Wisden.
‘You remember Hobart?’ Dad said, opening the book. ‘When we sat downstairs and watched Gilchrist and Langer put on that huge partnership to win the game? All you wanted to do was go and play cricket.’
I had a vague recollection, and I’d certainly read heaps about that partnership. I nodded, said my thank yous and turned to look at my other presents.
‘Found it, Tobes! Look!’ Dad had the Wisden open and was shoving it under my eyes.
‘Excellent!’ I said, nodding again.
‘Can Toby open mine now?’ Nat asked.
‘Good idea. Come on, you’ve got the rest of your life to look at that book. And judging by the thickness of it, you’ll need it too,’ Mum laughed.
I turned my attention to Nat’s present, which turned out to be a 12-coloured pen with a light at the top that glowed the colour you were using. It was just the distraction I needed. ‘Awesome, Nat, that’s the best,’ I told her, flicking buttons to make the light change colour.
To celebrate my birthday, all the guys were coming around later for some cricket, takeaway food and a couple of DVDs. We Joneses were going to go out to the movies as a family on the weekend.
We left Dad in bed reading about the Hobart Test and got ready for school.
Mr Pasquali always started the Tuesday training session with an update of the weekend’s matches, even though he said that our destiny was in our own hands and that he, personally, wasn’t that interested in the results of the other matches.
‘But I acknowledge that you are all very interested and, of course, you can never really find out until the following Friday. So, no surprises that the Scorpions were comfortable winners at home to St Mary’s: 213 to 7 for 106.
